Rachel Bourke is a licensed massage therapist (LMT) who has had her own experience with chronic, daily pain as well as flare ups of tension and discomfort that seemed to come from nowhere. She has also had several people close to her with undiagnosable ailments and been witness to the frustration and stress that accompanies unending pain. In her work Rachel focuses bodywork techniques that specifically addressed chronic and or seemingly unexplained pain and tension.
While studying modalities that work directly with the physical body like muscles, fascia, mobility concerns, Rachel has also developed skills working with emotions and attitudes and how they express in the body as well as how they operate in response to pain and traumas. Knowing that trauma comes in many forms and can express itself in as many ways, she believes that the way in which we are able to move through our world emotionally and mentally has a direct relationship with how we move physically. And that the path to healing considers all aspects of a person. Rachel combines techniques that she feels honor the whole person. It has been her experience that lasting relief comes through allowing clients to be heard and seen by assisting them to become participants in their own healing process rather than bystanders.
In her own journey, Rachel has found that noticeable change began in her physical body after she made the choice to see pain as a tool to be guided by rather an obstacle or opponent. It brings her great joy to help clients reconnect with their bodies and take ownership of their healing process.
Rachel is a graduate of Cumberland Institute. She has trained in acupressure, neuromuscular, craniosacral and swedish therapies as well as myofascial release techniques and is a student of Healing Touch©. She is also certified in Pre-natal massage.
Rachel’s Journey
While my path to massage therapy began with a desire to help women navigate the beautiful and sometimes painful experience of pregnancy, it took me places I had not known were possible.
During my pregnancy I endured frequent and intense pain in my hips and sacrum to the point that driving or riding in cars became nearly impossible as every weight shift sent a sharp twinge through my tailbone that brought me to tears. Even gentle activities like swimming or riding a bike caused pain beyond my capacity. It wasn’t until the final month of my pregnancy, when I received a prenatal massage, that I caught a glimpse of relief. After the birth of my son I began working regularly with a massage therapist and a physical therapist in an effort to regain stability and pain free movement in my pelvis. In these sessions I learned exercises, stretches and ways of being aware of my own body that I could use at home to further my progress. As I started to feel balance and ease of movement returning, I began to reflect on just how beneficial bodywork could have been had I began working with a therapist at the onset of the pain. That pain had controlled my life and my ability to connect with joy throughout my pregnancy. I decided I wanted to be a resource for other moms trying to manage the physical changes of pregnancy. I felt that by becoming a massage therapist I could assist others not only through soft tissue work, but also by educating moms on methods of self care to practice in daily life and helping them to find ways to connect with the beauty of the experience of pregnancy. Soon after, I enrolled in massage therapy school and took on additional classes in prenatal massage and bodywork as soon as they were available to me.
I did not realize it yet, but the world of bodywork had so much more in store for me. As I worked my way through the required curriculum for obtaining my license, my focus began to shift and broaden. I realized that there were facets of the world of bodywork that held even deeper, more personal meaning for me than the prenatal techniques.
I had been managing pain in my shoulder for almost a decade. Like so many others dealing with chronic discomfort, the pain didn’t seem related to any specific event or injury, nor could the source of it be found on x-rays or ultrasounds. Over time the discomfort was gradually reducing my range of motion and increasing the length of time it would take to fall asleep. Some days, the sensation in my shoulder felt concentrated and mildly annoying, like someone rapidly tapping a pencil when you’re trying to concentrate. Other days it seemed to spread up the neck and down the arm, yelling for attention rather than being background noise. I would poke, pull and press on every spot I could find searching for a relief. I leaned on doorframes, tried ice, and then heat, and then Icy Hot. I knew so many family members, friends and acquaintances with similar stories. I also knew many people whose lingering aches had connection to an old injury involved or to a diagnosis of inflammation, possible tears in the tissue, or bulging discs. But at the same time, lots of people have injuries and similar diagnosis without any pain at all. I had resolved myself to the idea that these things just happen. This was a part of life for some of us and others get lucky. This was my new normal.
It was later, while studying massage therapy, I began learning bodywork modalities that gave me hope for the possibility of a different experience. It started with theories and techniques I learned that were based in eastern traditions. A core idea that resonated greatly with me is that the mental and emotional state of a person and how they are able to interact with their world is deeply connected to, and can be reflected in the body. That pain is a part of life but rather than being an obstacle to overcome or something to begrudgingly accept, it is the body trying to communicate its needs, and therefore could be incredibly useful. Through opening lines of communication with and through the body and by listening and responding, a new norm could be possible. Up until this point I had seen this pain of mine as something with which I was engaged in a tug of war. There was a sense of disconnect with my own body; I would think, ‘why is my shoulder doing this to me?’. There was me and then there was my shoulder. Now I could see there was another option. I could choose to think, ‘what does my shoulder need?’. I could sit with my body and mind as a whole and think, “What is my body trying to express through this shoulder? What is it that I need?”
After shifting my mindset around my pain and its purpose it was easier for me to grasp the concept that how we engage in the world around us is reflected in our bodies. It matched what I was aware of in her own physical pain and its relationship to my life experiences not only in my shoulder, but also in my pain during pregnancy. I desired to have a deeper understanding of these philosophies. I wanted to know what was next? I recognized the connection between my mental and emotional experience of my world and how my body moved through or held on to pain. Now how could I use my new awareness of this connection to foster change in my body?
Holding this question in my mind as I continued through the curriculum helped me to recognize overlapping ideas within many of the techniques of bodywork as well as in the disciplines of psychology, neuroscience, and holistic nursing. Across modalities it seemed that sustainable change in the experience of the physical body is most often attained through listening to and sitting with what the body has to say. Whether it’s deep fascial work, neuromuscular therapy, the extremely gentle Healing Touch approach, acupressure, or Thai stretching, I found the same thread running through it all. With almost every lecture, class and workshop since: discomfort, tension and pain in the body are more than just that. They are pieces of information to be listened to and that when acknowledged by a person within the context of their whole experience, can lead a path to healing and change.