Captaining the Ship
But O the ship, the immortal ship! O ship aboard the ship!
Ship of the body, ship of the soul, voyaging, voyaging, voyaging.
~ Walt Whitman
About two years ago, I was taking time to dialogue with a new client prior to the hands-on massage session. We were sitting in my treatment room, the promising light of a March morning bouncing through the window and across the linens on the massage table, and I we were just hitting a wall in our connecting. I sensed she was disengaged, although I was trying so hard to connect with her through the intake dialogue. I was laden with choice-offerings, having just completed trauma-sensitive training, and within my neat sets of choices I offered to her and other new clients at this time, I fancied myself a sensitive professional walking alongside clients through their own personalized, safe-and-welcoming flow chart while I reflected — insisted — their agency within my practice.
Yet, here was this client, this person, warily staring back at me, detached from our conversation. The disconnect was palpable for both of us. What added to my confusion was that she had written me a fairly detailed email after initially requesting an appointment; in her message she wrote of her chronic traumatic health obstacles — hopeful to find relief — if only momentarily. I was eager to meet with her and practice my newfound skills from the trauma-informed training:
Options, choices, opportunities for an active role in their care; “Do you have a preference of direction you would like to begin? Do you enjoy table heat? Are you comfortable with the lighting?” What about the sound level? Can I gently provide stretches?
This was exactly what this client needed (I assumed), and I was hoping she would feel so safe and supported! So, in real time, when she was shifting in her seat and short-answered with my zealous prompting, I checked in.
“______________, how’s it going right now for you?”
Her response was overwhelmingly illuminating:
“Honestly, I appreciate all these options, but I am so tired of making decisions. I’m exhausted. I just want to lay here and feel good.”
A wave of appreciation and realization washed through me, washed over the room, the linens, and light. In that moment, I realized that within my practice, one of the most tender things I could offer the humans before me is one inquiry above them all — “Today, would you like to fully steer this ship, or have me be your co-captain?”
Although meaning well, my eagerness to provide safety and support through an abundance of choice was almost threatening to derail therapeutic massages before sessions even began by bombarding clients who were already exhausted from health issues, from loss, from work, from life. I was insisting they practice their agency — that I could prove to them they could trust me — when just by stepping through the front door and taking off their coat and hat, they were perhaps offering a level of trust. I realized that I also had to trust them, too — trust that sometimes, a level of decision-making isn’t what they want, but rather the keen presence of a compassionate practitioner while they rest upon the table.
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A couple of years later, I am with another new client, here for grief massage, it’s during our intake dialogue. We are conversing, warming up to one another, and the timing seems right to ask, “So, ____________. Are you thinking you would like to be the captain of this ship, and make decisions on how your session will look? Or would you rather I take more of a co-captain lead, while periodically checking in with you?” It’s like I began speaking a language meant for her and only her. It is a personal, respectful, and hopeful language that guides us forward and through the water. I often inwardly thank that exhausted and frank woman from a couple years ago, for her openness navigated me more than any training.
