"The Bad Oil"
Edited from Sydney Morning Herald - "Spectrum" May 28-29. 2005. Satu Raommi

Sooner than you could say 'patchouli', I was filling in application forms, claiming to have a lifelong interest in complementary therapies, helping other people and doing something 'fulfilling'.
Three years later I am staring at an expensive massage couch that is gathering dust in the darkest corner of my flat, my wrists are aching and the smell of essential oils in my kitchen cupboard make me sick.

Studying complementary therapies seems to be an increasingly popular career choice for those who have been made redundant, are fed up with their jobs or have an urge to 'find themselves'. My fellow students consisted of office managers, marketing executives and secretaries, all women in their late 20s and early 30s. None of us knew much about complementary therapies but were unfulfilled in our current jobs and looking for a change.

Massage seemed to be the first thing that came to our minds. After all, receiving a massage was so nice that surely giving it would be just as pleasant. My idea of working as a massage therapist consisted of floating around candle-lit rooms looking serene and peaceful, while being rewarded by people who praised me for my good work.

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Studying was great fun and we all thought our new careers would take off fantastically and we'd make a nice living. We bought massage couches and essential oils and designed our own business cards. There was a lot of serious study too, in anatomy, physiology, massage oils and client care.

What school didn't tell us, however, was that it is extremely difficult to make a decent living as a therapist (most of whom are self-employed) and of those who manage to do it, many end up with permanent injuries or simply burn out after just a couple of years. It was exciting to get my massage-therapist certificate and to work on my first clients. I really felt I was making a difference in people's lives.

A year into my new career, however, I noticed my bank balance was getting worryingly low and the hundreds of clients I had been anticipating simply didn't appear. I was also beginning to understand that, instead of floating around in beautifully scented surroundings, massage was physically hard work and, with plenty of demanding, arrogant and rude clients, emotionally just as draining.

After two years, I have realised that giving a massage is a very special skill not all of us were born with. I am fed up with all those panpipe CDs, I am spending a fortune on an osteopath to treat my painful back, and the pain in my wrists probably means I have repetitive strain injury (RSI).

I went into this field of complementary therapies without really considering whether I was the kind of person who would be happy rubbing oil on other people's hairy backs for a living. I guess I am just not that caring and giving after all.

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