How I Got Here: Chronic Pain, Hard Work, and Becoming an RMT

I have wanted to be a Massage Therapist since I was about 9 or 10 years old.

Which, honestly, is a pretty specific career goal for a child, but also better than the “butterfly” I wanted to be in kindergarten or the coroner by age 11

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Some kids want to be teachers. Some want to be firefighters. Apparently, I wanted to dig my bony little elbows into people’s sore spots and call it a future career. Thankfully, my elbows aren’t as sharp anymore!

My uncle was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia in the late 90s, and I remember seeing how much discomfort he was in. At the time, I obviously did not understand chronic pain, nervous system sensitivity, or the complexity of Fibromyalgia. I just knew that when I walked on his back or leaned my elbows into the areas that bothered him, he felt a bit better.

That stuck with me.

And, just to be clear, my uncle liking firm pressure does not mean every person with Fibromyalgia does. Every nervous system is different. Some people feel better with more pressure, some need a gentler approach, and some need close monitoring and adjustments throughout the treatment. That is why adaptable care matters.

Later, my mom was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia too. Even light massage can flare her up. Years after that, I was diagnosed as well. Looking back, I am fairly sure chronic pain, fatigue, and nervous system “fun times” have been quietly making appearances in my family for a long time.

And just like pain and recovery are rarely linear, I did not take a straight path into Massage Therapy.

Before becoming an RMT, I worked in other jobs and had a few “choose your own adventure” moments along the way. One of those paths took me out West, where I worked as a heavy equipment operator for almost three years. I didn’t know it at the time, but that job would become one of the forks in the road that led me here. I lived in camps, hotels, and even out of my car — whatever made sense at the time. I moved around British Columbia, Alberta, and Saskatchewan, following work and doing what needed to be done.

Operating heavy equipment was hard on my body. Long hours. Repetitive positions. Vibration. Physical demands. Weather. Camp life. Working through the night, running on energy drinks, cigarettes, and the countdown to days off. Not exactly a wellness retreat.

I also saw what that kind of work did to other people’s bodies. People who had been doing it much longer than me were living with pain, stiffness, fatigue, and discomfort that they often just pushed through because it pays the bills.

I understood that mindset because I was living it too.

At one point, I enrolled in Massage Therapy school in Saskatchewan. But life got complicated, and I had to leave a domestic violence relationship because there was a safety risk to both the people I would be treating and myself. So I left and moved back to Thunder Bay in late 2013.

Eventually, I had to decide what adventure came next. It was either stay in Thunder Bay and go into mechanics, specifically heavy equipment, or move to Barrie and go to Massage Therapy school. I knew neither would be amazing for my body, but I would enjoy doing either.

I got accepted into school in Barrie, packed up, and drove 18 hours in January 2015 through a blizzard, going about 60–80 km/h most of the way.

Not dramatic at all. Just casually starting a new life in a blizzard.

But I made it.

And I have not left Barrie since.

At first, my plan was to become licensed as an RMT and go back up to camps and mines up North, so I could work with heavy equipment operators and other people doing physically demanding jobs. That was the goal. I knew that world. I knew how hard those jobs were on the body, and I wanted to help the people who were powering through pain because they felt like they had no other option.

But after three years of school, my goals changed.

I also had to be honest with myself about some of my experiences in male-dominated work environments, as well as the safety concerns connected to the domestic violence relationship I had left.

There were parts I genuinely loved. I loved the humour, the “man drama,” and the father-figure type men who respected me, knew I worked my ass off, looked out for me, and treated me like one of their own daughters.

But I had also lived through enough to know that respect is not always a given.

As a woman coming from that environment and entering Massage Therapy, I was aware of the misconceptions that still exist around this profession. I knew there was a real possibility of being dismissed, not taken seriously, or having my work sexualized by people who did not understand or respect what regulated healthcare actually is.

I wanted my work to be respected. I wanted to feel safe. And I wanted to build a practice where patients felt safe too.

A quick note on boundaries

And for the record, RMTs have heard all the jokes.

Every “happy ending” comment. Every “rub and tug” reference. Every awkward comment.

We have heard it, and we are not impressed.

I can appreciate humour, but sexualizing Massage Therapy is not it. Do better.

My treatment room is a professional healthcare space. I bring humour, compassion, and clear boundaries. If someone cannot respect those boundaries, the treatment ends.

Full stop.

So my path shifted.

And honestly, I am glad it did.

Over the years, I have learned so much from education, clinical experience, and continuing education. But I have also learned a lot from lived experience, and from the people who have trusted me with their stories in the treatment room.

Pain is rarely just one thing.

It is not always as simple as “this muscle hurts” or “that joint is the problem.” Pain can be influenced by stress, sleep, hormones, work demands, past injuries, mental health, trauma, medical conditions, life responsibilities, and whether you have had time to properly fuel yourself that day.

I know this professionally. I also know it personally.

Now, as a perimenopausal adult in my 40s, I live with chronic pain and a long list of diagnoses that explain a lot of things I used to think were personal failures. ADHD. Major Depressive Disorder. Generalized Anxiety. cPTSD related to domestic abuse. Fibromyalgia. Osteoarthritis. Mast Cell Activation Syndrome, and more.

I also deal with chronic fatigue, spontaneous itching, brain fog, and the daily management of symptoms that can be annoying, unpredictable, and sometimes completely ridiculous.

I live with chronic pain every day.

I manage it every day.

And I also have to respect my limits every day.

That part has been a huge lesson for me as an RMT. I love my work, but I also need boundaries that protect my body and my capacity. That means being thoughtful about my schedule, my workload, my energy, and the kind of care I can safely provide.

It has also made me a better Massage Therapist.

Not because I think someone has to suffer to understand pain. They do not.

But my lived experience has made me more curious, more patient, and more aware of how often people with chronic pain are dismissed, minimized, or made to feel like they are too complicated.

I know what it feels like to sit in appointments and try to explain symptoms that do not fit neatly into a box.

I know what it feels like to look “fine” while internally doing complex math about how much energy, pain, and brain power I have left for the day.

I know what it feels like to be functional, but not fine.

That perspective shapes how I practice.

I listen. I ask questions. I pay attention to what people say, and also what they do not say. I care about consent, comfort, communication, and safety. I want patients to feel like they are part of the treatment, not just placed on a table and expected to tolerate whatever happens next.

My practice is grounded in assessment, trauma-informed care, and real-life context.

Because our bodies are not separate from the lives we live.

Pain and symptoms can be influenced by work, stress, sleep, hormones, trauma, disability, caregiving, mental health, and everything else that makes us human — without reducing someone’s experience to one simple cause.

So, this is the longer version of how I got here.

A kid who had no idea what she was doing, but knew she wanted to help.

An athletic teenager learning to manage hypermobility and pain.

A heavy equipment operator trying to make it through until days off.

A mature student starting over for the third time.

A person learning how much survival mode can affect the body.

An RMT who lives with chronic pain and still believes safe, thoughtful, patient-centred care matters.

And this is also the beginning of a bigger conversation.

Because in another post, I want to talk more about how I manage chronic pain while working as a Massage Therapist — the practical stuff, the boundaries, the pacing, the tools, and the reality of caring for others while also caring for yourself.

Because that part matters too.

What would you like to read about next? I’m planning future posts about pain, movement, exercise, recovery, and Massage Therapy. Is there a topic or question you would like me to explore?