19/06/2025
This is a re-share by
-Keysha Stewart License Massage Therapist
15 years | Missouri
Co-Owner K&A Massage Therapy but it resonates so hard with where I've come from till now.
Massage therapy ain’t soft.
It’s not spa music and lavender dreams.
It’s not some “cute little job” where we rub lotion and float through the day.
It’s blood.
It’s sweat.
It’s silence so loud it rattles your teeth.
Nine hours in a dark ass room, hunched over a table, grinding through your own pain just so someone else can finally breathe again.
We do it with backs that spasm mid session.
With wrists held together by KT tape and sheer willpower.
With sleep deprived brains and coffee on an empty stomach.
Same damn playlist.
Same deep breath before the next body walks in.
Client after client
trauma we didn’t ask for but end up carrying anyway.
Because it doesn’t just stay on the table.
It follows us home.
Crawls into our joints.
Sits heavy in our chest.
We came from the franchises.
Yeah…those places.
Where you’re nothing but a name in a time slot.
Booked back to back like cattle.
No time to stretch. No time to eat. No time to breathe.
“Upsell.”
“Smile more.”
“Be thankful,”
“Do more deep work”
Because hey at least you’re doing what you “love,” right?
Crying in your car on your lunch break?
Yeah, been there.
Not because the work was too hard
but because the paycheck didn’t even cover the bills.
Because you just did five back-to-back deep tissues
for less than what they charge for one.
Because your body’s wrecked, your soul’s wrung out,
and you’re still choosing between gas or groceries.
And they had the nerve to call it a “gifted career.”
Nah.
That s**t was exploitation in a polo shirt.
No benefits.
No sick days.
No safety net.
Sick? Show up.
Injured? Work around it.
Burnt out? Doesn’t matter. There’s another body waiting.
You couldn’t be tired.
You couldn’t say no due to needing to pay bills
You couldn’t be human.
Because in that system, you’re not a healer.
You’re a machine.
A number.
A revenue stream.
So we left.
We walked out
middle fingers up
and built something that didn’t kill us from the inside out.
But the grind?
It didn’t disappear.
It just changed outfits.
Now we’re everything.
Front desk.
Janitor.
Therapist.
Marketing team.
Bookkeeper.
Therapy. Payroll. Taxes. Laundry. DMs.
All while praying the rent clears, the table holds up, and the body doesn’t give out.
We carry every last minute cancel.
Every ghosted appointment.
Every “must be nice to make your own hours” from someone who’s never worked 10 hours straight without sitting down.
No PTO.
No HR.
No backup plan.
Just you and a body you’re begging not to fall apart.
Freedom?
Yeah, we fought for it.
But don’t kid yourself
freedom hurts.
Freedom bleeds.
And still… we show up.
Because here’s the truth:
We do love this work.
With everything we’ve got.
We love the stillness.
The stories we feel through skin.
The way someone walks out lighter than they came in.
We love the power of safe touch in a world that takes too much.
We love being the quiet in someone’s chaos.
The exhale they didn’t know they were holding.
And in this loud, numb, over-medicated, touch-starved, burned-out, anxiety-fueled world?
This work isn’t extra.
It’s essential.
People need us.
Not just to relax.
To heal.
To release.
To come back to their damn selves.
We’re not asking for applause.
We don’t need a stage.
But don’t you dare call this easy.
Don’t you dare call it indulgent.
Because what we do?
It saves people.
Quietly.
Fiercely.
Every damn day.
So no massage therapy ain’t soft.
It’s savage.
It’s soul deep.
It’s strength with cracked knuckles, locked jaws, and blood under the fingernails.
And the day we stop showing up?
Everyone. Will. Feel. It.
-I wouldn't have it any other way though I value every single one of my clients you've all shaped me into the RMT I have become and I will continue showing up for you 🤍🤍
