A Face Massage

"Facial massage decreases anxiety and can improve a negative mood."

-- Patti Kelly, 

"Benefits of a Facial Massage," Livestrong.com

"Facial massage is like coffee for the skin.
Everything comes to life."

-- Gucci Westman, 

"Swap Needles for Kneading," The Wall Street Journal

I have touch issues.

Particularly on my face.

The intensity with which I hate having my face touched borders on phobia.

Correction.

It doesn't border.

That would suggest that my face-touch aversion teeters on the brink of fear.

There is no teetering. 

Facial touch is smack in the middle of my darkest fear landscape.

The experts say fear of touch, or haphephobia, usually results from a fear of abuse or sexual assault.

I'm pretty sure I know the reasons behind my fear, but that's a whole other subject.

Suffice it to say, I hate it when anyone touches my face.

My anxiety spikes and I feel panicky, tense, breathless, out of control.

I've reacted with vehement negativity to even the touch of my husband and my children.

You know those sweet moments in movies when lovers caress one another's faces.

Um. Hell no.

Touch my face and I will recoil. Either that or I'll smack you.

When I was in theater school one of my acting teachers jauntily instructed us to partner up, sit cross-legged on the floor knees-to-knees, and take turns "exploring" one another's faces with our hands for a full five minutes at a time. 

My blood ran cold.

My breathing grew faster, shallower.

This was not happening.

No fucking way was this happening.

I wanted to bolt. Run. Leap from the fourth story window. Do anything to get out of that room with its walls closing in.

But I didn't.

I stayed.

I sat there.

I took it.

I white-knuckled it for five minutes while I let this kid named T.J. feel up my face with his fingers.

Somehow, I got through it.

I didn't like it, but I did it.

Other than T.J., the only other person I'll let touch my face for any length of time is my massage therapist, Maria. 

And Maria can massage my face for as long as she wants to. 

She rubs all around my eyes, and along my jawline, and across my sinuses. 

She even massages my ear lobes.

And I don't hate it.

I actually like it.

For me, touch is scary.

But with Maria, touch is safe. It's not terrifying. I don't hyperventilate. 

I've grown to look forward to the face part of my massage.

It's relaxing. It's calming. It's enjoyable. It's pleasurable.

I think it might even be good.