When I went for a walk a week ago, I saw a mom holding her little boy and the leash of her dog. She was hugging her boy to her chest. As I glanced at them, I realized that I have not been touched – let alone been hugged – by a single person since March 14. A friend of mine who also lives alone came to that same realization days ago.
I am “not a hugger” normally, which can be a challenge in church. During seminary, I remember a woman at church exclaiming, “We need to hug single people at church, because it may be the only physical contact all week!” I was unsure at the time whether that was more about her desire to hug or her concern for those who don’t have a lot of opportunities for positive, connective physical touch in their lives. I hug my little nieces and nephew when I get the chance. And most of my friends actually are huggers, so, before all of this, I was getting that physical contact whether I thought I needed it or not.
I’ve read articles on early childhood development about how children who are not held and hugged by their parents suffer challenges in the years ahead. Now, I’m wondering a little bit about the effects of going for long periods of time without positive, connective, physical contact. I suppose that I, along with other single people, have become a current social experiment in the making.
I do not usually crave hugs, but I miss them now. My younger sister and I have a phrase – “forced love” – that we often use as a caption for the photos of her hugging me — and me not hugging back. I’ve shared a couple for your amusement, but there are many more. Yes, I would love to receive some “forced love” these days, but I am also realizing that I hope to give away some more hugs in the future. Writing this brings tears to my eyes, because the lack of physical touch has a devastating way of making me feel all alone. Perhaps you can relate?
Something that perhaps we have all had to learn during this stay-at-home order is that we have to learn to receive love in new ways. I have to realize that I am hugged each time someone picks up the phone when I call. I have to realize that I am hugged each time someone unexpectedly comes back into my life. I have to realize that I am hugged whenever I pray and the Holy Spirit gives me that shiver. And I have to realize that I am hugged whenever I receive something special in the mail from someone who cares about me. But… I have to work to convert some of that love in my mind and in my heart. And that is tough work.
I don’t know about you, but when I started this new way of living, I found some of my inability to receive love in the only ways available coming out in pretty unhealthy ways. I got upset too easily. I said some things I wish I could have taken back. I hurt someone I loved. I have found that it takes extra energy, strength and brain power to convert love (so to speak) into a way that I can truly receive it. It takes my head reminding me that others are trying to connect with my heart. And sometimes, even then, it falls short, and I am sad.
This isn’t going to be an I-am-now-a-hugger story. I don’t think I am going to be able to turn into one of those people who hugs everyone after this is all over. But… I do think I am going to try harder to share love through positive, connective physical touch when I recognize that someone else really needs love in that way. And, maybe even more importantly, I am going to do my best to appreciate someone’s gift of love in a hug or a handshake even when it isn’t how I would have thought I would have preferred to receive their love.
In missing physical touch, I am reminded and humbled at my own humanity — at how God has created us to connect through physical touch and intimacy. And there is comfort in being reminded that solitude doesn’t feel right, because it isn’t. And there is comfort in knowing that we are all missing each other, perhaps in ways that surprise us. And there is comfort in knowing that there was a before all of this, and there will be an after. And there is comfort in remembering that God gave us the sense of touch. And so, it only makes sense (no pun intended there) that when one is limited to touching only objects, we feel, we sense that we are missing out, because we are. And I have to wonder, what will it one day be like to get to heaven and truly touch God? How much more are we missing that we cannot even fathom.
JULIE RAFFETY serves as the pastor at First Presbyterian Church in Franklin, New Jersey. Julie is a violinist, aspiring writer, snowboarder, runner, identical twin and crazy about popcorn.
