I go for a massage and wait for the bit towards the end where she cups my heavy head in her hands and lets it rest there awhile. Being held in this way; everything in someone else’s hands for a moment, makes me feel like a child again. No expectation or responsibility. A feeling so rare, in motherhood. She then turns my head – swiftly, assuredly – to one side and gently massages my throat and cheeks and scalp. The masseuse is in charge. My body is in safe hands. It is so luxurious to lie on a padded bed and receive such caring touch. To be healed from the strains of carrying young children. She will stretch my arm out to the side and shake it until it goes limp, reminding me to relax and let go; to submit. As a woman, I need that reminder.