We met on alternating Saturday mornings. To help newcomers feel comfortable, two or three of us stood in front of the building and welcomed them. Don hugged every man that came his way. I'm a hugger, but once in a while it didn't feel right for me to embrace someone I didn't know.
"Don't touch me!" one man yelled at Don and started to turn away. I stopped him and said, "It's all right. Not everyone here is a hugger."
"I hate being touched," he said, but he allowed me to escort him to our meeting room.
He was the first man I met who said those words aloud. I had encountered others who allowed themselves to be embraced but their bodies grew stiff. I assume physical touch—any kind of touch—thrusts them back into the painful memories of abuse.
I told Don (the hugger) and I've since told others, "Trust your guts. If you sense the other person is open to a hug, give it. But if you intuit resistance or you're unsure, don't touch."
The wrong touch can cause great damage.
3 comments:
I think I give the impression that I don't want a hug but in reality I crave a hug, does that make sense?
Stan, of course it makes sense. For many of us we both abhor and desire at the same time.
I was very fortunate to find a church where people don't try to hug me without an invitation. A few of our congregants complain that our church isn't affectionate enough, but I'm glad. I visited many, many churches only once because people wouldn't give me my space.
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