Why We Must Prioritize Our Need for Touch

Our sexual and general well-being depend upon it

Kids, unlike adults, have no problem asking (with or without words) for love. They have no shame in pursuing their need for physical touch and comfort. They naturally seek out intimacy with others.

I know because I’ve just spent the last 36 days with my nieces and nephews, sucking up all the time I could get with them before they moved 200 miles away.

We sat in cuddle piles while watching movies (everyone on the sofa, squished together shoulder-to-shoulder, with the smaller kids on our laps). My nephew Kai, who has really long blonde hair just like his hero, Legolas, asked me to brush it multiple times while we watched (you guessed it) The Lord of the Ring. Ben and Finn hugged me multiple times throughout the day, being the loving, cuddly boys they are, even as teenagers. And then of course there was little Alex, who was literally attached to my hip the majority of the time I was there.

Having been very isolated since March, I suspect they loved the opportunity to have hugs and cuddles so freely available.

And for the first time since the pandemic lockdown in March, I felt renewed. I felt like my “touch well” had been filled.

Touch is important — no, essential. And I believe we need so much more of it.

It’s well-known that America is one of the least touchy-feely cultures in the world thanks to all our ridiculous taboos around physical pleasure. Then add a pandemic to the mix, in which we are encouraged to refrain from shaking hands, refrain from casually hugging, and to literally keep six feet away from other humans and we’ve got ourselves the perfect conditions for touch starvation.

Let me be clear that I think most Americans were already in a state of touch starvation. We have so few opportunities for culturally-approved touch. A handshake is okay (pre-pandemic). Hugging friends for less than 20 seconds is okay (which isn’t enough time to get that oxytocin flowing). Cuddling with your kids is okay. And of course, kissing and sexual intimacy are fine so long as you are in a committed relationship (preferably married, and all the better if you are a heterosexual couple).

We don’t typically kiss our friends — on the cheek, on the lips, wherever. We don’t typically hug or even touch co-workers or strangers.

I have regularly found myself frustrated with American rules around touch because I would so love for it to be the norm to hug longer, to cuddle with friends, to kiss your children or nieces and nephews on the mouth or cheek (consensually and in appropriate circumstances).

…I think most Americans were already in a state of touch starvation. We have so few opportunities for culturally-approved touch.

I’ve always been very aware of my need for touch. I was so relieved when I started dating my last serious partner because I discovered early on that he was a cuddler. There were many, many nights when I’d get into bed, take my pajamas off, and roll into him while he was watching TV. (He preferred to sleep naked, so I always had skin available next to me.) He’d lean right in and we’d weave our arms and legs together and lie like that, sometimes for hours, without even making a move to have sex. We just needed to be close, to feel our bodies touching, to recharge in the warmth of each other’s skin.

When that relationship ended, I knew I would enter a period of touch starvation and I dreaded it. I was aware that I’d have to find a way to stitch random touch together to get me through the dry season.

I did all right for a while, but I had no idea a pandemic was coming…

Touch starvation is very real. I’m not just being cutesy here and making up fun terms.

According to the Texas Medical Center:

Touch starvation increases stress, depression and anxiety, triggering a cascade of negative physiological effects. The body releases the hormone cortisol as a response to stress, activating the body’s “flight-or-fight” response. This can increase heart rate, blood pressure, respiration and muscle tension, and can suppress the digestive system and immune system — increasing the risk of infection. Long term…going an extended period without positive physical touch can even lead to post-traumatic stress disorder.

This doesn’t surprise me in the least. I can sense my need for touch the same way I can sense my hunger. Right now, for instance, in the wake of a very intense emotional time, a time of uncomfortable and scary change, I have a very specific form of touch I need.

My primitive, cavewoman brain very deeply wants a big, naked man to drape himself over me. I literally just want to spend an entire weekend in bed with my naked caveman clamshelling me or lying on top of me. I want to feel covered and held and protected. I want to feel his skin against mine from forehead to toes. I want to feel his breath on my neck, I want to feel the pressure of his arms around me, I want to feel the weight of his body.

I am starving for this right now. I’m so hungry for this, I’m tempted to create a dating profile describing my desire for a man who’d be willing to do this. Just a really long, naked cuddle. Sure, it would be even more ideal if that someone happened to love me and maybe throw in some fun, sexy play there, but really, that’s irrelevant right now.

I know that, barring everything else, I need a naked man to wrap his body around me right now and not let go until I need a snack.

I think it’s helpful to continue getting to know myself in this way, to be very aware of my touch needs.

But what do you do when touch isn’t easily available?

In America, we have a some serious challenges when it comes to touch. Again, I’ll repeat that I think most of us are not getting as much touch as our animal bodies need. And add the pandemic to that and we’ve got some serious starvation going on.

What do we do to remedy this? If I can’t find a man who’s willing to lie on me naked like a human blanket, then what other options are there now and in the future, when I have other touch needs?

I think we’re going to have to work on a little self-sufficiency in this department if we’re going to get through this.

I’ve always been vigilant about the need to touch myself. Whoa, whoa, whoa, get your mind out of the gutter (though you’re right, that’s also important). I’m talking about the simplest, non-sexual touch.

…I think most of us are not getting as much touch as our animal bodies need. And add the pandemic to that and we’ve got some serious starvation going on.

I often fall asleep while rubbing my feet together and stroking my thighs. It’s not uncommon for me to wake up in the middle of the night and find myself running my fingernails along the inside of one of my arms, giving myself “the tingles.” And I cannot keep my hands off myself in the bathtub — with the gentle, soothing feel of the warm water embracing me, my hands roam all over my skin in some sort of self-soothing, self-nurturing ritual.

I also find it soothing to cover myself in blankets and tuck them up tightly underneath my chin — it makes me feel like I’m in that full-body embrace that I so often desire. And when I really need extra soothing, I’ll warm up one of my heat packs in the microwave, set myself up underneath a blanket or two, and place the heat pack against my stomach or between my thighs, just above my knees. This is about as close as I can get to simulating that naked man draped over my body.

If you have access to kids and it’s appropriate to cuddle with them, go for it. I may have lost six of my darlings to a 200-mile move, but I still have two more across town (my brother’s kids), and you can bet I’ll be cuddling with them this weekend. This has an added benefit, by the way — I think it’s so important to teach kids to normalize affectionate, platonic touch and to define and express their boundaries around it.

And did you know that video chats are 80% as effective as in-person visits? I wouldn’t have guessed that — I think we’d all rather have our usual in-person visits with hugs and cuddles. But it’s comforting to know that we can get close to the real deal just with FaceTime or Skype.

None of this is as ideal as actual touch (I’m not giving up on my caveman blanket…), but sometimes we have to do our best with what we have.

If there’s one thing we can be sure of after 2020, it’s that opportunities for touch are not going to get any easier. We’re swimming against the current now.

But I think we have to. I think we have to start prioritizing our need for touch. I suspect it would be dangerous for those in a relationship to start relying almost exclusively on sexual intimacy with their partner to help them meet their touch needs. That’s a lot for one person to carry — and also, I think we need more than that, in terms of touch.

I also think that for those who are single, like me, it would be dangerous to opt out, entirely, on seeking the nourishment of touch (sexual or otherwise) until this pandemic is over — because it might not be over for years.

I think it’s important that we add self-soothing rituals to our daily routine and find ways to engage in “safe” touching experiences. Maybe someone will come up with a new dating site that will set up people who choose to self-quarantine before meeting up for a weekend of naked cuddling (and you know…whatever else might happen). Or maybe my friends will be able to set me up with someone who is super careful, diligent about the mask-wearing in public places (there are a lot of COVID-deniers in my town), and is in need of a cavewoman to cradle every now and then.

This isn’t just about our sexual health, but about our general well-being. We need touch — all kinds of touch, not just sexual. We just might have to get creative about meeting that need.

© Yael Wolfe 2020

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