08/29/2026
I wonder if massage therapy has spent so much time borrowing legitimacy from healthcare that we've overlooked something we may actually have to contribute:
Embodied consent.
Massage therapists routinely negotiate access to another person's body.
--> Where can I touch you?
--> Where don't you want to be touched?
--> Is this pressure okay?
--> Are you comfortable with this position or level of undress?
--> Would you like this area addressed?
And consent doesn't end with those questions.
Something that was comfortable five minutes ago isn't anymore? We change it.
A yes to one thing isn't automatically a yes to another.
An involuntary physiological response isn't permission.
And changing your mind after we've started doesn't mean it's too late to say no.
Massage exists at an unusual intersection of touch, vulnerability, undress, physiological response, interpersonal trust, power, and communication. Yet we've spent enormous professional energy distancing ourselves from the conversations those circumstances uniquely position us to have.
We've sought legitimacy by emphasizing that massage is healthcare, therapeutic, evidence-based, and nons*xual.
But what if we're overlooking knowledge developed within our own practice?
Consent is specific, contextual, ongoing, behavioral, renegotiable, and withdrawable. Massage gives us a setting in which those principles aren't theoretical—they're embodied.
That doesn't mean massage therapists are already experts in consent. Our profession has plenty to learn from s*xuality and consent scholarship, particularly in our education, ethics, boundaries, and response to s*xual harassment.
But that exchange should go both ways.
What has working with human bodies taught massage therapy that other disciplines might benefit from understanding?
Maybe professional legitimacy doesn't only come from proving we belong within someone else's framework.
Maybe it also comes from recognizing what we have to contribute.