The Question I Always Ask: “Where the Hell Do I Park?”
This is always the first question whenever I leave my house. “Can I park here? Acosta? Yeah, this will work,” I tell myself. I pull off to the side of the road and mentally prepare to walk into a new place—but not to see new people. For the past 10 years, I’ve gone to the same massage therapist, Kathleen Ren. I’m 32 now, so yes, I’ve been going essentially since infancy. College was stressful, okay? There’s a reason I consistently see the same person for such a long time.
I don’t get my nails done, don’t do pedicures, and I even cut my own hair (sorry, beauticians, please forgive me!). But I keep returning to Kathleen for my one and only beauty vice—massages.
A New Space, Same Comfort
Kathleen had always been at the same location, which was comforting. I knew where I was going, who I was seeing, and most importantly—where the hell I could park. But now, I was pulling up to a new place. A big sign out front read “Renew Massage Therapy,” and I whispered to myself, “I like it. Clean cut.”
Inside, I was greeted by Jon Ren, Kathleen’s husband, who was managing the front desk. Jon is a professional painter, realtor, and an all-around cool guy. “Hey! How are you, Jess?” he said. I’ve known Jon for years, though usually only in passing. I told him how happy I was to see their new space, which was clearly a labor of love—there were even some of Jon’s paintings on the walls.
Why I Needed This Appointment
This wasn’t just a random blip in my schedule. I wasn’t visiting to simply destress from staring at my computer screen. I had recently gone through an unfortunate event where I was physically harmed. Yes, it was upsetting. Yes, I’m okay. Yes, I have an amazing support system. And yes, I needed a massage. I called Kathleen just 24 hours later, eager for some relief.
A Relaxing First Impression
After checking in at the front desk, I walked into the relaxation space. It wasn’t a typical waiting room—it felt like a calming sanctuary, designed with long, lush curtains to block out light and a dim, elegant atmosphere that washed over me. At the center of the room were two leather chairs draped with thick brown and white blankets. I was offered a beverage—green tea kombucha, to be exact (I’m not really a cucumber water kind of gal). Candles flickered throughout the room, and a vintage lamp sat tucked in the corner.
Getting Ready for the Massage
I decided to change first and unwind before my massage. If you know anything about spa experiences, you get there early to truly decompress. The changing room was surprisingly spacious—“This is a whole bedroom!” I thought. The dark brown robes were shockingly soft, and they came in sizes ranging from small to 4XL. I locked my things in a locker, attached the key to my wrist, and took a deep breath to reset into relaxation mode.
Welcoming Warmth
A few sips of green tea later, Kathleen greeted me with a big smile and said, “Jessica! I’m so happy you’re here!” Her long red hair rested on her shoulders, and her eyes shined with nothing but kindness. She gave me her signature warm embrace. If she had any other career, it would be as a therapist—Kathleen has a soothing voice that immediately puts me at ease.
We caught up for a bit before I told her why I was there. She met my explanation with compassionate eyes and reassured me, “I’m fine!” We chatted some more, and then she gave my arm a thoughtful squeeze before exiting for me to disrobe.
Cozy Comfort: The Massage Begins
I secretly prayed the massage table would be heated—because that’s how it always has been for the last 10 years. I like to be, as I maturely call it, “cozy comfy.” When I settled in, I could feel it—the massage table was heated, and I was grateful. Kathleen then knocked before entering and began gently massaging my scalp, temples, and forehead. I’m already drifting off. Then, she moves to my neck and chin. My brain is mush.
The best part about a massage is that you can— and in my opinion should always—get your whole body taken care of. Kathleen continued firmly addressing my arms, hands, legs, and feet. She keeps the entire body covered, except for the part she’s working on. She checked in with me about the pressure, which was perfect. This is a sign of a true professional, my friends.
When it came time to roll over, I may as well have been tucked into bed with a Benadryl in my system. I begrudgingly turned myself over slowly as I was essentially in REM sleep. This is when the best part takes place: the big kahuna—the back.
Kathleen began massaging my shoulders, spine, and lower back, and I could feel her finding the knots throughout my body. I could feel her releasing the stress I’d been carrying around for two weeks. At this point, I was more awake, but only because this release was making me feel thankful and happy. I had been so stressed since I reached out to Kathleen, and this was the first time I think my body had a moment to process what happened. Yes, it helps to talk about it, but sometimes you just need to be cared for. That can be a massage, someone making you a cup of tea, or tucking you into bed. Obviously, I’m an elitist, so I want a massage, but you get what I mean.
The Final Touch
“Okay, Jess, you’re all done. How do you feel?” Kathleen asked.
Like I’m glued to this massage table, and you’ll have to force me out of here. “Good,” I say instead of projecting my actual thoughts. “I’ll be outside if you need anything. Take your time getting up and I’ll see you out there.” Kathleen then exits, and I make an effort to flutter my heavy eyes open. I push myself up and stretch out my legs along the table.
The nice thing about visiting Kathleen is you can take five seconds or five minutes once the massage is done.
Once I put my robe on and open the door, I am greeted with salted chocolate. Kathleen opens her arms and gives me another strong hug. I wish her well with her venture and truly, deeply mean it. As I went to my locker, I realized how silly I was feeling nervous coming to a new place. This was the most relaxation I had felt in weeks, maybe even months. As I waved Jon goodbye and walked to my car, real life set back in. “Where the hell did I park?”
