Today was a bit different, I heard him wake up then I coasted in and out of consciousness; I just couldn't seem to wake up. He was quiet for a little while, rustled through his toy box and then I heard a *gooooong* sound. The sound my carbon monoxide detector makes when it's testing itself, usually after a power outage. I listened to the house for a while. When I didn't hear my son, I feared the worst--had he caused the power outage?? Stuck a screw driver in a power socket?

I hurried out of bed to check on him. He wasn't anywhere loose in the house, so I checked his bedroom and there he lay, with his blanket wound around his head. My panic levels jump and I whip the blanket off his head, to find him wide-eyed and stammering "What? What? What was that noise???"

Poor kid. The power went out, the carbon monoxide detector made a "scary" noise, so he decided to hide in his room under his blanket. Then I come charging in and tear his blanket off, probably looking slightly crazed too. I was so relieved but then I felt bad for his traumatic morning. I told him not to wrap his blanket around his head and coaxed him back out of his room.

He was obviously feeling a little fragile today. When it was time to get him out the door to daycare, he was crying about something, I'm not even sure what. He seemed so despondent, climbing the stairs to my office to say goodbye, that my first instinct was just "hold him." That's what I did, I got on my knees and I wrapped my arms around him, and I rubbed his back and told him it was okay. He sobbed out his story of woe, something about not wanting to cry in his room (I didn't say it was a coherent story of woe) and clung to me tightly. He was shaking and his grip was so tight, I decided that this was obviously just what he needed so that's what I told him.

"Sometimes a hug is all you need, right?"

His sobbing stopped; he held me tightly and then quietly he said "Yeah."

"Mama, can I just stand here wif you?"

"Yes pumpkin."

"I just want you to hold me."

"OK pumpkin, then that's what I will do."

and that's what I did.

All the craziness of the morning, waking up late, discovering the power outage, tracking down my son, getting him ready for school late, trying to get through my conference call without email access and find a way to reset my equipment in the office so I could get back online...it all melted away in that moment. In that moment, all I felt was the peace of a mom who was needed by a tiny, clinging, shaking little boy who was having a Bad Day. All I felt was the peace of someone who was loved.

When I was growing up, my dad pushed me away. He pushed me out of his lap, he kept physical distance between us. He yelled at me when I sought physical affection from anyone, he taught me that it was an inappropriate intimacy. My mother reinforced this idea by being emotionally inaccessible my entire childhood. My earliest memories are of my mother smoking cigarettes in her bedroom, reading a book. It was never interacting with me.

My father taught me to associate touch with sex, and that sex was bad. I developed an apprehension about sex, and physical contact in general. It took me a long time to get over this aversion to physical contact. I had many boyfriends in high school with whom I refused to hold hands and I was uncomfortable having an arm around me. I never hugged my friends, I was afraid of being labeled a lesbian or somehow giving them the impression that I wanted more than friendship.

As I grew older, I associated a desire for physical contact and affection with a desire for sexual intimacy, and so I became sexually active before I was really ready. My combined need for physical closeness and aversion to physical contact expressed itself as sexual dysfunction, which never stopped me from having sex, but certainly stopped me from enjoying it. It created a coldness between me and even my closest friends and always managed to help sabotage relationships. I was not promiscuous, I had several long-term relationships; i am and have always been a serial monogamer, probably in a quest to love myself by finding someone to love me.

I learned to appraise everyone in my life in terms of their potential as a mate or sexual partner. I didn't learn to stop doing this until I took steps towards mending my broken self-esteem. I slowly learned to appreciate physical contact, first with my cat, then with my closest friends. Eventually I worked out some of my issues through my martial arts class, where the contact is so obviously not sexual in nature. I became a little more casual about touching people because I had to touch and hit and block and throw people for hours; it was intimate, but definitely not sexual in any way.

My husband met me at the best time in my life to meet me. I was really healing, I was growing, my self-esteem was at an all-time high and I felt that I was grounded enough to want something because I wanted it not because I would get anything out of it, not because I was desperate for validation. I loved him because he was lovable and sweet and treats me like a partner and an equal, and not because I am desperate to be loved. I loved him for all the right reasons.

It's been a difficult battle for me, and I don't always win; I do often worry about propriety and sometimes I still cringe when I have to touch someone, but I have learned, through some really wonderful friends, my fantastic husband, and through increased self-confidence, that sometimes a hug is just a hug. I've learned, as a functional wife and as a mother, just what a joy a hug can be, how restorative human contact can be.

Now, I touch people a lot. I hug my husband, I run my hands through his hair, I fall asleep on his chest or his shoulder or his lap. I sleep curled up with my dogs (and find it harder to sleep in an empty bed). I stroke my son's nose or his cheek, I tousle his hair, I hold his hand, and I hug him as much as he wants or will allow. I hug my friends. I might do a little dance of anxiety beforehand, but I hug my in-laws too. I think it's important that I do that, because they have that place in my life.

Sometimes when I am sad or angry or agitated, I will just sit and pet and hug my dog. Sometimes when my son is mad, too mad to calm down on his own, I will hug him, and he will cry, and relax and let go. Like I told him, sometimes it really is just what you need; there's no explanation and there's no pep talk that can fix a problem like a hug.

We all need physical contact; learn how to hug and accept a hug. Start with a pet if you have to, start by talking it out in therapy if you must, or do what I did and take a martial arts class where you have to touch people, in a way that might not be as threatening. But learn, and then make sure you get steady doses from a willing partner. Sometimes, I don't even speak to my husband, I just fall into his arms and he will hold me for a little while. It's the best medicine.