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Spring / Summer 2026 Issue
EDITOR
Amanda Cooke
acooke.rmt@gmail.com
ART DIRECTOR
Erin Stanley
erin@erinstanleydesigns.com
DIGITAL MEDIA
Mark Chee-Aloy
mark.rkin.rmt@gmail.com
ACCOUNT MANAGER
Monica Pasinato-Forchielli, RMT
monica.fmt.one@gmail.com
SALES MANAGER
Scott Dartnall
scottdartnall@gmail.com
CONTRIBUTING WRITERS
Amanda Cooke, Travis Flynn,
Mandy Urena, Krista Wright
PUBLISHED BY
Massage Therapy Media
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CONTENTS FALL/WINTER 2025
DOWNLOAD PDF VERSION OF MASSAGE THERAPY MEDIA MAGAZINE SPRING / SUMMER 2026 ISSUE
Contributors
TRAVIS FLYNN
CMT
Travis is a former writer and photographer turned massage therapist in California. After a decade in practice, he realized that the last three years of his career were the most enjoyable of the entire decade which got him thinking about what changed. Why did work seem less daunting and more rewarding now than it had in the past? This inspired him to bring back his passion for writing and publish his first book “A Massage Therapists Survival Guide” where he talks about how to avoid burnout and truly enjoy the career you have chosen.
MANDY URENA
LMT
Mandy was born in Coventry, England. She is an Air Force wife of 27 years and after training in London, Tokyo and New York, began her massage career as “masseuse to the troops” on military bases.Over a period of almost 3 decades, she has built an international following including some of the biggest celebrities in the world and people going through cancer. She also worked as an instructor in Philadelphia, teaching a new generation of therapists.
KRISTA WRIGHT
RMT
Krista has been a massage therapist in Nova Scotia since graduating from CCMH in 2005. She is committed to providing a safe and effective approach to healing. Her holistic and client-focused approach values open communication between therapist and client. Krista’s interested in learning about the client as a person, their goals, and developing a treatment plan that fits into their lifestyle. Outside of work, Krista is an author and spends her time with her two daughters and their menagerie of pets.
AMANDA COOKE
RMT
Amanda has a degree in Kinesiology and is a Registered Massage Therapist. She has practiced in multidisciplinary settings, corporate settings, and has been a clinic and outreach supervisor for Massage Therapy Students. Amanda and her partner Mark own ConEd Institute in Toronto which is a continuing education company for Manual Therapists.
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Editor’s Note
Reflecting on the Profession of Massage Therapy-
The Misconceptions, Modifications, and Meaningful Connections
Amanda Cooke, RMT
Editor
I have likely written this sentence before and I am positive I have said this out loud on my podcast as well as in conversations with colleagues…Massage Therapists have a weird job. What we do day to day, when you say it out loud in the simplest terms, is truly bizarre. We are healthcare professionals so of course we do not think anything about this is strange but within minutes of meeting a stranger, they disrobe, lay face down often in a dimly lit room, and allow us to rub lotion or oil on their body. This is a recipe for misconceptions to exist, a need for modifications, and by nature of the power differential in this environment, it leads to meaningful connections.
Our profession is flooded with creative minds. I hypothesize that this has everything to do with the fact that massage therapy is an integration of science and art. A large majority of therapists were attracted to this hands-on career for this unique opportunity to use their minds and hands in a creative way that satisfies many areas of their brain and personality. It is of no surprise then, that there are a quite a few authors among us who have made keen observations about massage therapy that most of us can relate to. I also believe these discussions are important amongst colleagues to remind us to regularly reflect on public perception, our own thoughts and beliefs about massage therapy, and how our practice is so much more that the scientific technical material that we learned in school.
In this issue we celebrate some of those authors. We have a collection of reflective pieces that may be just what you need to reignite your fire. The author of If These Hands Could Talk, brings forth a great discussion about the misconceptions, stereotypes, and stigmas surrounding massage therapy that is ultimately
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perpetuated by the portrayal of therapists in the media and pop culture. She is on a mission to represent massage therapy and all that it entails while keeping her cheeky British tone. The author of Confessions of a Massage Table reminds us that we are working with people, we are people, and people can be hilarious. The perspective from this book reminds us of how human we are and realistically details the truth about the therapeutic relationship as well as the relatable moments that has all of us nodding along in exclusive understanding. It’s a true If You Know, You Know book. Lastly, the author of A Massage Therapist’s Survival Guide writes about mini revelations he has had in his treatment room that have made a massive impact on how he treats, and ultimately the enjoyment of his job. This book is an excellent reminder to step back and ask the right questions. What changes can you make in your dealings with your clients that can have a cascading effect on the effectiveness of your treatments?
The reflective nature of this issue reminds me of that one sentence that every teacher in every classroom in every stage of learning has repeated to their students…there are no dumb questions and if you’re wondering something, chances are, you’re not the only one. Being a massage therapist can be isolating depending on your practice setting and this is why it becomes imperative to intentionally immerse yourself into scholastic conversations, therapeutic discussions, and equally important- discussions about the state of the profession, common themes within the treatment room or the greater clinic space, and what we see and hear in both healthcare and non-healthcare settings regarding massage therapy. The only things humans have control over is their own thoughts, words, actions, and reactions. We have little to no control over other people’s opinions, actions, or emotions. With this knowledge, we should see the importance of knowing how other people view us as a profession. It gives us some power back to educate and ensure that what people are saying matches the portrayal we intend to display to the world. We can control our thoughts and actions. But how often do we evaluate our thoughts and actions? Do you pay close attention to your self-talk? If so, are there moments where your job is seemingly more daunting than you envisioned as a bright eyed and bushy tailed therapist? If so, it is within our control to make changes. Change only happens when we move out of our own comfort zone. We need consistent evaluation to push forward and improve. Then of course there is the human element. We cannot control what deep dark secrets clients reveal to us on the table. We can control what information coming in is relevant to treatment outcomes and how certain circumstances may affect the care of this person. These realizations allow us as therapists to feel we have ultimate control in our profession while still acknowledging that we work with humans and we can expect the unexpected.
I have greatly enjoyed reading many of the books from authors in our profession. The three we are highlighting in this issue all speak in a relatable tone and often use humour to emphasize their words. The message I receive from these articles and the one I have tried to highlight is the importance of constant evaluation is this type of profession. Evaluation of your thoughts and feelings toward your work, evaluation of what your clients are saying to you, evaluation of people’s attitudes towards massage therapy, and evaluation of what you see in the world as it relates to our profession. This is a meaningful part of our job, outside of the treatment room, that helps us to all be better. I thank our authors for all of their observations and allowing us to be thoroughly entertained while constantly learning.
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After thirty years in the business of massage therapy, I thought I had done it all: Swedish, deep tissue, reflexology, hot stone, prenatal, myofascial release, and oncology massage. I had worked in spas, clinics, hospitals— even casinos. I had dabbled, specialized, and even taught for several years at a national massage institute. I believed I was ready to retire these hands.
But I have come to realize they have one final task to undertake: to represent massage and all it entails—not through effleurage strokes on the body, but through keystrokes on my laptop.
Let me explain.
Teaching at the National Massage Therapy Institute in Philadelphia was the most rewarding and fulfilling experience of my professional life. I taught anatomy, physiology, hands-on technique, business practices, and ethics. Yet despite educating the next generation of massage therapists, I began to understand that it wasn’t only future practitioners who needed instruction—it was clients, friends, family, and the general public.
Massage therapy has long been plagued by misconceptions and tired stereotypes, reinforced by poor portrayals online and on screen. I feel compelled to teach the world—both literally and figuratively—about the intelligence, integrity, and beauty of this healing art. I want to touch the world not only with my hands, but with my words. Writing this material will be the icing on my proverbial massage cake—my grand finale, my mic drop.
Why take on such a momentous task? Because massage has carried an unfair stigma for far too long, largely fueled by the way it has been depicted in media and entertainment.
In recent years, high-profile news coverage has further damaged public perception, unfairly associating massage therapy with exploitation and abuse. Sadly, with the current circus that is the Epstein Files, massage has come to be associated with the trafficking of young girls, and these narratives have dragged a legitimate healthcare profession into a sensational conversation it does not belong in, sullying an industry built on ethics, education, and healing.
Hollywood has done little to help endorse our industry, often portraying it as something illicit rather than therapeutic. The Client List in 2012 was supposed to be a show about the life of a massage therapist honoring a legitimate profession. Instead, it was about selling sex, and the audience was exposed to trite stereotype, undermining decades of work by professionals striving to elevate the field.
Beyond media influence, even on a basic level, many people simply don’t understand what massage therapists do. I have seen this confusion play out repeatedly in my own community. On one end of the spectrum are those who understand massage as therapeutic bodywork—a form of preventative care. These are the clients who invest in their health through regular deep tissue, myofascial release, or neuromuscular therapy.
On the other end are those who dismiss massage as something frivolous or inappropriate, often repeating crude jokes that reveal a complete lack of firsthand experience. Somewhere in the middle lies the curious but hesitant layperson—someone who has heard about the benefits of massage but feels too embarrassed to ask questions: What do I wear? Will I be exposed? How do I know if a therapist is legitimate?
These questions are understandable. But some of the questions I’ve been asked by clients while they lay on my table have left me genuinely stunned.
One day, as I worked on a client’s frozen shoulder, he asked, “Did you have to go to school for this?” His face was buried in the face cradle, sparing him my immediate expression of disbelief. Do people really think we are born knowing how to release a rotator cuff? That anatomical knowledge automatically comes out with the placenta at birth? It seemed a bit late to question my credentials while contorted into a pretzel on my massage table.
Another client once asked, “So, what do you do for a living?” She posed this question while lying prone on my table at 10:00 a.m. on a Monday morning— my elbow on a pressure point somewhere between her spinal cord and erector spinae muscle. At times, I have been tempted to respond with sarcasm: “I’m a lumberjack,” or “I’m a professional clown.” More often, I simply answer, “It’s a weekday morning, and I’m here massaging you. I think it’s safe to assume this is what I do.”
Her response? “Wow—you can really make money doing this?”
I didn’t have the heart to remind her that she was paying me $150 for the session or tell her that I had 23 other clients booked for the week. It was indeed lucrative.
The lack of understanding surrounding massage therapy is palpable. Misconceptions must be corrected, redirected. Myths must be dismantled. In many ways, my writing is an attempt to triage the damage done to the profession’s reputation—minor brain surgery, if you will, to stimulate neuroplasticity so that neurons are rewired and refire to help people finally understand that massage is a legitimate healing art deserving of respect and recognition within the medical realm.
Ultimately, I want the world to know that this profession is noble work—meaningful work. Work I am proud to have devoted my life to. I want to defend, legitimize, explain, educate, and entertain.
I began this journey four years ago with my memoir, If These Hands Could Talk: The Girl Who Touched the World. It explained. It educated. It entertained.
But in 2026, I am taking it further.
I want my legacy to read something like this: Mandy Urena changed the way the world sees massage therapy.
“How will she accomplish such a momentous task?” you may ask.
Let’s just say I’ve been in creative mode, my writing has taken on a life of its own, and I’m in talks with Hollywood—as they say.
Watch. This. Space.
The Cascade Effect:
Small Experiments for Big Change
BY TRAVIS FLYNN, CMT
In my first few years as a massage therapist, I struggled during longer sessions when it came time to work the neck and shoulders with the client supine. Whether I was addressing a specific discomfort or providing relaxation, a wave of impostor syndrome would hit within a couple of minutes while massaging the first side. I’d shift their head from left to right, glance at the clock, repeat the techniques I had just used, and hope the client would enjoy fifteen minutes of scalp massage to finish the session.
As the years passed, I gradually became more comfortable, adapting many of the techniques I learned in massage school to fit my style as a Massage Therapist. But it wasn’t until the COVID-19 pandemic that a change in my table setup kicked off a chain of alterations which transformed this part of the massage from a weakness into a strength.
One of my co-workers suggested tying down the bottom flat sheet to help prevent cross-contamination. I noticed that the simple step of tying a double knot below the head of the table resulted in a smoother surface under the client’s neck and shoulders after they turned over. Prior to this change, I would sometimes leverage off the table, but now I could leverage while gently rocking back and forth, pivoting at my hips, without encountering resistance beneath my hand and wrist.
The combination of rocking and leveraging was a revelation. The smooth motion let my shoulder rest, while the rocking also eased tension in my forearm, as I learned to adapt the shape of my hand and angle of my approach to match the contours of each client’s neck and shoulders. But it was only possible due to the smoother surface. With even a slightly bunched sheet, my shoulder had to constantly stabilize the movement, and my hand worked overtime to avoid snagging. In other words, the rocking wasn’t helpful without a flat surface, while leveraging wasn’t nearly as efficient without the rocking motion. The ability to leverage off the table without overworking my shoulder and forearm was a godsend.
Around the same time, I figured out by mere chance that it was often beneficial to turn the client’s head three times during my routine instead of once, so I experimented with that. Over the next few months, I noticed more clients became restless when I spent too many consecutive minutes on one side, compared to when I carefully turned their head multiple times, limiting the duration to four or five minutes between head turns.
I began using the countdown clock to break the routine into one- and two-minute segments. It helped me pace myself and provided a clear target, so delivering twenty minutes of neck and shoulder work felt manageable. And by rocking back and forth, I could keep a steady rhythm through the dozen transitions—right when the session was most at risk of turning into a messy mishmash of techniques. The result was a more cohesive, less chaotic experience for the client.
Looking back, I’m not sure if I ever would have tried tying down the sheet without my co-worker’s suggestion. I often work back-to-back sessions, so when I have three clients set for “60-minute” massages at 1:00, 2:00, and 3:00, each with unique table preferences and treatments, those few seconds between sessions are valuable. Why would I spend time tying and untying a knot without understanding the benefits it would unlock? It was a catch-22: I didn’t experiment because I didn’t see the payoff, and I wasn’t aware of the payoff because I didn’t experiment.
It can be easy to fall into the trap of “this is how I do things” or “it is what it is.” Whether you work for yourself or as an employee, it helps to identify the root of your frustrations.
For 90- and 120-minute sessions, I now feel more confident from beginning to end because I know I’ll finish strong in the final 25 or so minutes. I never imagined that one seemingly small change could create such a cascading effect, reducing my stress level while also boosting my enjoyment as an MT. And when the client is in a more relaxed state of mind on the table, I can settle in and deliver my best work.
It can be easy to fall into the trap of “this is how I do things” or “it is what it is.” Whether you work for yourself or as an employee, it helps to identify the root of your frustrations. If there’s a regular you find particularly challenging, try asking yourself a series of “why” and “how” questions to unearth the underlying causes.
Start with something simple: “What frustrates me about working on this client?” You may come up with three or four different reasons. For each one, ask a follow-up question, such as “How can I communicate differently?” or “Why does this frustrate me?” If it helps, draw a question tree on a piece of paper.
After you dig down and make a few changes, you may realize that it’s a compatibility issue after all—and that the best move is to refer the client to a different MT. But more often than not, I find that a client I first see as “difficult” simply needs a different approach: one I’m capable of but not used to delivering..
When in doubt, try things out. As long as an experiment is (a) safe for the client, (b) safe for you while delivering the technique, and (c) connected to techniques you have learned, it’s worth testing out something new. It might be as simple as changing your angle of approach for an existing technique, or using your fist instead of your forearm for a stroke. When I want to change things up, I’ll often experiment with the pace of the massage. For many challenges, simply slowing down helps the client relax and also makes it easier for me to assess the muscles as I go.
If there are still nagging frustrations after you’ve asked yourself “why” and tried experimenting, reach out to other MTs. If you tell three colleagues about your struggle and ask how they handle it, they may have three different answers. One of them is likely to improve your work life. As MTs, we encounter many of the same annoyances. It’s also possible that they picked up something in massage school, at a seminar, or in a book that you never learned in the first place.
And when your work life throws you a curveball—as many of us experienced during the COVID-19 pandemic, or when starting at a new location—it’s easy to become frustrated by all the change. Remember to observe how each adjustment affects your workday. How can you adapt to the new parameters? What forced changes are worth combining with something that’s been lying dormant in your toolbox? What new tactic can you introduce to see if it elevates your ever-evolving work as an MT?
Sometimes what we’re looking for is already within reach. We just have to keep our eyes open and be willing to try something new.
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Confessions of a Massage Table
If massage tables could talk, mine would need a non-disclosure agreement, and a therapist.
BY KRISTA WIRGHT, RMT
The Whole Person Approach
Massage therapy is often marketed as therapeutic, luxury or relaxation. But those of us in the profession know better. We see chronic pain, stress patterns, postural habits, and the subtle ways that emotions manifest physically.
The executive with chronic neck pain isn’t just an overactive upper trapezius — they’re a walking email inbox with a deadline of yesterday.
The exhausted parent isn’t just a locked lumbar spine — they’re surviving on caffeine, prayer, and four hours of broken sleep.
The athlete isn’t just a hamstring strain — they’re negotiating identity and performance, balancing life with dreams of grandeur.
Every body that enters our room belongs to someone navigating a full, messy, complicated life. That realization is how Confessions of a Massage Table was born — because treating the whole person means acknowledging not just anatomy, but humanity. And humanity, as it turns out, is f’ing hilarious. Humans are equal parts muscle tension and magnificent absurdity.
After 20 years as a massage therapist, I’ve learned that the massage table is so much more than just vinyl and padding —
it’s a confessional booth, a therapist’s couch, a comedy stage, and occasionally a nap station complete with symphonic snoring. People arrive carrying stress in their shoulders, grief in their hips, and stories that begin with, “You won’t believe what happened.”
From Muscles to Moments
When I first became a massage therapist, I thought my job was straightforward: assess, treat, document, repeat. I studied origin and insertion points like they were sacred coordinates. I learned techniques, refined pressure, memorized muscles, perfected draping. I was ready to fix the world, one person at a time.
What I wasn’t prepared for was how laughter would become an essential part of my clinical toolkit. Laughter really is the best medicine for treating muscle pain. Over time, I realized I was working with entire ecosystems. You can’t truly treat a shoulder without understanding the life attached to it.
And then there’s the universal pre-treatment anxiety:
“Do I take everything off?”
“Is my leg hair okay?”
“What if I fall asleep. Or fart?”
(Spoiler: yes, mine’s longer, and you will.)
If my massage table could speak, it would tell stories of tears and triumphs, of stubborn knots and softened grief, of first appointments filled with nervous chatter and long-term clients who no longer need to explain their stress.
There’s just something about lying face down in a dimly lit room that unlocks radical honesty quicker than a pitcher of margaritas. Clients share their stress, their celebrations, their parenting wins, their work disasters. I’ve heard business plans, breakup stories, travel mishaps, and every conspiracy theory imaginable — all while working through a stubborn upper trapezius I have named Steve. Clients confess things to us they haven’t even told their hairstylist — and that’s saying something.
Some days I feel like a biomechanical detective. Other days I feel like a late-night talk show host with coconut oil. And sometimes, laughter is as therapeutic as friction.
Laughter softens guarding faster than a heat pack. A shared chuckle lowers defenses. I’ve had clients try heroically to suppress giggles while I am elbows deep in their glutes, like it’s a test of maturity. I laugh with them. Because that sound? That’s trust
When we treat the whole person, we acknowledge that healing can include humor. In fact, it often depends on it.
Why I Had to Write the Book
After years in practice, I started noticing patterns — not just physical ones, but human ones.
From the synchronized “massage table shimmy” when clients try to flip over gracefully and end up doing interpretive dance.
I realized there was an entire world of massage therapy experiences that only therapists truly understood. The inside jokes. The awkward moments.
The oil spills that happen at the worst possible moment. The accidental elbow crack that sounds alarming but is completely harmless. The deep tissue session on a bodybuilder’s calves that makes you reconsider every life choice that led you there. The profound connections. The absurdities.
I used to joke that when I retired, I would write my confession and live off the royalties. What surprised me was how many people said they would love to read that book. So, I began keeping a diary after long clinic days. Not client details — confidentiality is sacred — but all the unbelievable moments that happened during the day.
Confessions of a Massage Table became my love letter to this profession. It’s a collection of reflections on treating bodies, navigating personalities, building trust, and finding joy in a career that is equal parts science and heart.
It’s for every massage therapist who has ever double-booked themselves by accident. For the one who has had draping mishaps, navigated around a half chub, or had a client let out a full-volume, diaphragm-driven, wall-rattling snore mid-treatment.
And it’s also for the therapist who knows, without question, that this work matters.
Professionalism with Personality
There’s an unspoken belief that professionalism requires solemnity. I disagree.
Professionalism means competence, boundaries, ethics, and respect. It doesn’t mean we can’t acknowledge the funny side of our daily reality.
Our work is insanely intimate. Somehow, we go from “Hi, my name is...” to “take off your clothes and let me rub you with oil” within a couple of minutes of meeting a total stranger; and this is a normal thing for us. Any other job and it’s a one way walk to HR. Clients trust us with their vulnerability. That trust is built not just through our skills, but through authenticity. Through connection and through compassion.
What Writing Taught Me
Writing about massage therapy forced me to step back and see my career from a wider lens.
I saw the privilege of being invited into people’s lives, even briefly — and how often clients return not just for pain relief, but for the connection and consistency we provide. I saw how much of our impact goes beyond measurable outcomes.
In the daily rhythm of charting and treatment plans, it’s easy to forget how unique this profession truly is. Through writing, I was reminded that we don’t just manipulate tissue — we support resilience. We witness transformation. We offer calm in a chaotic world.
And sometimes, we provide the safest nap someone has had all week.
Confessions Continue
If my massage table could speak, it would tell stories of tears and triumphs, of stubborn knots and softened grief, of first appointments filled with nervous chatter and long-term clients who no longer need to explain their stress.
It would also probably request hazard pay.
But until it starts writing its own memoir, I will.
Confessions of a Massage Table is my way of celebrating this profession — the science, the heart, and the humor. For massage therapists across Canada and beyond, I hope it feels like sitting down with a colleague after a long shift and saying, “You won’t believe what happened today…”
I wanted to validate what many therapists feel but rarely say out loud: this job is weird, wonderful, exhausting, fulfilling, and occasionally ridiculous.
And I love it.
For even more massage related humour, follow me on Instagram @Krista_Wright_RMT and if you’re ready to read the confessions for yourself, you can find the book on Amazon.
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