Chiva-Som International Health Resort, Hua Hin, Thailand.

I COULD FEEL THE HOT, WET TEARS STARTING TO WELL behind my eyes, and willed them not to fall. After all, what the heck did I have to cry about? I was on a mat getting a Thai massage—in Thailand. Life was good. Three days earlier, I’d checked in to Chiva-Som International Health Resort, where I was introduced to a small army of practitioners, including massage therapists, skin-care specialists, a naturopath, and an acupuncturist, all working to help me feel my best by the end of my five-night stay. How was it that in this moment, fully relaxed with the smell of orchids and jasmine wafting in the air around me, I had to harness all of my energy to keep from weeping?

The small, strong Thai man working on my tight muscles was on to me. Even though I’d been on my stomach for the first part of my treatment, he knew something was up. When I turned over, and he placed my ankle on his shoulder to help me release the tension in my hamstring, it happened. I read his nametag—Mana—and thought how similar it was to the ultimate caretaker’s name, Mama. Then, he looked into my watery eyes and, just like my own mother would have done, whispered, “It’s OK. You can cry.” So I did. As I sobbed, Mana continued to excavate the untended wounds of my broken relationship, which I’d been storing deep within.

When he was finished, I held my hands in prayer at my heart and bowed my head, as is the custom when saying hello, goodbye, and thank you in Thailand. It’s a beautiful tradition—one that reminded me of the ritual in yoga, in which you offer the same gesture as you say Namaste: “The light within me honors the light within you.”