I'm A Female Massage Therapist, And I Refuse To Work With Men Anymore. Here's Why.

The author in her treatment space with a client.

I’ve been practicing massage therapy for almost 30 years. 

I’m aware, likely more than most, how important touch is.

Social affective touch: the kind massage therapists offer ― the kind we get from a friendly hug or a compassionate hand on our shoulder ― has been shown to reduce feelings of social isolation. 

In our increasingly disconnected world, this kind of touch is becoming even more essential. I’ve witnessed the way a person’s painfully contracted body drops into a state of ease as I work, creating a pathway for their mind to find a state of peace and well-being. I watch the way breathing changes as the nervous system downshifts. The tissue of the body softens and subtly expands. The muscles in a face release tension and the furrow between a brow softens. 

For me, massage therapy offers a way to not only soothe my clients, but to soothe myself. In my early 20s ― introverted, highly sensitive and flailing in a sea of grief due to the sudden and monumental loss of my mother ― I was desperate to find something that helped me deal. Massage sessions provided a refuge. 

Beyond the support a talk therapist could provide, massage offered safety and comfort for my body, for the places inside that were holding onto a world with my mom in it. Skilled bodywork professionals help clients build interoceptive skills: the ability to notice and tolerate internal body cues and sensations. Dr. Cynthia Price of the University of Washington, whom I have trained with, has found through her research that better interoceptive skills lead to a stronger sense of agency over one’s well-being and better regulation of emotions.

Men especially need this work. But since last year, if you are a man asking to schedule an appointment with me, the answer is no. 

Let me be clear: I have had wonderful male clients. A handful have been grandfathered into my practice, because I know and trust them, and am assured that they understand and appreciate what I offer them. 

And what I don’t. 

The widespread lack of understanding about the therapeutic value of touch, as well as the fact that many businesses providing sexual services use the word “massage” to skirt the law, causes some men to conflate massage therapy with sex work. 

I regret the many times I tempered my reaction to jokes about whether I provide “happy endings.” Sex workers also provide a service, and I respect that and them. It’s just not what I do. This kind of joking and thinking, as well our society’s culture of sexual repression and aggression, puts professionals in every touching field, including doctors, nurses, physical therapists and personal trainers in danger. And of course, sex workers themselves are even more likely to be assaulted or otherwise experience dangerous situations in their work. 

The author in her office. 

When I worked at a spa, a man once told me he was having digestive problems and asked me to include abdominal massage in his treatment. Although he was appropriately draped below the hips, and I never touched his genitals, he ejaculated under the sheets before I realized what was happening. He did not seem embarrassed, and he didn’t say a word. This wasn’t an involuntary physical reaction; he had asked for the abdominal massage because this was his goal. 

I was horrified and shocked. I didn’t finish the session; I just walked out silently, went home, took a shower and crawled into bed where I stayed for the rest of the day. I struggled to understand why I felt so manipulated and taken advantage of since he hadn’t actually touched me. As I navigated my complex feelings, I realized that he had put me in a situation where I was participating in his sexual experience without my consent or even my knowledge. It didn’t matter that he didn’t touch me, and I only touched him appropriately; he used me for a nonconsensual sex act. 

I am not alone. Our online peer and professional groups are filled with stories of frustration and trauma from dealing with men who communicate and act inappropriately every single day. Every female massage therapist (and many male as well) I’ve ever talked to has had some ― more often, many ― experiences like mine. Many of us leave the field because of this issue. 

After that incident, I no longer felt comfortable working on male clients in the spa environment, where I could not screen them myself. In private practice, I thought I could use various screening tools as well as my intuition to identify a man looking for sex acts. But over the years, I struggled every time a new male client inquired about my work. 

I Googled them. I evaluated the words they used, their tone, what time and type of massage they asked for, their primary complaint or reasons for seeking care. But there was no way to truly know. 

I tried creating boundaries, like not taking same-day appointments and asking for a reference. I required a detailed intake form for all new clients that I would review before allowing them to schedule with me. I stated clearly that sexual requests, innuendo or jokes would be grounds for immediate dismissal. I made sure I was never alone in my office space when I first met them, and that they knew this.

But my boundaries fluctuated depending on my own feelings of security. Was it a lean week and was I concerned about income? Then I might be more likely to say yes, despite any potential concerns. And even if they were fine, the stress and anxiety I brought into my treatment space competed with any therapeutic benefit I could offer that client. 

I found myself annoyed just receiving an inquiry from a man. Almost always, my requests for references would go unanswered, which also annoyed me. I was frustrated that they didn’t care to understand why a female massage therapist would have these concerns. 

The author with another of her clients.

For 10 years, as I built my practice, I voiced all this to my therapist, who assisted me in setting these boundaries. But as I continued to express fear, she suggested that I simply say no to men across the board and orient my practice toward women.

I resisted. Could I really do that? It bothered me that this wasn’t fair to all of the men who knew how to behave appropriately. The men who understood what was OK and what wasn’t. I also feared the financial implications of eliminating half of my potential clientele. 

But as much as I resisted it, just the idea of creating a woman-only practice made me feel practically giddy. After all, what did I owe the Vietnam veteran who asked me to come to his secluded hunting cabin for sessions? (No way!) The man who didn’t want to be draped over his genitals? (Ew, and it’s legally required!) The man who asked to go out the back door so no one would see him leaving my office? (WTF?!) 

I know how badly men need this kind of therapy, which increases empathy for self and others. And I know how badly the world needs men to have this kind of therapy. But it was exhausting and unpleasant for me to work with them.

Now, I don’t have to deal with wondering if I am safe in my own office space. I don’t have to expend so much extra energy trying to figure out if a man’s trauma, misogyny or sex addiction is going to show up during a session. I don’t have to educate men about why I have to be more cautious with them than with new clients who are women. I can just say no to all of it. 

Recently, a new client responded on my intake form to, “How did you hear about me?” 

 “A friend. But, I really responded to how your practice is geared toward women. It makes me feel safe and supported.” 

Since making this change, I feel safe as well. I also have a stronger sense of self now, and more to offer to my clients. I am sure there are men I will turn away who would have been wonderful clients, and that is sad. But saying no to men in my practice was what I needed to heal.

This article originally appeared on HuffPost in November 2025.