After my daily session with Khun Ken, a healer and massage therapist with the calmest energy and magic hands, I’d robotically shuffle back to my villa and journal my frustrations while sipping more tea. The sessions, an effort to try and unblock my heart chakra, consisted of targeted massages to help open the heart center and move stagnant energy. Yet, for the first couple of days, Khun Ken would gently announce at the end of our session that he was so sorry, but that no progress was made.
By day five, I’d had enough of the routine. I was intentionally late to my massage to shake things up, but the universe remained unbothered. How does one get annoyed by too many massages? By being a flighty Cancer crab, that’s how. I even faked my period to try and shorten a massage. Spoiler alert: It didn’t work; Ken opted for an even lengthier facial treatment and upper body massage to make up for it.
Communication with the outside world was allowed, but I felt the pull disconnect. It would help me give myself the attention I needed, I though. I didn’t get on my phone much, but I did text a close girlfriend trying to explain that I was going stir crazy with routine. My friend had zero sympathy from afar, especially after I explained that part of this grounding retreat on a white sand beach in Southern Thailand included a one-hour massage every day. I felt increasingly unhinged, looking for ways to break free from the routine—so much so, that I barely noticed the glow my skin had taken on, or the fact that I felt lighter—physically, but also emotionally.
Coincidentally my trip fell over Valentine’s Day, which hit me harder than I could have expected. Khun Ken was off, and I was a wreck. I picked up the phone and texted my Italian ex, apologizing, with tears rolling down my face, for having been so wishy washy. Watching couples at the resort be lovey-dovey while I ate cauliflower “pizza” for dinner, accompanied by the property’s soundtrack of cheesy 90s love songs, wasn’t exactly my idea of a celebration. But the next day, I had new material to bring to my sessions. “Do you ever get angry?” I asked Khun Ken. “Sometimes I hug a tree to let it all out,” he replied, so earnestly that I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or find a tree to hug myself.
Though I was guided to follow my diet regiment, Iwas able to break free one night for dinner at Seasons, the fine-dining restaurant on property with an all-vegan menu. I was overly excited. Out came an artfully plated har gao—which, here, meant steamed dumplings infused with spirulina and local tofu, and served with sea grapes and coconut cider vinegar dip. The eight-course meal was seductive, and I enjoyed every bite. Somehow, the next day’s routine felt a little less restrictive.
On my final day, I sat on the beach, watching the waves roll in. My heart was lighter, my thoughts quieter. Despite the food plans and massages, the real cleanse wasn’t the one detoxing my body—it was, instead, shedding enough of my thick skin to realize that I was, in fact, the problem. If I didn’t start caring for myself, my cold heart would remain just that. I wasn’t cured, but I was closer than I’d ever been.
