Touch
Recently, in a locked post (that will remain locked), I observed that we live in a touch-stingy society, and how when I've been alone for long periods of time, I get touch hungry. I wasn't talking about missing sex (though I'd be lying if I said I didn't). I was talking about missing physical contact with other human beings. I am naturally demonstrative, relish a good hug, and will occasionally casually touch friends in conversation. I sit with my cats next to me or on my lap as often as I can--or at least as often as they'll allow it. It is both a source of comfort and joy to me. We are made for contact, as those horrible monkey love experiments conducted in the 1950s demonstrated so effectively, and as therapists, doctors and clinicians know to this day. Touch produces oxytocin, which can lift moods, inspire affection and feelings of safety, and reduce a sense of isolation.
But our society has sexualized touch almost to the exclusion of everything but mother love. In 2013, the Good Men Project published what I thought was an excellent piece about how touch deprivation has affected American men and American society in general. Historically, men have always had intimate, intense relationships with each other, many of which weren't homosexual. (As a side note, if you haven't seen this article and its gallery of men friends from the early 20th century, you should check it out. It is completely delightful.)
Thankfully, women have mostly been spared the strictures against touch that society has imposed on men, but it's because of how we are perceived as a sex by men as well as the fact that the allowance of mother love seems to easily translate into the acceptance of other forms of touch in our lives. We also, historically and to this very day, have relied very strongly on the community and fellowship of women; our touch has never really been stigmatized. It's certainly been a mainstay of my life. Women kind of get a pass on the touch thing.
Which is a goodness as far as I'm concerned. Being naturally demonstrative, I reach out. Sometimes I don't even think about it with friends I've known a long time. I find that I receive casual touch in return. I try to be sensitive about the fact that not everyone is as comfortable with touch as I am, nor do some people want it. And that's OK. Being aware not to touch can be as much of a gift as touch can be, depending upon the recipient. I suspect (though have no proof) that respect can inspire the release of oxytocin in the right situations.
I noticed this all particularly when I was in the hospital. Almost no one touched me at all, except clinically and not very often. It was almost like clinical touch was worse than no touch at all. By the end of my stay, I wanted to hug everyone, partly for the support I had received and partly because I was so touch hungry that it almost hurt.
I dislike how American society has turned touch into such a categorized thing. I think we all suffer for it.
As for me, I rely on hugs between me and my friends and cuddles with my cats. I am glad for it all. I'm glad for more when the relationship is deeper. Touch makes me feel better and tends to affect not only my mood but my self image and how I interact with others. I wish touch was less stigmatized in our society. I would certainly be better for it. I think we all would.
But our society has sexualized touch almost to the exclusion of everything but mother love. In 2013, the Good Men Project published what I thought was an excellent piece about how touch deprivation has affected American men and American society in general. Historically, men have always had intimate, intense relationships with each other, many of which weren't homosexual. (As a side note, if you haven't seen this article and its gallery of men friends from the early 20th century, you should check it out. It is completely delightful.)
Thankfully, women have mostly been spared the strictures against touch that society has imposed on men, but it's because of how we are perceived as a sex by men as well as the fact that the allowance of mother love seems to easily translate into the acceptance of other forms of touch in our lives. We also, historically and to this very day, have relied very strongly on the community and fellowship of women; our touch has never really been stigmatized. It's certainly been a mainstay of my life. Women kind of get a pass on the touch thing.
Which is a goodness as far as I'm concerned. Being naturally demonstrative, I reach out. Sometimes I don't even think about it with friends I've known a long time. I find that I receive casual touch in return. I try to be sensitive about the fact that not everyone is as comfortable with touch as I am, nor do some people want it. And that's OK. Being aware not to touch can be as much of a gift as touch can be, depending upon the recipient. I suspect (though have no proof) that respect can inspire the release of oxytocin in the right situations.
I noticed this all particularly when I was in the hospital. Almost no one touched me at all, except clinically and not very often. It was almost like clinical touch was worse than no touch at all. By the end of my stay, I wanted to hug everyone, partly for the support I had received and partly because I was so touch hungry that it almost hurt.
I dislike how American society has turned touch into such a categorized thing. I think we all suffer for it.
As for me, I rely on hugs between me and my friends and cuddles with my cats. I am glad for it all. I'm glad for more when the relationship is deeper. Touch makes me feel better and tends to affect not only my mood but my self image and how I interact with others. I wish touch was less stigmatized in our society. I would certainly be better for it. I think we all would.