When I have a client in pain, either from emotional or physical issues, I ask a lot about the pain, but I also ask other questions such as “Are you sleeping?” Often the answer is “no” or “not well” or “sometimes.” And since sleep time is the body’s healing time, not sleeping or not sleeping well can be a big problem in getting rid of pain.

My nutritionist, Sam Zeiler, often gives free weekly seminars to clients on various topics, and last week we talked about sleep. According to Sam–and apparently a lot of studies as well–good sleep requires darkness. You’re probably thinking, “Well, duh . . . “

Actually, I was thinking that myself, until it hit me: my room is not dark. My room is deeply dim. But with all that light seeping in through the shades from the streetlights and security lights, my room is not actually dark. Not BIG dark. Not dark like when you’re driving across nowhere New Mexico at midnight, and there are about a trillion stars you never knew existed, and the edge of the road ends at pitch-freaking black. Now THAT is dark.

The second most important thing for good sleep is quiet. No TVS, no computers, no radio shows. Again, duh, right? I don’t have any of those things. I do, on the other hand, have road noise, cars beeping, and the occasional person talking outside or dog whining in the living room. So if you can’t get true quiet, there are some great machines for “white noise.”

Now that I’m having this realization about true dark and true quiet, I’m looking forward to building my bedroom into a cave. And I’m hoping I sleep better so that I can recommend measures to my non-sleeping clients that might actually work.

Miscommunication. It happens sometimes. A client recently told me about how her poor little toy poodle accidentally feel in the icy cold backyard swimming pool the other day. Rushing him into the house wrapped in a towel, she shrieked up the stairs to her husband, “Hey!! Dottie fell in the pool!” To which he called back, “Okay, bring me back a coupla bear claws will ya?” More shrieking followed on her part, to which he replied, having finally heard her and run down the stairs, “I thought you said you were going to the store!” As awful as all this must have been to poor shivering Dottie, you have to admit the humor in it . . . frankly, I laughed so hard, I almost swallowed my tongue.

Miscommunication in massage can be awful too, and much less laughable. Or perhaps I should say “lack of communication” instead of “miscommunication.” Someone asked me once what I thought was the most important factor in building clientele and retaining clientele outside of giving a damn good massage. “Listening,” I replied. “Listening to the client, and what she says to you about her pain, about her life, about her stress. Listening to the eyes in your head and to the eyes in your palms and fingertips. Listening to your gut. And then when you’re done listening, there’s the caring. Because if you listen and they sense that, and you care, and they sense that, then they will come back again and again. And their pain will improve, their lives will improve, in both direct and indirect ways. And you as the therapist will be like one of the little drops of water that over a millenia carve a canyon.

I truly believe that to be successful, true to your life’s purpose, you must communicate and connect with clients. There are a zillion massage therapist in Washington state. Why should any given client “land” with you? Communicate, connect, and find out. I’ve been lucky enough to work with many excellent therapists each as different as one snowflake to another. But the ones who had large, loyal clienteles were communicating, connecting, listening, caring. Not all in the same ways, mind you. Loud and bright, quiet and subdued, strong and light handed, etc., etc. All different. All wonderful with human beings. All diggging out a canyon of healing with drops of water in an often parched world.

For a caring, involved therapist, communicating, connnecting, listening, and caring are generally not that hard. But everyone has bad days, tired days. Everyone occassionally ends up with that client that makes her think, “Good lord, why is this person being such an ass?” When I find myself in such places, I pray, “Goddess, take my hands and work through me, because you know things I don’t and I am emptied out” or “Universe, this guy is really being mean, but I love him if only as a child of God, and so please let me give him the best massage I can.” In this way, there is still a thread of communication and connection. The recipients of “tired” massages are still thrilled, and even “mean people” are feeling much more benelovent at the end of the session.

There is a last part to caring that I don’t want to leave out here: ask the client to come back. And don’t just ask her to come back, tell her honestly how often YOU think it would be good for her to come back based on the results of all your listening. It’s the same as having a potential friend over for a visit. If you say, “We should do this again sometime” and mean it, it’ll give that person a warm glow that, “Okay, I need to go to bed now; drive safe” just won’t.

Communicate, connect, listen, care. Do these things and your clientele will flow to and keep on flowing to you. And you will not only make a living, you will make a difference.

Are massage therapists flaky as a demographic? Someone asked me that question recently: another therapist, actually. We were shaking our heads over tales of therapists not showing up for shifts; therapists throwing fits over one client too many, or one client too few, or one client too pregnant; therapists simply disappearing into the sunset, destination unknown.

Personally, though extremely sensitive and empathic, I’m almost as un-flaky as they come, and so probably unqualifed to answer this question. I’ve almost never been late, and it generally takes an act of God to even get me near being late. I’ve never not showed up for a shift, never disappeared on an employer. That would unprofessional, and in my up-bringing, simply unthinkable. I would be mortified to let my clients down, my employer down, my teammates down. Even thinking of being the cause of that kind of panic, disappointment, and havoc gives me guilty shivers. And I know many therapists just like me in this way.

On the other hand, there’s no denying there’s more than a handful of therapists out there who are flakier than homemade pie crust. And I can’t deny that whenever we hire a new person at my place of business, I send up a silent prayer: “Oh please God, let her be dependable and sane. Oh please, oh please.” I don’t want someone who hires on and then gives notice in two weeks to go to Bali. Or disappears and ends up in Bali. But you can only plan ahead so far and so well. Working both in the corporate world and in the academic world showed me that a person can give a wonderful interview and be a lousy employee or vice versa.

Still . . . lousy or not, corporate and academic employees rarely no-show or just disappear. Why? Probably because they’d get fired and lose their income and benefits. Which, yes, would happen in massage too, only flaky therapists don’t seem to be very moved by such punishments. Nor are they moved by the shame of letting clients down and teammates down. I find such behavior disgusting, but it exists and occurs often enough that it should not surprise me anymore . . . and yet it does.

Which, I guess, still doesn’t answer the question about the flake factor/percentage in our chosen field. I would like to think that among SERIOUS therapists–those of us who feel we have a gift, purpose, calling, etc.–the flake factor is low. We can be “odd,” or “unique,” or “foo-foo,” and still not be flaky. As to the rest . . . I wish they’d choose another profession. And not tarnish the image of ours.