01/28/2026
I love this article — it’s such a great reminder that massage therapy is about so much more than easing muscle tension. Our work supports how the whole body functions, especially the connection between the nervous and endocrine systems. It’s not pressure from my fingers that makes a knot release — it’s the nervous system finally feeling safe enough to let go. This is truly why I love what I do. 💆♀️✨
When I think back to massage school, I can still see myself hunched over textbooks, memorizing muscles, tracing nerve pathways, and learning how to assess pain and dysfunction. We spent hours learning the body's architecture, and somewhere along the way, almost as an afterthought, there was a small section on hormones.
Even then, it struck me as strange because hormones are not a footnote in the body. They are not an accessory system quietly working in the background. They are one of the primary ways the body understands itself and the world around it.
Hormones shape how we experience pain and pleasure, how we recover, how we sleep, how we attach, how we grieve, and how we heal. They influence whether a body feels safe enough to soften or is compelled to brace. They decide whether rest is possible or vigilance must remain. And yet, many of us stepped into practice with only a surface understanding of this vast internal conversation.
What I have come to understand over time, through study and thousands of hours at the table, is that the nervous and endocrine systems are inseparable partners. One senses and the other amplifies. The nervous system is constantly asking, What is happening right now? The endocrine system responds by deciding, How much should this matter, and for how long?
This is where perception becomes chemistry.
So let’s slow this down for a moment and revisit hormones together, not as a checklist, but as a conversation that might offer more profound clarity.
Cortisol is often cast as the villain, but it has never been the enemy. Cortisol is the watchful sentry pacing the walls of the city, scanning the horizon for danger. When a threat appears, it rings the bell, mobilizing energy, sharpening focus, pulling resources where they are needed most. It is brilliant in short bursts. The problem is not cortisol, but a body still listening for danger, never hearing the call that says the watch is over. Cortisol continues to circulate, affecting immunity, digestion, sleep, and pain perception. Bodywork allows the sentry to stand down and rest, signaling the watch is no longer needed.
Adrenaline and noradrenaline are the messengers of urgency. They are the ones who shout, Move now! Act now! Be ready! They tighten muscles, quicken breath, and narrow attention so the body can respond instantly. In bodies shaped by chronic stress or trauma, these messengers remain loud, keeping tissues braced as if impact is always imminent. Slow, grounded, predictable touch speaks a different language to the body. It tells the messengers they can lower their voices. It whispers, You are not being chased and you do not need to be ready for impact.
Oxytocin is the hormone of belonging. It is the warm fire lit in the center of the room when the storm has passed. It softens edges, quiets fear, and reminds the body that connection is safe. Research consistently shows that attuned, consensual touch increases oxytocin, supporting parasympathetic regulation and emotional settling. This is why presence matters in bodywork almost as much as technique. A body responds differently to hands that listen rather than impose. Oxytocin does not force relaxation; it invites it.
Endorphins are the body’s internal balm. They move like a gentle river through pain, easing intensity without erasing awareness. Unlike adrenaline-driven relief, endorphins carry calm with them. They allow pain to soften without demanding vigilance. This is the quiet relief clients describe when they say they feel lighter or more spacious, as though something heavy has been set down rather than pushed away.
Dopamine is often misunderstood as the reward chemical, but at its heart, it is the hormone of anticipation and motivation. It answers the question, Is it worth engaging? Is there something ahead worth moving toward? In bodies shaped by burnout, chronic illness, or long-term stress, dopamine can become dysregulated, leaving motivation flat or restless. Gentle bodywork, rhythmic input, and a sense of completion help dopamine recalibrate, restoring the feeling that effort leads somewhere meaningful.
Serotonin moves like a steady tide. It supports mood, resilience, and emotional stability, helping the body feel anchored rather than reactive. It is influenced not only by thought, but by sensation, rhythm, and environment. Warmth, steady pacing, and consistent touch help serotonin do its quiet work, reinforcing a sense of internal order.
And then there is melatonin, the keeper of night. Melatonin is not just about sleep; it is the hormone of repair, the signal that tells the body it is safe to power down and restore. When stress chemistry stays elevated, melatonin is delayed, fragmented, or silenced altogether. Bodywork that supports parasympathetic tone helps reopen the doorway into rest, allowing melatonin to rise and the body to remember how to heal in the dark.
Together, these hormones are not separate systems pulling in different directions, but an orchestra responding to the conductor of perception. When the nervous system senses threat, the music sharpens and accelerates. When it senses safety, the tempo slows, harmonies return, and repair becomes possible.
This is why touch matters.
Looking back, I wish we had lingered longer here in our education. I wish we had spoken more about chemistry as a conversation rather than a complication. But perhaps this is the nature of bodywork. We keep learning through our hands and continue refining our understanding through presence. And with each layer of awareness, our work becomes less about doing and more about listening.
