The Power of Touch

As both an adolescent and a teenager I hated when anyone touched me. My friends and family often teased me and purposely rubbed my back. I would flinch.

This past week I realized that my repulsion may have actually been fear. Fear of the intense power of touch. I had built up strong walls, metaphorically akin to brick walls, and I had to keep them up, so people would think I was a strong, happy, independent person. I believed that was how I was supposed to live. But inside those walls I was a house made of straw that could have easily been blown down. And I made sure that wouldn’t happen. How?

I kept most everyone at arm’s length, literally. I didn’t realize the extent to which I was avoiding letting people from getting too close.

The past few years have changed my perspective on hugging, and touch in general, immensely. There is nothing that makes me feel more connected or loved than a giant bear hug or an understanding squeeze on my shoulder.

Luckily my girls are both great huggers!

Unfortunately there is a downside to my newfound love of affection when I am in a not so good place mentally. Tears. Ugly tears. Uncontrollable tears streaming down my face. This poses a new problem, especially when out in public, at school or in other situations.

I hope if you are one of my loved ones that won’t keep you from coming over and giving me a hug when you see me, just know that making me cry in this way is actually welcome. Why? I’m not sure, but I know I don’t want to give them up.  I must be making up for lost time!