Hug Me?
Let me just get this cleared up - I *do* like hugs. Some time ago, I think I said that I do not like hugs. Or that they make me uncomfortable. I did not explain properly, but now all these people run around thinking I hate hugs, which is wrong, Wrong, WRONG. I just hate hugs from my mother.
My mother used to spank me, then send me to my room, then call me back downstairs, where I had to say what I'd done wrong, that I was sorry, and what I'd do (or not do) differently in the future. Then she'd hug me. Sometimes I should NOT have been sent to my room. Sometimes I was angry and didn't think I deserved to be punished. I was not "over it" and did not want to be hugging my mother. But I was not a stupid kid and wanted her to stop being angry at me. I hugged her because she wanted me to. Those hugs made her feel better, not me.
My mother, I assume, didn't feel she got enough hugs for herself. That's my only explanation for why she hugged me so tightly that she actually hurt my ribs, and for so long. Also, my mother has a lot of issues which I'm not sure how to explain, but suffice it to say she doesn't shower as often as she should, and you notice that when you hug her.
The summer night my father took me (age 10? 11?) to the police station to leave me there because he'd had enough of me, he ultimately brought me home, and when I was back in my bedroom, I somehow came to be standing on my bed while he stood in front of me. "Do you want a hug?" I nodded and leaned forward, hugging the man who'd almost dumped me in a parking lot in the middle of the night. Despite my fear and exhaustion, I was not stupid then either, and again, was hugging my parent for them, to make them feel better.
To make a long story shorter, I had a mother who hugged me too much and a father who didn't hug me enough. Combine that with being picked on every single day in school, culminating in a high school graduation party comprised of only family, no friends. Combine that with going away to college for one semester where I also somehow managed to have no friends.
I grew uncomfortable with being touched, simply because it was so infrequent. Sometimes during yoga naptime, the yogi will go around to each person and rearrange their body, put them in a more relaxed position. After they place your arm the right way, they then place your palm the right way, and press gently into the middle of the palm. I have to resist the urge to squeeze their fingers when they do that to me. In the midst of all the thoughts racing through my head, I get tears in my eyes, because even here, human touch is so infrequent.
Even though it's so much more frequent than the hug every other weekend I'd get from my grandpa when I lived in Florida. So yeah. I don't dislike hugs, I welcome them. And if I hold on a little too long, now you'll know why.
My mother used to spank me, then send me to my room, then call me back downstairs, where I had to say what I'd done wrong, that I was sorry, and what I'd do (or not do) differently in the future. Then she'd hug me. Sometimes I should NOT have been sent to my room. Sometimes I was angry and didn't think I deserved to be punished. I was not "over it" and did not want to be hugging my mother. But I was not a stupid kid and wanted her to stop being angry at me. I hugged her because she wanted me to. Those hugs made her feel better, not me.
My mother, I assume, didn't feel she got enough hugs for herself. That's my only explanation for why she hugged me so tightly that she actually hurt my ribs, and for so long. Also, my mother has a lot of issues which I'm not sure how to explain, but suffice it to say she doesn't shower as often as she should, and you notice that when you hug her.
The summer night my father took me (age 10? 11?) to the police station to leave me there because he'd had enough of me, he ultimately brought me home, and when I was back in my bedroom, I somehow came to be standing on my bed while he stood in front of me. "Do you want a hug?" I nodded and leaned forward, hugging the man who'd almost dumped me in a parking lot in the middle of the night. Despite my fear and exhaustion, I was not stupid then either, and again, was hugging my parent for them, to make them feel better.
To make a long story shorter, I had a mother who hugged me too much and a father who didn't hug me enough. Combine that with being picked on every single day in school, culminating in a high school graduation party comprised of only family, no friends. Combine that with going away to college for one semester where I also somehow managed to have no friends.
I grew uncomfortable with being touched, simply because it was so infrequent. Sometimes during yoga naptime, the yogi will go around to each person and rearrange their body, put them in a more relaxed position. After they place your arm the right way, they then place your palm the right way, and press gently into the middle of the palm. I have to resist the urge to squeeze their fingers when they do that to me. In the midst of all the thoughts racing through my head, I get tears in my eyes, because even here, human touch is so infrequent.
Even though it's so much more frequent than the hug every other weekend I'd get from my grandpa when I lived in Florida. So yeah. I don't dislike hugs, I welcome them. And if I hold on a little too long, now you'll know why.
posted by Zoe @ 4:32 PM
2 Comments:
At 6/25/2007 7:26 PM,
Unemployed Nurse Jack said…
Consider yourself hugged.
W. used to call them 'huggles.' (combination of hug and snuggle) I miss those days.
At 6/29/2007 9:09 AM,
M.Amanda said…
My family wasn't big on physical affection or saying "I love you." It wasn't until I met my boyfriend when I was almost 17 years old that I realized I didn't dislike that stuff.
But I still feel uncomfortable touching other people - besides him - because I'm never sure that they won't think I'm weird for being some touchy sort of person.
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