On Massage, Movement and the Small Things That Help Us Thrive

The link between massage, movement and wellbeing

I’ve taken a bit of a pause from writing online recently, but I’ve still been thinking deeply about massage, movement and wellbeing – and about the small things that help us feel more present, connected and alive.

Many of you know me through massage. Some of you may know that alongside Bodyworks, I also teach dance and performance at the University of Bedfordshire. More recently, I’ve been involved in developing a new MA in Creative Health – a course that explores the role of the arts, creativity and embodied practice in supporting health and wellbeing.

And although I won’t be teaching massage on the course, it has made me reflect on how connected these parts of my life have always been.

I started as a dancer. From a young age, dance gave me something I now recognise as incredibly important: a way to be fully absorbed in the present moment. Ballet was challenging, but that was part of why I loved it. There was so much to attend to – the rotation of the leg, the length of the spine, the softness of the hands, the placement of the arms, the quality of the breath.

There wasn’t much room to worry about anything else.

Later, at university, I discovered contemporary dance and improvisation. I realised dance wasn’t just about learning steps or making something look beautiful. It could be a way of thinking. A way of problem-solving. A way of asking questions through the body.

That interest eventually led me into PhD research, where I explored the experience of flow in dance improvisation – those moments when someone becomes so absorbed in what they are doing that movement seems to happen with a different kind of ease. I was fascinated by those moments of presence. The moments when the body stops feeling like separate parts doing separate jobs, and starts to feel more integrated, more responsive, more whole.

Around the same time, I trained as a massage therapist.

At first, I was drawn to the technical side of the work. I loved learning about muscles, trigger points, fascia, stretching, pain patterns and clinical reasoning. There was a rigour to it that appealed to me. I wanted to understand the body in detail and to work in a way that felt thoughtful and skilled.

And I still value that deeply.

But over the years, my understanding of massage has changed.

I’ve become less interested in promising that one specific technique will “fix” one specific muscle, and more interested in the wider experience of treatment: what happens when someone feels listened to, when their nervous system has time to settle, when breath deepens, when tension softens, when they feel safe enough to notice their own body again.

That doesn’t mean technique doesn’t matter. It does.

But massage is not only mechanical. Bodies are not machines. Pain, tension and wellbeing are shaped by many things: movement, stress, sleep, work, emotion, environment, history, confidence, fear, pleasure, connection.

Sometimes the most useful part of a treatment is the skilled hands-on work. Sometimes it is the pause. Sometimes it is the conversation. Sometimes it is helping someone realise they do not need to brace so hard against their own body.

This is where massage and creative health meet for me.

Health is not simply the absence of illness. It is also our capacity to participate in life. To move. To rest. To feel. To connect. To enjoy things. To feel like ourselves.

And I don’t think we thrive through medical care alone. We also need the things that make life feel liveable: music, dancing in the kitchen, walking outside, seeing a show, making something with our hands, laughing with other people, resting without guilt, receiving care.

Massage can be part of that.

Not as a luxury in the dismissive sense, but as one of the small, meaningful practices that helps us return to ourselves. A space to notice what we are carrying. A space to be met with care. A space where the body does not have to perform, push through, or prove anything.

So perhaps this is less of an announcement and more of a reflection.

This is why I keep coming back to massage, movement and wellbeing: not as separate practices, but as connected ways of supporting presence, care and connection. They all ask similar questions:

What helps us feel more present?
What helps us move with more ease?
What helps us reconnect when we feel tense, tired, stuck or overwhelmed?
What helps us feel more fully human?

For me, the answer is rarely one big dramatic transformation.

More often, it is found in small, repeated acts of attention.

A breath.
A stretch.
A conversation.
A piece of music.
A hand on a shoulder.
A moment of rest.
A reminder that your body is not just a problem to solve, but a place to live.

And maybe that is where I am arriving in my work now: still interested in muscles, movement and pain, but just as interested in presence, care, creativity and connection.

Because wellbeing is not just about getting by.

It is also about finding ways to come alive again.

So perhaps I’ll end with a small invitation.

At some point today, put on one song. Let yourself listen with your whole body. Move, stretch, breathe, or simply notice what happens.

Not as another task to get right.

Just as a small way of returning to yourself.

And if you’re interested in the wider relationship between creativity, movement, health and wellbeing, you might like to take a look at the new MA Creative Health at the University of Bedfordshire. It explores how arts, creativity and embodied practice can support health, connection and meaningful change.

For me, it feels like many strands of my work finally speaking to each other.