Holding hands makes me feel confined, like a bird in a cage. Getting comfortable in my space and then having someone sit next to me on the couch, makes me break out in a slight case of hives. I was always that kid who yelled, “Mom!! Make her stop touching me! She’s touching me again; make her stop!”
After 22 years of marriage, hubby and I are in a fairly comfortable place. I make sure I respond to his need for touch, and occasionally he responds to my need to be left alone. The only place we haven’t ironed it out yet is in bed. Intimacy isn’t the problem, it’s the cuddling until one of us (him) falls asleep. I don’t sleep when anything is touching me, let alone a human being. I don’t like blankets or pajamas or really even the bed itself. If I could float nude in midair, that would be a perfect night’s sleep.
Hubby, on the other hand, wants to wrap his arms around me so tightly that he actually absorbs me into his own body. And even then, I’m not sure it’s enough. While discussing it on our road trip, he said, “Think of me as a teddy bear.”
“No,” I responded, “Teddy bears are lightweight and silent. Your sleeping arm weighs a thousand pounds, and you snore like a freight train.”
“Then think of me as a real bear!”
“Who in their right mind wants to ‘snuggle’ with a real bear? On the upside, I would have a legitimate reason to use my tranquilizer gun on you. Could you please stop at the next exit? I need to use the restroom.”
“Sorry. It’s really not my love language to stop and let someone use the restroom.”
So far, the love tank and the septic tank are equally full.
Truitt is an author, speaker and mother of five. Find her on Facebook (Ginger Truitt-Author) and Twitter (@GingerTruitt), or contact her at email@example.com.