02/09/2026
Continuing the Journey on the Long Road to Healing
There’s a part of this road no one advertises.
Not the beginning. Not the victories. The middle—the long, grinding middle—where the work stops being romantic and starts demanding a toll.
Fortitude isn’t loud. It doesn’t show up with speeches or milestones. It shows up early in the morning, when the hands are stiff, the joints negotiate terms, and you ask the only question that matters: Can I still do this well? Can I still do it honestly?
So far, the answer has been yes.
That didn’t come from luck or denial. It came from making peace with the craft. Somewhere along the way, I stopped confusing endurance with virtue. Burnout isn’t a rite of passage—it’s a failure of boundaries. And boundaries, I learned, are as essential as anatomy.
This work is a war of attrition. Time always wins something. At 57, the hands know more than they ever did, but they also remember everything. Strength now isn’t force—it’s economy. Precision. Knowing when not to push. Listening to my own body with the same respect I give the people on my table.
What stayed with me most over the years wasn’t the number of clients—it was the number of colleagues who vanished.
Some burned out. Some broke down. Some simply walked away. First the classroom, then the clinic, then the profession altogether. Many of them were good—damn good. But they were never taught how to last. They were trained to give, to fix, to endure—never to protect themselves.
That reality shaped how I teach.
Safety and self-care come first. Before technique. Before outcomes. Before ego. I don’t teach heroes. I teach sustainability. How to go home intact. How to build a career instead of becoming a cautionary tale.
Teaching became my way of staying in the fight without becoming another casualty. Not because I have all the answers, but because I’ve lived enough of the wrong ones to recognize the signs. If I can be a light on the path—scarred, weathered, still standing—then maybe fewer people have to learn the hard way.
My resolve has been tested. By institutions that value numbers over people. By systems that quietly punish integrity. By the slow erosion that comes from caring in a profession that rarely cares back.
But the work still matters.
I’ve seen pain loosen its grip. I’ve seen bodies remembered instead of abandoned. Those moments never stopped being real, and they never stopped being worth it.
So here I am.
Older. Still willing. Still learning.
The hands have the skill.
The heart remains.
The knowledge keeps growing.
As long as that holds, I’ll keep my hands on the table. I’ll keep teaching others to help others. Not because it’s noble. Not because it’s easy. But because it’s honest.
This road doesn’t end.
You just learn how to walk it better.
Sincerely,
Edward Lucas
LMT NMT ma36222 #50-15025