Someone Touched Me
After experiencing a good deal of “necessary touch” during cancer treatment, I reflected on humans’ aversion to touch. I wrote, “ For various reasons, we humans may resist touch in daily interactions with people, but going through treatment requires being touched often.” As adults, being touched is part of our survival, not only during health challenges but also because we thrive on touch.
Physical touch reduces our cortisol levels and promotes relaxation in the face of stress. An arm around a shoulder, a touch on the hand, or a rub on the back can ease the stress. The hug carries considerable power to send a message of compassion, friendship, or caring. Oxytocin, often referred to as the “cuddle hormone,” is released during physical touch or skin-to-skin contact and is associated with feelings of trust, love, and compassion.
I remember a friend who lives alone shared that she first began attending a church because the group of women there gave her hugs. Communities of faith are often places of touch-physically, spiritually, and emotionally. The sounds of familiar voices touch us, as do the greetings from familiar believers and the collective energy of the religious community. Whether we are kneeling with pilgrims in Mecca, attending a Catholic mass in St. Peter’s Square, meditating in Bodh Gaya, or reading the Torah in a synagogue in Jerusalem, the collective energy touches us.
A scripture from the Bible has piqued my interest for some time. “But Jesus said, Someone touched me, for power has gone out from me.”(Luke 8:46) When the woman who touched Jesus was identified, he said to her, “Have courage, my daughter; your faith has healed you; go in peace.” (Luke 8:48) There is an exchange of energy with touch from another human or animal being, and that energy can be healing, enlivening, and kind.
When I was very young, I accompanied my mother and a couple of her friends from the church to visit an older woman who was very ill from cancer. We arrived at her bedside, finding her barely able to breathe. The “sisters” of the church began to pray softly and laid their hands on her head, forehead, and arms. I then noticed a whiff of a pungent oil that had been placed on her forehead and feet. The prayers continued until she began to breathe normally. It was my first awareness of “laying on hands.” The exchange of energy with deep compassion and faith was a healing balm.
Dr. Tiffany Field, in her book Touch, writes that the Ebers Papyrus, an Egyptian medical papyrus of herbal knowledge dated 1550 BCE, showed early practices of healing. And, in 400 BCE, hand healers in Greece were called “kheirurgos,” the origin of the word, surgeon. Several years ago, a Chinese tai chi master taught me acupressure massage, and I practiced the method of applying pressure to different pressure points on the body. I still use it sometimes for my aching feet and appreciate the relief. Healers using touch as a practice have many ancient roots, such as Galen, who was well-known in Rome for his massage healing. As Clarissa Pinkola Estes so beautifully reminds us all, “ We do not become healers. We came as healers. We are.”
Some healing is social. A few years ago, I co-facilitated a diversity training with a cross-functional group. One person in the group announced early in the three-day training that he was a skinhead but trying to recover from his hateful past. I promised to help him to make progress throughout the training. With a skeptical look, he nodded. Another person in the group was a tall African-American man who was easy-going and self-aware. At the end of the training, we assembled into a circle to share new awareness and learning. Without urging, the man wrestling with being a recovering skinhead left the circle, crossed over to the space where the African American man stood, and hugged him. When the group began to breathe again after losing their breath from the sheer open-heartedness of the scene, almost everyone had tears in their eyes. Forgiveness and redemption touch the heart and press it open for healing.
During the pandemic, many of us suffered from being separated from friends and family members during times of illness and fear. The absence of cherished loved ones in our presence exacerbated fears on the one hand, and the closeness of family members caused anxiety on the other hand. The suffering brought a new awareness of family dynamics.
Relationships can be hotbeds of fear, triggering “aroused memories” that stimulate an emotional state of fight, flight, freeze, or fade. Extreme feelings of overwhelm and threat can thrust a person into a past traumatic event. Memories have feeling energy, so when events align with the energy, a “trigger” occurs. For this reason, I ask before hugging another person, and I am mindful of cues that might drive past anxieties into the present. Sometimes, the trigger occurs without warning. I remember years ago playing a card game with a friend who was quite pleasant, but her husband, a war veteran, seemed to become increasingly agitated and restless as the card game continued, then exploded in anger at the sound of a car horn outside. He was inconsolable.
Later in my career as a college counselor, I witnessed the struggles of some veterans who suffered from PTSD and bravely attempted to bring a sense of peace to their lives.
Prominent family physician and trauma specialist Gabor Maté attempts to debunk the notion that trauma is something that happens to people who experience catastrophic events like war, abuse or hurricanes, but he writes, “Trauma pervades our culture, from personal functioning through social relationships, parenting, education, popular culture, economics, and politics.” From The Myth of Normal, P.20. Both Gabor Maté and psychiatrist and trauma specialist Bessel Van der Kolk differentiate everyday trauma from what they call “capital-T trauma.” Everyone has a story that exists somewhere on the spectrum of pain and suffering, and often, they suffer quietly. So, when we have compassion for others, when we reach out selflessly, our energy is not wasted.
I remember being fascinated when I read the seminal work of anthropologist Ashley Montagu, who published Touching: The Human Significance of the Skin (1971). In 2012, Constance Glasson published The Deepest Sense: A Cultural History of Touch. Situations involving touch have spiritual, physiological, social, cultural, and emotional impacts on our society. Today, we’re understandably concerned about safe touch for children and unwanted touch or assault brought dramatically to light during the #MeToo movement. The downside of restrictions around touch is that the infrequency of touch has established a world of detachment at a time when isolation, loneliness, and depression are on the rise worldwide.
Our societies have instituted cultural and gender rules prohibiting our natural tendencies to touch one another. Touch is prohibited among priests, monks, and some religious leaders, and attempts to touch people in these roles can be construed as signs of disrespect or violation of moral rules. During a business trip, I had a connection in Philadelphia and settled into a chair at my connecting gate. I soon noticed a number of saffron-robed men coming toward the waiting area. They floated to their seats and sat quietly, and I appreciated their calm presence.
All of us have the capability to exude a peaceful presence, the spiritual energy that touches others deeply. Our touch has profound value in the world. Diana Ross, the popular singer of decades ago encouraged us in a moving song,” Reach out and touch somebody’s hand. Make this a better place if you can.”
If we cannot physically touch somebody’s hand, perhaps we can touch somebody’s heart with compassionate action or empathic listening. Most people want to know that their existence matters, especially when life brings doubts.
The broader story about Jesus and the woman who touched his robe is that his disciples apparently tried to protect him from the crowds, but despite the enthusiasm of the crowds, he noticed the slight touch. I wondered about our awareness of the slightest needs of others and our mindful attention to the small gestures in life that matter. Building our mental resilience is an inside job, but it also involves noticing the life experiences of others and allowing ourselves to be touched in various ways.
Peace and blessings,
Eleanor
Questions That Matter:
When has touch mattered to you? What made it matter?