Essays from The Shadows
Volume Two
Yesterday, a friend and I met with someone he knew really well, me not so much. I had met him a few times, in passing. When we arrived, he hugged my friend, long and hard. I watched and when it came to my turn, I stuck out my hand because I didn’t know him very well, because I didn’t want to hug him, because I don’t like being touched, and … because.
He just ignored my outstretched hand and hugged me. Not for long, but he still did it.
I called the police. Assault.
I didn’t. I should have.
I spent the first five minutes of that meeting not hearing very much because my brain was full of thoughts about why that wasn’t okay. What I would have liked to say but didn’t, what I should have shouted in his face but decided against, what I could have ranted non-stop for ten minutes but instead, I sat silent.
I can’t leave it alone. I do hug. Friends, family, my wife … if she insists. I have to know them, like them, love them and or feel safe with them. At least two of those things have to be true, or it becomes difficult.
I don’t mean that I hesitate or feel a little uncomfortable; I don’t want to do it. It can make me feel any number of things. It can make me feel nauseous, trapped, controlled, aroused, dead inside. I am sure that was not the intention. It is nothing you have done. You did hug me, so it is a little bit to do with you, but you wouldn’t be told, you thought you knew best.
For some reason, your need to hug me overrules my need not to be touched. I have never really understood that. It stands to reason that as it is my body, I get to decide, consent, allow, choose. Unfortunately, there appears to be a caveat, an exception to that rule. I have no idea why.
There was a time, not so long ago, when society insisted on introductions. Formal and stiff it may have been, but touch was a step along the way to intimacy. It was not assumed, it was negotiated with pauses and space. Somewhere between then and now, we have allowed standards to slump a tad.
I think my issue is that there is never a moment, a beat, where a request and consent transaction happens. Occasionally this is signalled with arms outstretched and you can choose whether to step into them or not. However, if you choose not to, it never goes unremarked.
The hug giver will make a scene, comment and be clearly affronted by your rejection and you will be mocked, ridiculed or in some cases made to feel very wrong for being so hurtful as to reject what was so obviously a friendly and generous offer.
Why does your need to hug take priority over my need to feel safe? Hugs are framed as kindness and refusal as rejection.
I do have a solution. I have never been brave enough to implement it, but it stays in my back pocket and one day, when I least expect it, it might just get used. I am happy to share it with you, just think twice before you use it.
“Well I don’t really like hugging or being touched and I should warn you, there is a distinct possibility of me getting a huge stiffy ::opens arms wide:: but hey if you are willing to risk it, let’s give it a go!”
I have the occasional problem that some people hear what I say and instantly dismiss it as not applying to them. ‘Yeah, but you don’t mean me.’ Why would you assume that?
What never gets discussed are things like the huggers’ assumed entitlement, I want to do this and there is no reason why I shouldn’t. Boundaries ignored and stepped over with no reasonable right of reply. Anything I say is brushed aside and often I am made to feel I am the one in the wrong. How does that happen? You just touched me without permission and I am the one who is made to feel I did something wrong.
If I reached out and grasped both your breasts or cupped your testicles in my hand, you would be shocked. Why is this any different? Oh, it is just a hug. To some people it is not ‘just’ anything. It is violation. It is touching without consent. It isn’t very nice. It isn’t kind.
I have a particular dislike of people who loudly, it is always loudly, profess ‘I’m a hugger, I can’t help myself, it’s just how I am’ … make an effort, reach for a bit of control, consider, if you will how it would feel if I entered a room and pronounced to all and sundry ‘I’m a kicker, I can’t help myself, it’s just how I am’ … tempting isn’t it?!
There is also the issue of the gulf between intent and reality. I imagine a hug is supposed to offer human comfort, a greeting, a goodbye. It is harmless and beguiling and just a hug.
It is entirely possible that there is no malice or desire to cause harm and I am sure most of them are innocent. The problem lies in the assumption they will be received in the same manner. For some of us, that is not possible.
It is fraught with difficulty. No way of predicting. The potential for rising panic. A distinct dislike of the genre and an inability to have any control over the outcome.
There are some people out there and I count myself amongst them who, after much consideration and real life experience, have come to the conclusion hugs are not for them.
Now how would you like us to convey that? Because I have tried many ways to get that message across. Standing silent and blinking while you keep trying. Saying a firm no. Offering my hand. Saying I don’t like hugs, not even yours. Glowering. Growling. Swearing. Leaving. Stepping behind people. Turning away.
Some of you are persistent. Some of you negotiate. Some of you cajole and plead. Some of you assure me.
I do not like hugs. I do not like being touched. Stop it.
And just so you know, I am not alone.