When a Tube of Toothpaste Became a Lesson in Touch, Presence, and Becoming
(The Origin Story of The Toothpaste Squeeze)
If you've ever wondered where The Toothpaste Squeeze came from—and why a simple metaphor can help your child feel calmer, safer, and more connected—this is that story.
Stepping Into a Life I Hadn't Yet Met
I was in my mid-twenties when I moved to Japan on a working holiday visa. My husband and I arrived in the hot, humid month of August, trading the quiet life, forest trails, and ocean-air walks of Vancouver Island for a tiny apartment on the 15th floor of a 30-story building in the city of Nagoya.
It was disorienting and electrifying all at once. Outside, the cicadas chattered in a nearby park through summer nights. Inside, the tatami mats released their soft straw scent, and the rolled-out futon offered a completely different sleeping experience. The streets pulsed with bright lights and movement, yet something deeply rooted in the culture invited stillness.
Gradually, in that unfamiliar space, a surprising thought echoed in me:
I began to feel that so much of me had not yet become.
Living in a foreign country loosened the edges of who I thought I was. I was no longer in a place where people knew my history, my roles, or my familiar ways of being. I had space in the unknown to discover more of myself and expand. I didn't fully realize it then, but this unfolding—this quiet opening—would later become part of the foundation for the work I now teach parents about touch, nervous system care, and attunement.
Learning to Live Inside Ritual, Rhythm, and Respect
It wasn't long before I fell in love with the intentionality woven into everyday Japanese life: the harmony that comes from simple, meaningful rituals between people. The bow and the sayings when customers enter and leave a shop or restaurant. Sitting down to eat instead of eating on the go. The grace of a meditative tea pour. The reverence for each season. The cleansing and reset offered by water.
I began studying Ikebana, the art of flower arranging—where a single stem, placed with awareness, can express an entire season. I learned Shodō, Japanese calligraphy—where the white space around the black ink is as meaningful as the stroke itself. My already-existing love of poetry and nature soon expanded into combining nature photography with writing haiku.
These experiences softened something in me. I noticed how a shopkeeper would pause before handing me my change, making eye contact and bowing slightly—transforming a transaction into a moment of mutual respect. Interaction, touch, space, and timing began to feel like a language. Without knowing it, I was learning what I would one day teach to parents:
Attunement lives not in what we do to another person, but in how we presence ourselves with them.
Entering the World of Zen Shiatsu
It was during my five years in Nagoya that I met my Zen Shiatsu teacher, Mishima-sensei—a friendly and unassuming, quietly observant man who trained under Shizuto Masunaga, the father of Zen Shiatsu.
My first encounter with him was as a client. I had no words for what I experienced, but I knew my body felt more organized and more inside itself after each session.
When I began asking questions, he eventually invited me into his private classes, never more than four students. Mine included two elderly women and a student nurse. We practiced on futons placed on tatami floors, learning by listening and sensing with our hands rather than focusing on theory.
Because Mishima-sensei's English was limited, he used visual metaphors to teach me. He would demonstrate a technique, pause, and then choose an image or object to express the quality of touch he wanted me to learn.
One afternoon, while trying to teach me a movement, he brought out something unexpected: an almost-empty tube of toothpaste. The afternoon light streamed through the window as he held it up with big eyes and a smile, then squeezed from the very end, slowly and intentionally, gathering every bit of toothpaste from the bottom toward the opening. His hands moved with the same gentle pressure I'd felt during sessions—firm but never forceful, continuous but unhurried.
"Like this," he said.
We all laughed!
It landed instantly.
The metaphor clearly demonstrated the how, the why, and the feeling all at once through something familiar.
That is where the seed of what would one day become The Toothpaste Squeeze was planted—though I had no idea at the time.
“Mishima-sensei do Mishima shiatsu. Christina-san do Christina shiatsu.”
One afternoon in class, as I tried to copy Mishima-sensei's technique exactly, I felt his eyes on me. He paused and said gently:
"Mishima-sensei do Mishima shiatsu.
Christina-san do Christina shiatsu."
Something in me was released.
I exhaled.
I understood.
I let go of the idea that I needed to be something other than myself.
He wasn't teaching us to replicate his way. He was teaching us how to listen with our hands and our hearts and to develop our own way.
He explained—through gestures more than words—that therapeutic touch is like a choreography co-created by the giver and the receiver. It's not an act of fixing, but an act of presence, primarily shaped by intuition, breath, and attunement.
In that moment, I learned something that now forms the heart of my work with parents:
Healing happens when we bring relationship to touch, not technique alone.
And when touch becomes relational, it becomes a profoundly human experience of connection, co-regulation, recalibration, and inner alignment.
The Power of “Seasonal” Attunement
One of the most important things I learned during my years in Japan was not a single method, but a way of being: a way of noticing the real-time moment in motion, opening to wonder, and welcoming insights to come through.
This felt like something far beyond technique. It felt like a fountain of ancient nervous system wisdom—an awareness expressed through practice that honours the full human experience.
Years later, when I began working with babies and children, I realized:
A child's inner world has seasons, too. It has expansion and contraction, stillness and storms, effort and rest, all working towards harmony.
And when parents attune to those inner seasons with gentle curiosity rather than control, connection becomes easier, and regulation can unfold more naturally.
What I was truly learning in my Zen Shiatsu classes was not solely about touch, but also about how to meet another human being with presence and reverence.
Honouring Lineage, Learning, and Cultural Gratitude
I want to name and honour the lineage from which this work originated:
Shizuto Masunaga, founder of Zen Shiatsu
Mishima-sensei, who passed it forward through practice, teaching, and embodiment
The cultural container of Japan, where slowness, gratitude, subtlety, and relational quality live inside everyday life
Inspired by Zen Shiatsu, The Toothpaste Squeeze can be considered a descendant insight—a respectful adaptation rooted in what I learned from my teacher and shaped through over two decades of working with babies, children, and families in Canada.
The time, space, and cultural container, led by my incredible senseis, gave me the freedom to be curious and to discover the me invited to exist within and beyond the teachings I encountered.
My gratitude is lifelong: "Arigato gozaimasu!"
The Beginning of a Bridge
I didn't yet know that I would one day specialize in infant nervous system regulation...
that I would help parents feel confident offering therapeutic touch...
that I would eventually create a simple method—one that could help children feel safe, grounded, and connected in a matter of minutes.
The discovery that emerged over time for me was this:
Certain kinds of touch provide both gentleness and powerful transformation.
Slowing down opens the door to attunement, nurturing and strengthening intuition.
When presence is sincere, it's palpable—and healing joyfully flows.
And yes, a single metaphor is now helping children and parents around the world!
If this story resonates with you, know that the same presence and attunement I discovered on those tatami floors is available to you in your relationship with your child. The Toothpaste Squeeze is an invitation to meet your little one where they are—season by season, breath by breath.
Want to Learn The Toothpaste Squeeze?
A simple, gentle practice rooted in therapeutic touch, designed to help children (and parents) regulate, connect, and feel at home in their bodies.