Welcome to my profile. My name is Carlos, and I’m the creator of Masajes Ananda. I’m also a coach, massage therapist, content creator, and above all, a human being just like anyone else on this planet.
I know how important a professional résumé can be, but to truly understand what I do, why I do it, for what purpose, and for whom, it feels far more meaningful to share part of my personal story — because it’s right there where the essence of my work was born. And I’ll do it as openly and honestly as I can, knowing that while what I’m about to share may resonate with many, it’s not the ultimate truth about everything — it’s simply my own experience.
Like many others, my story is a journey filled with experiences as difficult as they were transformative, leading me to a reconciliation with myself. And it doesn’t begin the day I chose to dedicate myself to massage therapy, nor the day I earned my first certification — it starts much earlier, in my childhood, which for me is perhaps the most important stage in any human being’s life.
It’s precisely in those early years where meaning and shape are given to who and what we are — or rather, to what we’re told we’re supposed to be and become.
For the most part, I had what many would consider a happy, fulfilling, beautiful childhood — with its ups and downs, of course. I grew up in a big family. On both my mother’s and father’s side, for as long as I can remember, I was made to feel safe, loved, supported, validated, recognized, guided, and accompanied.
They cared for and protected me, while also giving me the space, respect, and autonomy to express myself, to grow, and to be who I was. They taught me to see my potential, to believe in myself and my ability to achieve whatever I set out to do, to overcome and transcend my fears, to recognize my limitations and work through them. They taught me to value every effort, no matter how big or small. And most importantly, they taught me the importance of taking care of myself and being self-reliant, while also caring for and appreciating those I love — and people in general. They taught me to respect others, including myself, to nurture and value my relationships, to express my opinions and feelings, and to share, to give, and to receive.
Values like responsibility, commitment, respect, and loyalty were instilled in me from a very young age. Along with gratitude, trust, empathy, solidarity, self-care, healthy boundaries, and love.
I should say that I didn’t experience abandonment, the loss of loved ones, sexual abuse, physical violence, or humiliation. I wasn’t in accidents or faced with serious illness, nor did I have to give up my childhood to work, take care of, or provide for others. My deepest respect and a sincere embrace to those who have gone through such experiences.
But not everything was perfect. Things began to change for me the very moment I became aware that there was something about me that wasn’t considered “normal.” Or rather, I was made to realize it. Something that was labeled as “wrong” by those around me — openly criticized, judged, rejected, and condemned — something that, in their eyes, threatened the safety, support, and balance I had known up to that point.
From a very young age, even before I had any idea what homosexuality was, there were gestures and behaviors of mine that seemed to bother the adults around me. And that’s when the warnings began:
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Don’t sigh like that.”
“Don’t laugh like that.”
“Don’t put your hands there.”
“Don’t make those hand gestures.”
“Don’t lift your pinky like that.”
“Boys don’t do that — that’s for girls.”
Those were the first reprimands I ever received.
Yes — I’m homosexual. I know I’m not the first, not the only, and won’t be the last. But back then, I had no idea what it meant to be gay. All I knew was that certain things I did were “not okay,” that they were “not what a boy should do.” And I can still remember the fear I felt.
Living for years cared for and surrounded by love, while fear, guilt, and shame quietly grew inside me, was like existing somewhere between heaven and hell.
Growing up in a protective (but not overprotective) environment that was also deeply homophobic is incredibly hard. The dissonance of realizing that the very people who love you will later become the ones who reject you is devastating.
It’s like discovering that the hand that caresses you today will be the one that strikes you tomorrow. That the same hand that sheltered you, cared for you, and protected you, will one day take everything away from you for not being exactly what they expected you to be.
Maybe my experience, like that of many others who’ve faced something similar, was the result of the kind of upbringing those before us received — shaped by their own mental models of what was considered “normal” or “acceptable.” Most likely, they did the best they could with the understanding and knowledge they had at the time. And acknowledging that, accepting it, brings a certain relief. It helps in forgiving and in healing.
But it’s undeniable that an experience like this leaves a deep wound of rejection — among other consequences.
Rejection received… and self-rejection internalized.
I learned that a part of my very nature was bad, defective, an aberration. I learned that being homosexual meant being a bad person, a disgrace to the family. That it was a sure sentence to die of a sexually transmitted disease — as people believed in those days. That I would never succeed in life, and that the only thing I truly deserved was to be rejected, despised, humiliated, and ridiculed for being someone of no value to society. That no one would ever love me. And if someone ever did, it would only be as long as I fulfilled their expectations.
And so I learned to fear a part of myself — to see my orientation as something I needed to hide, deny, and reject if I wanted to survive and be loved. The education I received taught me to doubt myself, to question my worth as a human being. And in time, that wound led me to seek from others the approval and love that part of me never received, and that, as a result, I couldn’t find within myself.
That’s how a silent battle began inside me — against a part of myself I never asked to have, and which, over the years, I would come to understand I was never meant to fight.
Looking for a fresh start, I emigrated believing that if I left everyone and everything behind, I would be free of it all. What I didn’t realize was that no matter how far I left my life and my past behind to start over, those old lessons had already taken root within me — and they would continue shaping my experiences for many more years.
The circumstances at that time pushed me to a critical point: I found myself in a precarious situation — an undocumented immigrant, with no money, no support, no family, and almost living on the streets. Relying only on myself, my body, and my skills, I chose to turn to sex work — the world’s oldest profession — believing it would be a quick way to earn what I needed to survive.
But over time, this decision left me with an even deeper sense of emptiness and dissatisfaction, along with profound emotional scars. I felt like an object — used and disconnected from myself, a means to fulfill others’ needs. I also sought refuge in habits, relationships, and behaviors that gave me the illusion of validation and affection, but which, in the end, only increased my emptiness and pulled me further away from what I truly needed: self-love.
There were moments when all I wanted was to end it all. And I even tried.
Fortunately, I failed at that too.
That inner discomfort became the driving force that pushed me to seek change within myself.
I began to look inside, to explore my past, to dig into my wounds, my untold stories, my insecurities, and the destructive patterns I had been repeating — and to recognize how I had ended up at that point. I dared to question my beliefs and expectations, asking myself what I truly needed to feel good about who I was.
At first, I did this on my own, self-taught. And years later, I was guided by three professionals who supported me through that process.
It was a difficult, but necessary, journey — one in which I learned to recognize my true worth, regardless of other people’s opinions. Instead of constantly seeking validation through others, I began to give myself the love and acceptance I’d been craving, and to share that with others in a healthy and balanced way.
That was when I decided to transform not just my profession, but also the intention behind it. I stopped being someone who merely fulfilled desires or impulses in exchange for validation, and instead focused on something deeper: helping others heal their relationship with themselves.
I made it my mission to accompany my clients on a journey of self-discovery and reconnection with their own identity, without judgment or demands. My work became a safe space to explore essential issues like self-image, self-esteem, insecurities, and the pressures, expectations, and limiting beliefs that we all carry. I chose to use my own experience to help other men recognize and heal the wounds I myself had once carried.
I began to accept and value everything I am — discovering that the peace and wholeness I longed for could only come from within.
Today, through massage and the practice of conscious, authentic connection with oneself, I accompany others on their own path toward self-worth — so they can stop being who they think the world expects them to be and start moving toward who they truly are, with all the love and respect they deserve.
A massage where body and mind are understood as one.
For me, it’s not just about touching someone’s body; it’s about offering a space to reconnect with oneself, to embrace every part of who we are without labels, without masks, without the need to prove anything to anyone — and to allow ourselves to experience well-being from the most authentic place within us.
Each session is an opportunity for my clients to feel welcomed in their own bodies and to release, even if only for a moment, the weight of expectations and judgment. A pause to listen to themselves, without rush or demands.
Today, I see my story as proof that even the most difficult experiences can be transformed into valuable lessons. My intention is not to heal anyone or to guide them through a therapeutic process.
What I offer is an experience that invites awareness—encouraging attention to that inner dialogue and, if they wish, to ask themselves which aspects of their life or relationship with themselves might need change or a more compassionate perspective.
It’s not an immediate or easy path, and everyone has their own pace and way of walking it. I simply accompany, drawing from my own experience and with absolute respect for the personal processes of those who choose to share that moment with me.
Today, I feel stronger, more at peace, and freer. I don’t consider myself an example or a role model; I’m simply someone who has learned to accept their story and find well-being from a more genuine place. If my experience can inspire other men to stop feeling bad about who they are, then sharing it will have been worth it.
My work is focused on creating a space where men can feel safe to explore their authenticity, question the social pressures and stigmas that shape us, and begin to reconcile with their own image and body from a place of respect and freedom.
I know my own journey is not over.
I continue learning, growing, and sharing, grateful for every person who trusts me to accompany them, even if only for a small part of their path.
If you feel that a space like this could benefit you, I’m here.