I Need You

I am afraid of human touch - always have been. I have always shyed away from hugs and kisses, felt awkward when those friends who are far more open with their touch insisted on hugs. And while I say that I am afraid of touch, perhaps it is more accurate to say that I am utterly terrified of just how much I need it.

This point was driven home on Sunday, as I stood in church with an open invitation to come forward and receive the touch of a brother or sister, to receive prayer, and grace. I was completely frozen in that moment. As many others acknowledged that primal need, I stood wondering how I could need something so much. I had nothing that needed to be prayed for really, no burden I carried alone. I just needed a hug, a touch, a physical reminder that there are others in this with me.

And that scared me. I didn't know how to ask for something so simple and basic. I didn't know how to admit that within me is this inherent need and desire for the touch of another. I still don't. Part of this probably has to do with my associations with touch and desire - how they are, in my mind, so sexualized and dirty. I forget that they were not always this way, that there was a time when I did not associate a hug with just another way for a guy to feel me up, or a hand on my shoulder with the desire by a man to push the boundaries.

I have gone so far off course of what I wanted to say, though it is true that when I began writing this, I had no idea that these things would come up. I really wanted to write this to tell you how much I need you, and your touch, even though it terrifies me.

When I was engaged, the safest place in the world was wrapped up in Steven's arms. Even on those days that were so difficult that I questioned whether or not I could keep going, if Steven snuggled up next to me on the couch, or slid into bed beside me and held me, I knew it would be okay - if only for the next 10 minutes. And I miss that, though it is difficult for me to admit it.

It is difficult to admit, I think, because I know that I will not have that again. I have, for better or worse, richer or poorer, committed myself to a Man, a God, who lived on this earth over 2000 years ago. He cannot physically touch and hold me the way Steven did, and while this marriage is so beautiful and completely perfect, I have to admit I miss that physical aspect of the relationship. And just by saying that, I feel that I am somehow admitting unhappiness or unfulfillment, and I feel I have cheated on Him by the thought. But He is teaching me, slowly, that I was meant to need touch, meant to give it, meant to feel love by these things.

That's why He gave me you, of course. And I am beginning to learn this, beginning to accept the fact that we need each other more than we could possibly imagine.

I need you, friends. I need your love and your hugs and for you to hold me while I cry. So next time you see me, please hug me. I don't know how to tell you how much I need that, but I do.