Why it’s time to roll up the mat and what thai massage has taught me.
In the spring of 2003 I had just quit my regular paycheck to pursue life as an entrepreneur. I didn’t really have a plan, but I knew that what made me come alive was teaching embodiment—something that remains the foundation of my mission today.
I was living in Toronto, riding my bike from one end of the city to the other offering yoga classes to several groups of regular students. It was exhausting—and incredibly rewarding.
The year before, at a yoga workshop in Massachusetts, I participated in a 2 hour thai massage class. At the time I had been practically living at the yoga studio: mysore-style yoga in the morning, assisting multiple times throughout the week, teaching in the evenings, and working at the chiropractic clinic in between. I was deep into the body and knew that I wanted to shift my work toward a healing modality, but didn’t know what.
That two hour thai massage taster changed everything. Embodiment was still so new to me. I had been practicing yoga for four years by then and was in constant awe of the body’s capacity to transform any emotional state when I allowed my mind to tune in to movement. Embodiment was something that I did for me, but I thrived on witnessing others experience its power. The magic of thai massage was learning how to facilitate the embodiment of another, but what I didn’t expect was how the experience brought my own embodiment to a whole new level.
I travelled to Montreal for my training… this was a big deal. I was making something like 20k/year, so paying for the training, the travel, and the time away, felt impossible—but this was my lifestyle—I prioritized my investment in self over the numbers.
The other participants were a mix of yoga people and massage therapists. Naturally, we divided into informal groups—“us” and “them”—during our breaks.
We yogis were a bit baffled by how much the massage therapists seemed to struggle with the flow of thai massage. Being partnered with one of them brought something into sharp focus: there’s an intangible quality to thai massage that people still struggle to explain.
But I’m going to try…
Thai massage is a dance between giver and receiver. A silent negotiation unfolds—essential to the experience.
As the giver, I must first be fully embodied, because it’s through my body that I sense how you, the receiver, are doing. Before we begin, I close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and feel my body in relationship to the floor, the room, the air. I clear my mind of everything external and shift into observation.
When I place my hands on you, I’m listening—not just with my ears, but with my whole body. I’m sensing the level at which you’re ready to receive. I can feel every blink behind your eyelids, every micro-contraction and release in your muscles.
If I’m holding tension, you will feel it too—and without words, your body will mirror that tension back to me. This is not about applying pressure or delivering technique; it’s about meeting you exactly where you are, following the subtle invitations of your nervous system. I can’t force my way in. You must allow me.
RMTs, by default of working at a table, often learn to stand above their clients, delivering “therapy” to “anatomy.” But thai massage works with a different kind of anatomy: energy lines, breath, and loving-kindness.
Through thai massage, I witness your embodiment through my own.
A few years ago, I tried to retire thai massage from my practice—mostly because of the distancing enforced by the pandemic, and the added complications of sanitizing after working so intimately on the floor.
It didn’t last.
After so much isolation and separation, I felt a deep pull to bring it back. More than ever, I sensed the need for people to experience the healing power of thai massage—its embodiment, its presence, its touch.
Back in 2003, my clients were my age, ranging between 25 and 35. They were yogis, meditators—people who sought thai massage for its transformative benefits, not just to claim it on their insurance.
Year by year, the shift has been subtle. But looking back over the past 22 years, our collective lifestyle has changed. We carry more stress. We move less. We live in our heads more than in our bodies.
The bodies I work with now are two decades older. They carry heavier loads and have less time to unwind. The tension is thicker—often deeply embedded, harder to reach.
And my body, too, is 22 years older. These days, I dream of an electric massage table—one that can’t be tucked away to make space for a session on the floor.
As I reflect, and I do love to reflect, these are just a few of the things that might never have happened if not for thai massage:
Durning that first workshop in Massachusetts, I met David, the founder of Santosha Yoga Westboro in Ottawa—the studio I would eventually (almost) own, and where I created the 500 hour yoga teacher training that lead me to the deeper anatomical work I am doing now.
My move to Montreal, and the relationships that enriched my life during those years in Mile End.
That same thai massage training introduced me to my retreat partner, Judith. We bonded instantly during our first week and went on to teach eight retreats together in Costa Rica—some of the most joyful, laughter-filled weeks of my life.
My first six month venture in Costa Rica, where I learned to speak Spanish and face myself, truly. Those six months turned into two years—none of this, without thai massage.
When it was time for me to leave my nomadic life in Central America, it was an opportunity to start again. I may not have ever come back to Ottawa if not for having already left Toronto and Montreal. That move gifted me one of my dearest friendships—with Paula, the mother of my childhood bestie.
And finally, this stiff government town. Ottawa forced me to become an RMT so that I could continue doing thai, while offering you the receipt you value so much (and me, a better livelihood).
There have been so many of you who loved thai so much that you have rarely visited the table since. It’s been such an honour to bring you that depth of embodiment.
My teacher, Kam Thye Chow, founded the Lotus Palm School in Montreal in 1995—the first school in North America dedicated to the teachings of thai massage. At the heart of his approach was loving-kindness.
Each morning began with meditation, an opening chant, and gentle movement—rituals that prepared us to meet our clients with presence and care. It was exactly the foundation I needed.
Those of us who work with bodies are often deeply empathic. Through Kam Thye, I learned how to ground myself before entering into someone else’s experience. The steadiness I bring to the table today comes directly from those early teachings.
Kam Thye continued to teach his Lotus Palm style of thai massage around the world until 2018, when he left his body—but not his legacy.
Thai massage may have been my first true massage love—and like any real love, it lasts a lifetime. So as I roll up my thai massage mat (a Lotus Palm original from 2003), the embodiment, meditation, and loving-kindness continue to flow through me—and into you—on the table.
Isn’t it incredible how, looking back, one seemingly small decision can ripple out and shape so much of what follows?
(Sniff, sniff—I’m not crying).