Touch
7A-46
I don’t remember being held as a child. I do remember being told to go play with my “teddy bear”; a lot. My memories of my mother are varied and both happy and sad, but I don’t remember her hugging me close to her body and feeling loved by her touch. My father hugged me on his knee when he read to me at about age four. That is a happy memory of being touched warmly by him. But, only out a little ways on his knee...not close and tenderly. I remember being bounced up and down on his knee...”trot, trot to Boston to buy a penny cake...” I vaguely remember asking to be picked up and reaching for hugs (which I wanted very much), but being told that I was too big to be held like a baby anymore.
By the time I was eight years old, I worked to avoid being touched by anyone. I bathed myself, dressed myself, shook hands when I was instructed to, and climbed high fences and equipment without assistance. I was rarely touched, except to be spanked or hit. I did not trust anyone to touch me. Deep inside, though, I desperately desired to be stroked affectionately, hugged warmly, and caressed gently.
When I was a teenager, I dated a few times. A couple of the girls would allow me to kiss and fondle them, but they did not reciprocate. It was a direct, sexual touch without tenderness or affection. I did not like to be touched.
When Kate and I made love, she would sometimes try to stroke me and hug me. I usually became quickly stiff in my lower back and my skin felt tight and uncomfortable. I felt suffocated and out of control. I almost always became irritable with her touching me for more than a few seconds.
At the point I’m at now in my recovery, I love to be touched by people I trust. I am hungry for physical affection and feeling valued by someone enough for them to want to hug or stroke me. I like to have my scalp rubbed, my face caressed, my neck and shoulders rubbed. I want to be massaged all over. I feel like I need this warm, human connection. But, I don’t really know how to go about fulfilling this need.