It's Not My Job to Rehab a Wounded Man and it Never Was

December 2019

As the fourth kid, and perhaps innately inward, I spent a lot of time observing. I watched the world around me and I watched what happened when my older siblings ‘talked back’ or even just had their own opinion. My dad was a tough man - militant and unreasonable; he would often rage, sometimes for no apparent reason or sometimes if we left our backpacks and shoes at the front door. I never knew what was going to happen next or when the proverbial shoe would drop. I think I held my breath for my entire childhood.

I was deathly afraid of him, and of all men as a result - but simultaneously wanted to please them. I stopped talking in elementary school - it was what my little brain decided she needed to do to survive and stay safe. I grew small and quiet and tried to be invisible, a good little girl.

I watched my mother try to pacify his explosive anger outbursts, tip-toe around him, get tiny around him, lose her voice around him. My subconscious mind was taking notes, and what it decided was: put a man first, on a pedestal, as if he’s a higher power; he’s always right, he has all the power, I am to submit - or else. It was a big or else. I learned to make excuses for his behavior and bow down to his authority. Being a doctor, he had an inherent air of authority, power, control. I learned to be the submissive woman who would sacrifice herself for his benefit. I learned that boundaries weren’t a thing.

The effects of chronic abuse and victimization are many, nuanced and layered. 

Also quite persistent.

Last year I started going to get regular therapeutic massage at a popular spa in DC. I had some chronic pain in my body, mainly in my neck, and I found a man who was experienced in sports massage and was very knowledgeable in anatomy. His massages were some of the best I ever had, so I started going frequently. We established a friendly rapport, but nothing more. I’m generally a warm and nurturing person but I kept the boundary especially tight because I knew he was married. He tried to get together outside of our appointments, which perhaps should have been my first red flag, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

His massages were sensual in nature but professional - until they weren’t. 

While on his massage table, probably for my sixth massage with him, he proceeded to give me a yoni massage. You can google it.

I lay there in shock. I didn’t say anything nor did I stop it. I didn’t know the protocol. He asked if it was okay, while his fingers were inside me. I said yes. He went deeper in.

My nervous system was flooded with all the times while intimate with a man that I said yes and meant no. Like the time I lost my virginity in a drunken blackout and came to as I was being penetrated from behind. I was horrified but my vocal chords were broken.

I left my masseuse feeling awkward and confused. I trusted him and saw him as a friend. He wouldn’t do anything to take advantage, would he?

I talked about it with a couple of my girlfriends, I shared about it in a private facebook group, I told my coach about it - trying to make sense of it all and weighing opinions of people I trusted. I went back and forth - being more than okay with it, almost prideful, sometimes laughing it off, and then very ashamed and embarrassed. I was conflicted. 

Was it wrong? Did I invite this? Did I ask for it? Subconsciously want it? Why did I let it happen? Where the fu*k was my boundary or instinct to protect myself in that moment? What’s the spiritual lesson here?

He didn’t know. He didn’t mean it. It wasn’t his fault.

Should I talk to him & tell him that I wasn’t okay with that? Wait, was I okay with it? Did I like it? It’s not that big of a deal, whatever. 

I instinctively never went back to him. My body felt repelled and ashamed. I wanted to forget about it and pretend it didn’t happen. 

We hear of fight/flight as they are the more common responses to trauma and stress. The other two that aren’t as talked about - but are the ways I’ve historically responded to trauma - are to freeze or fawn (please/befriend the abuser). 

I froze. I couldn’t move. I could barely form words. Then I fawned - I acted like everything was fine and said goodbye to him, thanking him and smiling and not allowing him, or even me, to sense that anything was off. 

Months later, I went to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico on retreat. While there, I got another massage, by a somewhat older man, at the reputable lodge where I stayed. He was the leader of the Temazcal ceremony (sweat lodge) that week. I noticed his strong hands and spiritual connection during ceremony so I wanted him to work on me. I chose him and as long as I felt safe, I considered it a healthy need being met to get massaged from a man. I was a tad apprehensive given what had happened months prior, but I thought surely nothing even close to that will happen again.

I walk down the trail to my massage. I lay down on his table and relax into the space. I get completely naked for massage, for no reason other than it’s what makes the most sense to me and the sheet covers you at times anyway. I typically don’t wear underwear in general. I like to be free.

The massage began to feel increasingly sexual, like he was enjoying it a little too much, but I dismissed it. I heard him sigh a lot and I thought if I opened my eyes I might see an erection, so I kept them shut.

Denial is useful for shielding you from what feels unacceptable.

I’m in Mexico, this is the culture here, it’s fine, maybe he can’t help his attraction.

And again I found myself frozen yet hyper vigilant, just laying still & quiet, my nervous system in high alert, waiting for it to be over so I could breathe easy again. My body knew how to do this. I feel sad writing that. It was remembering the many, many times she had to do this. The body records everything.

Towards the end he began leaning over my naked body and breathing heavily over my face and then rested his head on my chest, sort of hugging me. I thought he was going to kiss me on the lips but he didn’t. He may have kissed my face/forehead but I can’t remember now. I was frozen with fear and couldn’t open my eyes. I went somewhere else in my mind. I told myself to play along (fawn) until it was over, get out of there, and never go back.

I, like many women, have been so programmed to protect and cater to a man at all costs that I actually thought ‘oh maybe he needed that cause he has mommy issues or something.’

Happy I could serve. As if I’m some fucking savior/martyr. I’m not. No sir. The part of me that has derived any self-worth or false sense of power from being whoever a man needed me to be has been healed. I’m so much more than a receptacle for a man’s pain.

It’s taken me a whole year since the first incident to get in touch with the rage I feel that two different men would abuse their power the way they did. I’m not a stranger to these inappropriate situations or to abusive men but it had been a long time since I encountered them in an intimate setting and I thought it was all in my past.

Anger is the most challenging emotion for me to feel. As I’ve healed my traumas, I’ve been able to access my anger more and more. I was livid that I paid these men to provide a service and they violated my personal boundaries while I was vulnerable & practically defenseless on the table. They had my trust and they betrayed it. How fucking dare you.

I was mad at myself for not stopping it and confronting them. I let myself feel angry so I could then find forgiveness, with them, but mostly with myself. I decided recently, in a serendipitous turn of events, to report the first massage therapist & file an official complaint. 

You might think this is nothing but a shrewd #metoo female wanting to man-hate. It’s not. This can happen across any gender, it just happened to occur with men in my case. I respect men and will not hate on an entire gender for the actions of a few. I know abusive, wounded men and I know very kind, integrous men. I have compassion for the particular brand of cultural wounding men have endured and that’s why I work with them in my practice; I have compassion for the particular brand of cultural wounding women have endured that makes shit like this ok and relatively normal and that’s why I’m sharing this. I have compassion for my father, who came from worse and tried to do better.

However, compassion and accountability are not mutually exclusive. We can empathize while also holding someone responsible: I love/see/hear/understand you AND go handle your shit. In fact, I love you so much that I’m going to hold you to your behavior. Lack of accountability inevitably enables toxic cycles to repeat. There are no excuses for bad behavior or inflicting harm on another. Ever. We all have trauma - it is not our fault but it is our responsibility to break these cycles, both in our family conditioning and our cultural/societal conditioning. These men are entirely responsible for getting on board with the healing movement. I don’t mean the faux spiritual, bypassy bullshit, namaste, we are all one, instagrammable healing movement. I mean real, in the trenches, messy, healing work that brings you to your knees and no one sees because it happens in the dark between you and you or you and God.

It is my deepest & sincerest hope that all men and women take a vow to own their own shit and then do what it takes to heal so we can stop recycling trauma & victimization & abuse.

This is the last time something like this happens in my life. I got brutally honest about how I co-created this dynamic because of my own wounding, traumas, and high tolerance for abusive behavior. I have done [and continue to do] the work to heal those things tremendously, I’ve stopped attracting narcissistic energy vampires into my life, my boundaries are more solid than ever, and I don’t give everyone the benefit of the doubt over and over again while they show no sign of humility or accountability.

I’m no longer a rehab for wounded men or a plaything to have their sick, selfish needs met. It stops here. I have taken my power back, fully and wholly. I have my own wounds to tend to thankyouverymuch. And most importantly, a beautiful life to go live in peace and freedom and unapologetic JOY.