Embraceable you
The other day the strangest thing happened. It wasn’t strange at all actually. But it was maybe better described as remarkable because of the times we are living in. Touch is now forbidden. Not that I’m not used to receiving touch with regularity as it is. A collegial handshake, is about it. I’m on my expat odyssey alone and so naturally, or unnaturally, I’ve become accustomed to rationing my affection until I get home.
The last time I received a hug I could feel was from my parents as they wished me safe journey back to Saudi in January. It’s now May and I don’t know when I’m going to see them again. Although, my parents aren’t big affection people they know that out of our family of five, I’m the one who needs a hug first thing in the morning and last thing in the evening like clockwork since I was born. I became more discerning when at the age of six (or there about) my brothers in giving me my required hug would resort to crushing my ribs as they picked me up off the ground in their vice like grip - screaming “BEAR HUG!”. I squealed first with delight at leaving the ground and then with terror as I realized air was in short supply. Oh well. These are the types of hugs older brothers give.
I’ve been away from my family for years now. Since college days and I have come to understand that I have to ration my need for a “hug fix” until I get home. The best morning hugs are with my mom. We get up at about the same time. Early. I have my good morning conversation with mother by bending down to wrap my arms around her back, always resting my head on her tiny shoulders that smell like the pink Dove soap and traces of fabric softener. Sometimes I give a sweaty after gym hug to my dad as he bustles out of the house to work. He never minds how I look or smell (ha!) and gives me a grabbed up hug that culminates in a couple of thumps on the back the way working men do.
But this thing happened. And it wasn’t time to receive my rationed embrace. Little Ryan, three years old, caught me off guard and terrified me all at once. Ryan was playing loudly and boisterously (as is his custom) with my friends daughter. I wasn’t interacting with the children I couldn’t even see them. I wouldn’t dare. I’d rather lie down on a bed of deathly illness myself than infect a child.
The next moment, I heard Ryan shriek, not in a terrifying way, and heard his little steps clip, clip, clip, coming around the corner. He appeared and was heading straight for me. Naturally, I turned to the child. I couldn’t turn my back on him. He was bellowing loudly and pointing backward toward the location of the offense while advancing rapidly. I didn’t have time to turn away or warn him, I couldn’t get the words out. “Ryan! Ryan! Freeze! Don’t come any closer! COVID!” He wouldn’t have understood to stop anyway.
I was sort of stuck there grafted to the ground, watching Ryan barreling toward me. I could see he was blind with hurt feelings and injustice. Arms outstretched until he, colliding with my legs tried to speak his anguish - asking for comfort. A hug.
As soon as he hit my legs burying his head in my thigh, I woke. In normal times I would have reached down without hesitation and picked him up wrapping my arms around him trying to shush him and get him to explain. It’s so important (don’t you think think) to be heard when one is in a torrent of feelings. It feels so good to have someone indulge your emotions that are so powerful they have completely overcome you and all you can do is make noise like a bleating goat stuck in a fence.
I woke. I restrained myself. I didn’t pick him up. I said his name. “Ryan…” and rubbed his little hot back heaving with exasperation. He wouldn’t look up, he was dedicated to his fit and determined to get the pity he came for. I sighed. The sigh wasn’t for him. It was for me. I felt helpless. There was nothing to do. My friend appeared from around the corner. She looked sorry for me. But I wanted to explain. I’m clean. I’ve had no symptoms, I don’t come into contact with many others (indeed this one friend is the only person I see with any regularity). I wash my hands for at least 20 seconds… I am no threat… and if I am - I’m sorry.
Ryan was detached from my leg, unsatisfied and still explaining in his garbled language and ushered a safe distance from me to resume play.
I haven’t shaken the thought or the feeling of that little hug yet. One little hug from an overwrought child I couldn’t comfort. A first in five months.
According to Dacher Keltner, a professor of psychology at the University of California, Berkeley, a lack of physical touch can affect people in more ways than they might realize. “Touch is the fundamental language of connection,” says Keltner. “ Psychologist Sheldon Cohen and other researchers at Carnegie Mellon University cited hugging specifically as a form of touch that can strengthen the immune system.
Although there’s no exact substitute for human touch, if you’re struggling with this aspect of self-isolating in particular:
Take time to truly connect with those you know care for you. It will help release those necessary receptors in the brain that add to your well being.
Make sure you can lend support as well. Just taking the time to ask another person how they’re feeling - (really, sit and listen to their response with empathy) is a pretty effective way to build an emotional connection.
Are you struggling with social distancing? Maybe you have some great tips or words of encouragement to help others? Please leave your comments below.