To The Touch

I've been describing some loneliness in my life, and the resolve I'm taking to try to address that. Only to realize that in many ways, I do have close to my capacity to begin with! There's room, but it's not exactly a vacuum here after all.

 Despite my disabilities, I am not exactly isolated, though it can feel that way. It's actually literally hard to isolate in my house, since I don't have my own dedicated space. I have an active online life that takes off some edges. And, while it's dicey to go out, I do in fact go out. Several times a week, often enough. 

When I do, I have to wear a thin layer of protection to separate myself from the outside world. I mask to avoid allergens and smells, I keep my hat and sunglasses at hand, I often need earplugs. Which I suppose underlies some of the loneliness. I'm both there in the world with you, but also not. Not exactly. And I will need to leave again soon. 

I want to be in the world, but it's also too intense and too risky. I imagine we all have to figure out this balance, though it's a more prominent AuDHD chronic illness struggle. 

How to meet your needs when they conflict? How to have the structure you need when you also need novelty and lack the executive function to be consistent? How to battle understimulation without tipping into overstimulation? How to adventure enough to feel "alive," while also avoiding an inescapable hellish nightmare of unfamiliar and unaccommodating? How to make the connections you crave without it risking your physical and emotional well-being (or without it requiring a level of non-physical masking that is ultimately counterproductive?)

How to touch and be touched by the world. Safely.

It is... a challenge. Often in the most basic ways with the most basic needs. 

“Touch is the most basic and fundamental of human experiences. Before we can suckle, before we can even see, we are enveloped by the welcoming arms of our mother. As we nestle into her body, feel the steadiness of her heartbeat, breathe her smell, we embed ourselves with her as our beacon. 

― Susie Orbach, Bodies

I have one of those "complicated" relationships with touch, being both sensory seeking and sensory avoiding. And interpersonal contact is no exception to this. 

Even before allergic-to-the-world emerged onto the scene, I have always had a slew of sensory sensitivities that add some ripples to the whole venture of physical contact.

Funnily enough, one of my sensory sensitivities evolved into an actual allergic response! I've never really loved the feeling of skin-sweat-skin that happens if bare skin meets bare skin for long enough. But now, that sweat causes hives and rashes! Even still, it can be nice until that breaking point. It's - as promised - complicated. 

Incidentally this is why I am the most immodest person ever to insist on clothing the second she must hold still. Nude and in motion? No problem. I can avoid the sweat building up due to the constant motion. I'll walk naked down a dormitory hallway with my sole towel on my head and possibly down the street, but don't ask me to sit down in a way where my legs touch or I have to deal with my arm against my ribs... People who sleep naked are wild to me! Like OMG surely something of yours touches something else in this scenario?!? (Incidentally having a broken shoulder and being unable to lift my arm caused some serious armpit distress)

Holding hands is also a thing. Like it's really nice... until I'm about scream and want to rip my own (sweaty, rashy) hand off. Which is especially awkward when it's my slightly nervous child holding my hand in a busy space or the like. Especially because my skirt is always falling dangerously low and needs a hike semi-regularly, which gets awkward when I'm holding a phone and a hand. 

But also: the degree to which fingers are enervated, the ticklish receptivity of the palm, and the vulnerability as fingers venture towards the wrist. The pressure of a tight squeeze during moments of pain. The sense of belonging that comes from clasping hands. The endless stream of information you can garner from how a person moves their digits, from the millions of textures. The warmth or coolness. It can both ground and elevate. There are whole worlds in there when given space to explore. 

Still, sometimes sweaty! And sometimes a bit limiting! And occasionally awkward when actually walking. 

And, well, linking arms is right there! Given I can't walk in a straight line to save my life, it's actually a good way for my companion to stabilize my course and avoid me constantly bumping into them or a stray parking meter (yep, been there done that). I'll never forget being a small kid tucked against my dad's side, arms locked together. And I still enjoy that connection. 

At any rate, the sweat factor is usually mitigated in day-to-day affection, because we - as a society - like clothing. But the scent factor and allergen factor is often quite high

  It's a deeply personal thing to comment on another person's scent. As somebody who is actually quite scent-driven, a good smelling person (which to me means natural scent, not perfume or cologne) is every foundation of attraction and connection. To tell somebody they smell good is a profound statement of both those things.

Conversely, even politely suggest that somebody's perfume is noticeable in a negative way smacks of rejection. So, while I will request that people try to avoid products before coming into my house, most don't entirely nail it (there are exceptions and I'm grateful for those), and it's rare that I'll comment on that once it happens.

 It's virtually impossible to limit these things absent a full lifestyle commitment to avoiding them. It's a lifetime of being consigned to boring odorless products in dull white containers. Shampoo without suds. detergent that sometimes clumps. Things that smell like the things they are (which isn't always wonderful). And deodorant that requires a pretty regular reapplication to keep up (if you must -  honestly don't mind body odor personally, but others do so I try to play along). 

Anything short of that will leave a residue despite one's best efforts; and this require a series of risk evaluative trade-offs. One need against another: Yes, I can still hug, but from the side. I can't put my face into your hair or against your cheek. I will try only to touch your clothing with my clothing. I will try to wash off as quickly as i polite. And I accept that each coming together comes with an expectation of increased itchiness and rashes for a few days after, so I limit and plan accordingly.

A mask and a little distance do wonders. But it's an immediate limit to physical intimacy. 

It takes a little something extra to cuddle comfortably to begin with; and then I'm virtually impossible to get still. I'm not sure I ever really do that "holding still thing". 

At times, I have in fact crawled into somebody's lap. But I might start rocking back and forth or squirming until I get thrown off like a misbehaving cat. 

The high kinetic baseline can absolutely if it's a stimmy kind of cuddle with fingers on palms or warm squeezes or just a generally fidgety partner who likes moving around a lot too, but then there's the risk that this person might do their own stim that triggers my own sensory sensitivity and then... oh to be me! 

Speaking of the cat... well... She gets the cuddles in the family and the family gets their cuddles with her. Also, I'm allergic to her. So I don't do that (to her chagrin). And I'm mildly allergic to family hugs. We survive! But the touch equation inside the home is fairly lacking, beyond when the gremlin passes out on my belly like a puppy dog. (hence why I need a pug to snug on my own, but that is its own series of calculations!)

At the same time as all that, I actually have a pretty intense crave for high pressure physical contact. I really like being hugged. I like being cuddle-crushed like free form carbon en route to diamondhood. I like feeling that sway when you're sharing a balance point with somebody else. All else being safe, I'll smoosh my face into yours before we've been properly introduced (ask any dance partner, ever). Deep tissue massages that make me cry just level me out like nothing else. And I get lost in idle thoughts of embraces semi regularly through the day. 

Obviously, isn't some just weird autism thing. Hugs and other forms of non-sexual physical soothing have reams of research behind them for their intense physiological benefits. Humans typically like touch. I might like it in a more crushing persistent way (until I hate it cuz it's making me sweaty or I NEED to move! NOW!!!). But ultimately, hugs are known to ease pain, reduce cortisol, slow the heart rate, lower blood pressure, increase social confidence and risk taking, release oxytocin release serotonin, release endorphins. release dopamine, reduce anxiety, improve the immune system (which whoops, maybe I don't wanna do that with my histrionic system!)... you get the idea. 

“That’s what it feels like when you touch me. Like millions of tiny universes being born and then dying in the space between your finger and my skin.”

― Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You

So there's really never enough. But I find ways to fill in the gaps.

Dance kept me super chill until my body couldn't really handle the chronic pain and unfamiliar chemicals in people's personal care products (and the impossibility of starting the evening an hour or two after I am usually in bed).  I miss it. 

That level of physical intimacy was kind of a sweet spot, because it was constantly moving, and based on a spiritual level of physically shared focus. It was intimate without being emotionally complicated. It was contextually safe (well until I fell into a different kind of embrace off the floor with certain sweet smelling partners anyways..).

 It was a veritable smorgasbord of different pressures and embraces. With music! It was definitely sweaty, but there was enough movement that felt ok. Or maybe I was just blissed out enough I didn't notice. I did once walk off a dance floor to realize I'd been bleeding for what looked like a while from what seemed to be an errant stiletto I had barely noticed. 

Years after that, regular massage appointments really grounded as well. Unlike my very sensitive wild-haired child, I also loved having my hair done. Somebody tugging at my scalp and shampooing my hair is like heaven! But again, full of chemicals. 

In my cloistered life, I take comfort in the fact that I have a vivid imagination/memory. And this should not be discounted. I've generally been able to conjure contact since I was young. Only rarely does a person outpace the imagination, though it has happened and that's when you have got to just start grabbing memories with all your might. But because I'm old enough to have shared contact with thousands of people, and deeply meaningful contact with a gentle few, I have catalogues of perfectly distinct squishes and squeezes that can be mixed and matched when I need a little boost or comfort. It's not remotely enough, but it's enough to hit baseline survival. 

There's just enough research to show I'm not weird to get something significant out of this. When people imagine hugging a loved one, it seems to reduce pain, increase confidence, and ease anxiety. 

“I remember that feeling of skin. It's

strange to remember touch more than thought. But my fingers

still tingle with it.”

― Lucy Christopher

 

When friend or family is not available, I often hug myself quite tight or wedge myself in between some pillows and cushions with a little extra kick from the mental catalog. I've found gentle squeezes leaning against walls. 

Physical props absolutely do a trick even separated from any imagination. For a decent while, I pretty much had a cheap shiatsu machine on 24/7. It made farting noises. I broke three of them in about six months. 

That time my massage therapist tried cupping...

And of course, I hug my friends and family, when the occasion arises, as much as feels safe. 

It all takes the edge off, but I am not sure I've ever reached my ceiling due to all risks involved, and my general cloistering introversion.

 And, weirdly, you actually can feel "touched out" by a child but also need a big hug from somebody slightly more grounded than you. Somebody there to hold you instead of being held by you.

Also, I don't understand - and it kind of bothers me, not going to lie - but I feel more of the positive effects when I hug a man over a woman and... yeah no it's not related to how otherwise physically attractive they are (well, not necessarily - being huggable is independently attractive and smelling nice is nice on all fronts). And no it's not every guy, but it's definitely a certain subset of non-creepy guys. 

 So yeah, sidenote discovery: my tediously cis-heteronormative body is super sexist! I swear, one of these days I'm going to realize I'm a lesbian and I've been gaslighting myself that aggressively all these days, but I've tried, girls, I've tried. 

The Hug, Saúl Gil Corona

 Oh yeah, I also crave feeling super small in somebody's arms. Semi-comical because I am not small. I am rather large. So it has a bit of the effect of a tiger origamaing itself into an amazon box. 

I dunno. I'm claustrophic a lot of the time, but in certain cases, I crave to press myself into a teeny tiny little ball and just be crushed into somebody's broad-chested pectoral core. To be as fully constrained and covered by affection and safety as humanly possible.

 I can only assume this was some kind of brainwashing they jammed into my Disney princess phase, but it seems so awfully specific and visceral. Especially since I'm more of a Baudelaire's Geante, Amazonian vibe in reality, and I can dig that aesthetically and conceptually. 

Maybe it's more about feeling the vulnerability that comes with being smaller and weaker and still feeling safe? Especially, I think, in a world that isn't particularly safe for me ever, and thus requires an exhausting quantity of hypervigilance and self-advocacy... And in a world where I've been expected to "adult" by assuming full executive function and responsibility for a tiny human and otherwise "figure out how to meet my own needs" on top of that when I can barely function on my own... Giving that up and just feeling small and cared for is healing. 

Magritte's The Giantess

I'm not a strong independent woman. I'm a flipping needy ass mess in a big girl trench coat!

Well, back to therapy or decolonizing my heteromonocisnormativesoemthinorotherveryverywhitesomethingpatriarchal thoughts workshops or whatever. But can we have product free group hugs?

 No not really. Cuddle piles always made me massively overstimulated. Because of course. Crushed into another person's heart, yes. Into a gelatinous mush of flesh... noooooo! The energy is going all over the place!!!

I like my hugs sequential and individual. Hypoallergenic and lingering always a plus!

“Most people didn't realise there was a world of difference between being touched and touching.”

― Jennifer L. Armentrout, Fall of Ruin and Wrath

Anyways, therapy is all good, but you never realize how healing it can feel to be touched by people who are trained to touch people. I suppose because that is the absolute one-way-energy transfer. But also, there's this mix of strength, clear boundaries and knowledge that mixes with a context of safety that is comforting. I would subscribe to a professional cuddling service in a pinch if insurance gave a lil cover! But honestly, it doesn't have to be that targeted: 

 In reality, Premera is paying Eric-the-PT to help me move my arm without pain again, of course. But it's a very physical process. There is zero way that I will ever make my goals without being virtually entwined against his body and giving him complete control of an entire side of my body for an hour a week.

** No. This isn't a cougar kinda thing. I'm not really attracted to this person to whom I could absolutely have given birth (wow I'm old, but the bigger horror is imagining that poor man being raised by a fifteen year old me and...the horror!). Part of what's so healing and nice is that there is no attraction. That it is touch devoid of the complexities of all those things and the insecurities and confusions that go with them. 

“Touch is a conveyor belt of energy. It has a binding nature and can be as deep and impactful in simple, noninvasive physical interactions as it is in sexual interactions.”

― Donna Goddard, Dance: A Spiritual Affair

I've found Physical Therapy to be one of the safer services for lower fragrance and chemical concentrations. I bring my own oil if they use it, but otherwise, they rarely wear scent of their own from my experience, due to the clinical environment. And I do wear a mask anyways. 

It's both very natural and also striking to have safe non-erotic touch without concerns about allergies. And to have the focus be entirely on me in a way that is never possible with a more mutual relationship.

Yes, a lot of the work is also extremely painful - oh my god, I've cried. But, hey, I did say I like deep tissue and this is just like hyperdeep tissue? Literally breaking up scar tissue massage actually? And - more to the point - it's safe. It's entirely based on reading my body with a scutch of experience at reading exactly where the noise-pain and the serious-pain meet. And trusting somebody else with level of  "relax your arm while I yank it to a point of tears"... kind of maybe even a little spiritual

This isn't to say two-way hugs aren't the best. They are. Amazing. But they are subject to a million vicissitudes, expectations, and moods of the day. A million ways to fly to the sun. But also a million ways to burn off your wing-wax and plummet to the ocean.

There's a structure with professional-client relationships that is freedom in the limitations - not totally unlike dancing providing a safe container for physical intimacy. They are (1) distinctly defined, (2) with an aim in mind, (3) focused on one person using the skills and experience of the other, (4) naturally terminating in a set period. 

Which is interesting in its own right. I'm not sure what the term is for the emotional connection that you can develop within a helping relationship. Maybe just fondness and gratitude? Contextual intimacy?

Which goes way beyond the physical! The physical itself typically goes beyond the physical pretty damned quickly in every relationship. 

 I've rarely been a successful test case for therapy - looking back I explained that I would likely mask with them long before I understood what that even meant, and none of them ever caught it. Also, one time I made my therapist cry and that was just ... awkward!

 But I know many people have an extreme level of trust and connection to their therapist. That the goal of a therapeutic relationship is genuine sense of trust and vulnerability mixed with fondness. The relationship is key to healing. 

And I get that in other professional contexts that center around some form of vulnerability. To allow somebody to touch you, even in the most contractually safe ways, you must create a "relationship" that creates the container for any ongoing shared intimacy. Whether that's the barest contract and a series of clear protocols or a rich and elaborately built bond is really contextual to the duration and ongoing vulnerability of the intimacy. 

For me, I like Eric-the-PT. He's nice. We have fun conversations. It's not tight, but it's pleasant. And it's enough that my likelihood to request him as PT again involves at least somewhat the pleasantness of working with him. 

I've had other PTs who press on my autonomy or who simply don't jive with me. I have no idea if they were technically any good, because I couldn't work with them. Because it matters that I feel at ease, when I'm in such a vulnerable spot). It matters that I look forward to sessions. It matters that I want to make Eric just a little happy when I make progress by doing my exercises through the week. 

There's an exchange of authority in ongoing professional- client relationships that requires its own kind of mutual buy-in; an emotional connection facilitates this. 

It is exactly the same kind of dance we engage in with emotional and physical intimacy in our relationships with others. Every relationship is a risk. Every relationship has moments where the instinct is to contract and pull away. And the healing ones are the ones where you feel the faith to relax into the safe-pain, knowing from past experience that it will feel ok in the end; even if it doesn't exactly feel it in the moment. Every relationship depends on a certain level of communication and trust, because every relationship can do damage without it. And fondness lubricates those elements along the spectrum of attachment. Attachment forms the safe base. There is still a contract, but you simply become experts for each other, and it is about both of you using the expertise of both of you.  

And to touch another person - whether it is physically or emotionally, there needs to be a sense of safety. Whether that's about physical safety or emotional safety. Whether it's about allergies or deep commitment or just the promise that they will hug you today but also tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that....

In an unsafe world, finding moments of vulnerability is life sustaining. It is also, well, complicated. That need may need to be parceled out and dispersed amongst a hundred different sources. And it may be unrealistic to even expect to fully meet it. As best you can. In balance with limitations. 

But to all y'all out there: BIG HUGS!!! I feel you close. (And you smell great from my computer)