Many of us have heard the philosophical puzzle: how do you describe color to a person who was born blind? Think about it for a minute. What frame of reference or relevance could it possibly have? How do you EXPLAIN "blue?" The mind struggles to even produce a method of approach! Now, color is a simple physical characteristic. What if we were talking about something so complex, convoluted, and charged with emotion and intention that it defines people's entire personalities, and makes or breaks relationships? Let's extend this puzzle to the five languages of love. How can you explain your primary love language, what it means to you, why it matters, how it affects you, to someone who doesn't share the same language? How can you possibly make sense for them of the swirling storm of need, desire, and longing with which you interact emotionally and sexually with the world around you? Well, we're going to give it a shot. Today I want to talk about: touch.
For context: I'm 40 HLM, primary love language touch (10), and my wife is 46 LLF, primary love language acts of service (9). Her touch is 0. I've made a great deal of effort over the years to interact with her on her terms and provide the kind of love and affection that she needs to be happy; to be frank, she has not done the same in return. Needless to say, she has a lot of trouble understanding what I need and interacting sexually and emotionally with me in a meaningful and positive way. I've tried for years to put into words how and why all this matters, in a way that she can make sense of and that is more helpful to her than just... "this isn't enough." For anyone else who has struggled to understand your partner's love language, or to explain yours to them, hopefully this post will be helpful.
You might not think so from reading my particularly verbose posts online, but I'm actually a pretty shy person in regular life. Socially awkward. I struggle to find the right words, and often stumble in the moment. I've always got a lot of thoughts swirling around, but organizing them and making my points in person has always been very difficult, because I get nervous and think people are judging me. I need the safety, time, and space of the internet to come out of my shell and speak freely, openly, comfortably. So I come across with a much different personality in person than I do here. If you saw me in real life, you'd probably think I was pretty intimidating at first glance. 6' 3", broad shoulders, viking beard, muscular, overweight but not fat, booming laugh when I'm with friends... you'd be more likely to think "grizzly" than "teddy bear."
But my kids adore me. Hell, even other people's kids adore me. I've never met a pet, no matter how angry or shy, that I couldn't win over and have fawning over me within a few minutes. Even casual friends are often surprised by what excellent hugs I freely give. And it's all down to one simple thing: touch. It's how I interact with the world. It's not just my primary love language, it's my primary sense, too.
Touch is so much more than just a sensation to me. It's an experience. It's data. It has deep and varied meaning all on its own. When I see a beautiful piece of furniture, I have to run my hands over it. The bumps and ridges and grooves help me to see it even more clearly than my eyes do, and appreciate its beauty all the more. When my kids cuddle with me on the couch, we don't just sit next to each other ignoring each other. My arm is around their shoulders, they curl into my side. I rub their back gently now and then, or tousle their hair affectionately. It's an active thing, not passive or idle. When I hug my friend, man or woman, doesn't matter, it is not perfunctory. It's not just a social nicety, with no feeling behind it. I grip your shoulders, or your back, briefly, but still with intention. Firmly, warmly, but gently also. You feel safe in my arms for that moment, and know that we are friends, and that I care. You matter to me.
When the cat jumps up into my lap and curls up, I don't just pet him mechanically the same way over and over again. Each stroke is varied, intentional, deliberate. I use my palm, and my fingertips, the backs of the fingers, even my nails. I pet him all over, caress him, respond to his movements with my own to find the spot he wants me to touch. He closes his eyes contentedly, stretches his neck out for scratches, purrs so loudly you can hear him from the other room. He arches his back as I dig my fingers in just in front of his tail and scratch firmly. He lifts his whole back end off my lap as I pat him firmly where I just scratched. He LOVES when I pat him at the base of the tail. He rolls over as I stroke his sides with both hands, reaching out his paws to ask for belly rubs. Nobody else is allowed to see or touch the belly - a quick and nasty bite is your only reward if anyone else tries - but I know exactly what he likes. He wraps himself around my hands and pushes against them, eager for more attention. Even the dog gets in on the action, coming over and pushing her nose up under my hand to get me to start petting. Turning her head to the side and thumping her paw on the floor as I find just the right spot behind her ear. She noses me again if I stop too soon - more please!
The point is - I like to touch, I like to be touched. It feels good to me when I touch someone, and it feels good to them when I do. I am not just mechanically touching someone in the same way over and over, or only in the way that I like regardless of what they like. I respond to how they move. We synchronize. It is more than mere sensation. It is art. I am not just putting my hand on you - I am composing music. A sonata. My body is my bowstring. Yours, the violin. Together, we harmonize. As you move, I move. My hand on your side, caressing, pressing, sliding. My lips lightly brushing your cheek. My breath, warm on your neck. Even my feet, rubbing softly against your legs. No two touches are ever the same, the softness or firmness differs, the motion against you, it ebbs and flows, rising towards a crescendo. Each touch has meaning. There are no lone actions, they flow together like a song. Each gesture, charged with emotion, filled with intention. There is no coldness here. No calculation. Only warmth. Only love. All that I am, all that I want, all that I need, all that I long to share, I put it all into every touch. Every motion. Every sensation. It's so much more than just a touch. Than my hand on your arm. Than my heart, beating next to yours, the rhythm of the music, beneath it all.
Surely, you must feel the difference. I do. There is no passion behind your touch. No feeling in your hands. No intention. No drive. No urge. No longing. It is empty. Meaningless. All you know is that I want to be touched, so you put your hand on me. It lies there, cold, limp, lifeless. There is no energy behind it. No progression. It simply sits there, in contact with me, but not touching me. Not caressing. Not pleasing. Not even trying. Not knowing how. Not caring to learn. To seek. To explore. It just... sits. That's not what I need. It's not enough. It isn't anything. Mechanical. Checking off a box. "I'm trying, aren't I? Isn't this what you want?" NO! Speak to me, how I speak to you. Learn to read me, to interact with me, the way I learned to read you. With the same effort, out of love, out of desire to please you, that I learned to speak your language. Show me that I matter, the way I show you that you matter. Meet with me on my terms. The way I met you on yours. Learn from me. Feel how it feels when I touch you, notice how you respond to me, how I respond to your response, how we flow together. Try it! Stop holding back. Let yourself go. Let yourself feel it... don't hide from it, embrace it. Touch me. Enjoy touching me. Enjoy me, enjoying your touch. FEEL how I respond. Move with me. Share this with me. Love me. Touch me! Like you mean it. Like it matters. Like you care. Like you want more! Like you want me to touch you. Show me how you feel. I want to FEEL it. I need to feel you, understand you, know you. Through your hands. Through your kiss. Through every touch.
It's so much more than just your skin on mine. It's so much more than a sensation. It's not just a touch. It's everything.
Submitted November 10, 2019 at 03:17PM by thejameswhistler https://ift.tt/2K8axXK
No comments:
Post a Comment