Physical touch does not come naturally to me, whether it is receiving touch, knowing how to touch those I care about, or recognizing my own physical sensations. Physical touch seems to be directed by my head instead of any innate feeling in my body. It takes focus and conscious effort to think about touching someone or think about how to respond appropriately when touched.
It is common for individuals impacted by abuse to become highly cognitive – living in their minds. My head would spin as I searched for the “rules” to know what looked normal when it came to physical touch. Should I hug my friend when I walk in the door? My aunt looks sad – should I touch her hand? What is expected of me if my friend’s husband leans in while I reach out my hand to shake? Do I have to kiss his cheek now? Do I lean in too? Towards the left? The right?
I was stuck in my head. My brain scrambled to determine what looked awkward, what was expected…and at what point would others realize just how f#@*ing crazy and weird I was!?!? If taken by surprise, I instinctively turned my body sideways to intercept a hug or turned my face away when about to be kissed. In the end, I’d attempt to disappear feeling stupid and utterly hopeless at navigating physical touch.
And I’m not even talking about sexual touch! Just plain old normal touch between friends, relatives, acquaintances…but yes, sexual too.
All I feel is clueless at forcing “good touch” to feel good!
Detaching From My Body Was A Brilliant Strategy for Surviving Trauma
I imagine when I was very young it felt natural to give and receive good touch. This detachment of our minds from our bodies is a form of trauma-related dissociation, not a flaw from birth or my natural personality. My body learned early that touch was unsafe and over time the invasive touch I experienced through abuse was generalized to find risk in all forms of touch.
Sexual abuse taught me this early in life. Sexual assault in college confirmed the risk and vulnerability of touch. Sexual harassment at the corporation where I worked further confirmed this felt-sense of peril in touch. Ten years of marriage to an abusive husband sealed in the negative belief that my body already held: physical touch is dangerous. He never held my hand. He never gave me a hug. His body was rigid, tight, and angry. It felt unsafe for my body to even be in the same room.
I primarily knew touch only as sexual, painful, and aggressive. Touch came with a dangerous agenda.
Isolation Causes Shame and Fear to Grow
My narcissistic ex-husband isolated me from potential new relationships and destroyed all my friendships. He only allowed me to visit my family if he was present to supervise. He worked at the same corporation as me, on the same floor, always keeping me close and under his control. For 10 years there was no opportunity to learn the healing power of a loving touch.
Isolation, whether forced upon us or self-inflicted, removes the opportunity to heal through the incredible power available through safe and loving physical touch. Isolation is a response to shame, but it separates us from safe people. Relationships that are trustworthy have the potential to disconfirm our false beliefs that we are unworthy and that all touch is dangerous.
Over time, my fear of “bad touch” generalized to all touch. Doctor appointments became fearful because they usually involve some sort of touch. Dentist appointments make my heart race because I am being touched in an invasive and painful way. Gynecology appointments are overwhelming and often leave me in depressive episodes.
I Could Not Force My Body to Receive What Was Good
It has been over 15 years since I was in a dangerous relationship. Although I still have fear around touch, more often it is a detachment or disconnection from my body that makes touch awkward and unnatural. The disconnect from my body’s sensations means I am unaware of what feels good to my body…safe…pleasurable. I crave love and hugs and good touch…yet when it is available, my body swiftly rejects it.
My life is pretty good now, but I continue to struggle against my once-brilliant strategies. The protective parts of me that learned to reject touch are still strong, even if I want my body to react differently now.
I want to be loved. I want a hug to feel good! I want to reach out for touch. I crave it.
I try to force myself to enjoy good touch, but this usually backfires and the parts of me that learned touch is bad, work harder – making me look and feel more awkward, weirder, and broken. Sometimes my attempts feel so humiliating that I again retreat to the safety of my home and vow to stop trying forever! Voices inside beg me to stop risking the pain of how stupid I feel and how rejection will kill me. “Just stop trying! Just stop trying!” is the script in my head.
Fear of Physical Touch is Hard on a Romantic Relationship
My husband frequently complains about the lack of touch I provide. I try to remember to touch his arm as I pass by, to give him a hug once in a while, to match his touches and kisses with similar responses, and to smack his butt in the kitchen playfully. These are all things I learned by watching him and others so that I know what to do. Cognitions. None happened instinctively because that would take a connection to my own body.
I love my husband. However, I did not know how to receive his love through touch. When we dated my body was constantly anxious. My muscles were tight. My breath was short. I was scared to death of losing him. When he hugged me, kissed me, touched me – my brain raced for how to best respond instead of feeling how good this could be. There was no natural body response. Rather, I would determine in my mind what seemed most appropriate. What sort of touch would make him happy right now? What should I do with my body to ensure he stays with me?
Every touch was more cognitive than body-oriented. Every touch had an agenda: to keep him happy with me.
I am not implying that I did not love him as much as he loved me. I wanted touch to come naturally. I wanted my body to respond in an instinctive way, the way his did. But staying with my racing thoughts – stuck in my head – this was the only thing I knew to do. I remained disconnected and dissociated from my physical sensations for many years into our marriage.
My Body is Learning to Love Touch Now
In time, therapy helped me experience the sensations in my body, finding safety inside myself. This needed to happen before I could find safety in the touch of others. It was an incredibly slow and often painful process of deep-level nervous system healing. It took several years of therapy to understand when my body felt it was in danger or what felt good in my body. I learned to get out of my head, shifting from my worries about what should feel right…to knowing what does feel right.
My body has learned to feel safe in my husband’s touch. Sometimes. I had no idea how amazing love and safety from touch could feel in my body! It does not happen always, but more and more. As I heal my nervous system…heal the trauma that is stuck in my body, I thrive in the moments when I can enjoy my husband’s touch, fully taking it in.
Loving touch was always available to me in this marriage, but my body is just now learning to trust and receive love without simply going through the motions. On days that we are fighting, I am quick to want nothing to do with him, guarding myself from touch again. But those random moments when I can receive a loving touch have awakened my nervous system. They make me crave more!
I lean into an embrace and absorb the love offered. I discern what feels pleasurable on my skin and what does not instead of having no clue what I enjoy. I no longer move through the actions of sex, I am an equal participant – giving love and requesting what will feel good for me.
But this happened so SLOWLY and it is not consistent. It also cannot be forced. I can soak it in one moment and the next moment my walls go up and I cannot receive anything good from touch. The vulnerability is too much and the protective parts are back at their posts, guarding what hurts.
Why I Had to First Learn My Body’s Sensations
Why did I have to feel grounded and connected to myself in order to feel good when someone else touched me? These may seem like entirely separate topics, but learning how to connect to the sensations in my body was necessary before my body could trust enough to receive love and connection from others.
We can only receive love through someone’s touch to the extent that we can feel safe and grounded in our own bodies. I had to pay attention and be responsive to how my body communicated with me BEFORE there was any opening to receive all that is good in physical touch from others.
My Friend’s Touch
I was in my friend’s car recently, confiding in her about some difficult memories I was working on in therapy. She was driving while I talked. I was flooded with emotion and could not control my high-pitched and squeaking voice. I felt embarrassed yet was determined to aggressively push the words out of my throat before that protective part of me shut down my voice through shame. I know my pattern and confiding in a friend has been rare in my life.
Once I forced out my words, I paused. She put her hand on my knee and kept it there for a minute as she talked to me.
I heard none of her words – as if my brain had to go offline in order for my body to stay present. My body wanted to melt into the safety of the touch of my friend. My mind and body may not always be in sync, but both have learned that our friendship is deep, trusting, and safe. Along with therapy, friendship has been a critical component in my healing.
This sort of touch was something I could never take in before – especially since it was given at a time when I was overcome with emotion – MESSY AS HELL – not a normal risk for me. My own mom would never have put her hand on my leg while I cried. She would leave the room rather than sit with me and my big emotions. My parents loved me the very best they could, but touch was not offered when I was messy with emotion.
It was one of those healing moments when my body awakened to knowing not all people who touch me want something sexual or intend to hurt. While I already knew this in my head – these sorts of moments allowed my body to know. It felt like her heart was shared with me through her hand. No agenda or hidden intentions. Just friendship, the deepest sort of intimacy.
My body will not be open to receiving touch every day. Probably the rest of my life I will be somewhat guarded. I am human. However, the awareness I have now, the connection to my body, gives me the control to choose. I can remain tight, guarded…or attune to what my body fears, soften my shoulders and belly, and find enough safety to receive love and kindness through good touch from trusted people who love and care.