I remember a time my senior year in high school when I hugged a boy. We were living in the dorms, and it was the first week of school. I was in my hugging prime, where I believed a good hug could change someones day. So when this boy said something to make me happy (I’m sure it was to the effect of liking the same music band I did; everything deserved a hug then), I leaped to wring my arms around him.
It took me a few seconds to realize he wasn’t hugging back, and I unwound myself to ask, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t hug,” he said with a tight smile.
As ridiculous as it sounds, I felt a weird sense of horror come over me. I had considered myself no only conscious of others, but very caring and thoughtful as well, yet I’d gone completely over this boy’s boundaries to exceed what I had wanted: a way to show my affection.
I repeatedly said I was sorry, and he told me not to worry, but I never forgot that feeling–one of shame and slight panic at myself. Something I enjoyed most had been somewhat tainted by my own doing. It took me a long time to get back to a state where I could hug normally again, but I still feel hesitant with some people, and actually suppress the urge. I remind myself that not everyone is like me and that they may not enjoy my hugs.
I don’t find this to be his fault. But I do wonder what exactly had caused him to not like the feel of touch, or the many people I encounter who can’t stand it. I actually take pride in my hugs, perhaps more now than I did then. I love the compliments I receive on how great they are, and I still believe that a good hug can change someones day.
Leo Buscaglia from Love: What Life is All About says, “We need not be afraid to touch, to feel, to show emotion. The easiest thing in the world to be is what you are, what you feel. The hardest thing to be is what other people want you to be, but that’s the scene we are living in.” I’ve always thought it was harder to be yourself, with the pressure of society telling you otherwise. But the few times I’ve tried this, such as with suppressing my hugs, I wasn’t happy. I hated to have to consistently keep myself in check, and finally came to a balance, or at least a choice. After all, though I hated not hugging everyone, it is keeping a respect on their part. However, there is nothing wrong with asking them, either. I do still give spontaneous hugs, but usually to my closer friends.
Be that as it may, I am afraid of anything more intimate than that. The few situations that had a more cuddling scene, as precious to me as they were, don’t have the same luster it once had. They’re much too branded with the marks of getting burned. I’m afraid to delve further.
I’ve noticed this year that I am not in the least bit inclined to show any feeling beyond happiness and small adoration (in the positive aspect). For me, showing affection that could lead to more has now become taboo. I know I have the choice to make it otherwise, but I’ve now the notion that I will not make another mistake. I will not be used, misunderstood, or, in any shape or form, wrong in my next intimate relationship.
And that’s sad. I will not find love in those terms. I will not thrive with rules that say, “This is what you can or cannot do.” I never have. And yet, I wrote them on a tablet in my mind. There’s some meter within my head that goes off when I’m too close to someone. I use my rationality to go the opposite direction, and we drift apart. Despite my perception of unconditional love, I don’t believe another has such. And I won’t take a chance to change it.
This is judgment on my part. I sometimes wonder what exactly I’m judging.
