Sometimes the best we can give is not something material or found in the form of words. Sometimes the best we can give is as simple as a touch.
Touch is not something I do well or very naturally. I do not like kissing anyone but a lover on the lips. I just can't do it. I do not like physical crowding. I will not hesitate to follow my instincts when it comes to comforting another or lending a hand when help is needed, but in most any other circumstance I simply am not a touchy person. I attract men that are not touchy either. Yet, together, we are quite comfortable touching.
There are times when being a "not so touchy" person can have its draw backs. There are other times when being with a "not so touchy" person is emotionally difficult.
Eight years ago I took a pregnancy test. Then I took another.
And then I called FWB.
"How accurate are these tests?"
I am sure he was thrilled that, at the time, he was not an FWB but just a very good friend. "They are fairly accurate."
And my life changed. I was okay. It was all going to be okay.
But I had to tell X. I did not want to tell X. I was scared to tell X.
It is when I told X that I found myself alone. It is the oddest feeling to be in a room with someone you love and who loves you and feel very alone.
And my life changed again. I learned how it feels to be loved and alone. It is a feeling that I experience every now and again. perhaps it is an aspect of two "not so touchy" people loving one another. I wanted and needed to be held - no words; no emotional outpourings; no promises. I needed to be held.
The impact of a human touch - a hug - can speak volumes in ways that words or other actions can not.
Earlier this year I had to have a few biopsies taken. it hurt. Although I have endured this in the past; although I knew that the diagnosis would most likely not be that bad if bad at all; although I am a rational person who was aware of what was happening - I wanted to be held. I didn't just want the company of a friend, my hand held (both of which I had and appreciated); I wanted to let go in the security of another. I wanted to feel the embrace that says - you are not alone; you are loved; we will do it together; and I will take care of you.
But that didn't happen.
I came home, prepared dinner for my daughter, requested her to understand that I didn't feel well (but I wasn't throwing up so... obviously, to her, I was fine) and curled up in my bed with a book. I tried to forget that I hurt and that, even with my daughter in the house and the love of friends and family, I felt alone.
As a "not so touchy" person, I tend to forget to appreciate the importance of human touch. Well, I would if my daughter wasn't always reminding me!
Touch is a means of communication and a need that many of us forget until the time comes when we find it is what we need and all we want - and we hope that it is simply given or that we have the means of asking.
When I need to be held and touched the most is exactly the time when I do not know how to request it or fulfill that need. How does one, in a moment of need, focus on forming the request? How does one voice that needing a way that can be understood as the high priority need that it is?