When Did Touch Become So Complicated?
When Did Touch Become So Complicated?
Touch is one of the first ways we communicate with another human being. Long before we learn to speak, we experience the world through physical contact. Being held, comforted and cuddled helps babies feel safe and connected to the people caring for them.
And yet, somewhere between childhood and adulthood, something changes.
A hug can become awkward. A hand on someone's shoulder might be misunderstood. Physical affection becomes something we associate primarily with romantic relationships, family members or sex.
When did something so natural become so complicated?
I've been thinking about this quite a lot, partly because of my work with Sensual Bodyworks, but also because of my experiences outside it, particularly through dancing and friendships.
And I've realised that my own relationship with touch has changed considerably over the years.
Learning About Touch Without Realising It
I don't remember my childhood involving a great deal of physical affection. That's not to suggest I had an unhappy childhood or that my parents didn't care about me. But hugs and other expressions of physical affection weren't particularly prominent, at least not in my recollection.
I suspect that was fairly common, particularly for boys growing up in Britain at the time.
We learn an enormous amount about relationships and acceptable behaviour from the people around us, often without anyone explicitly teaching us.
If you grow up in a family where people regularly hug, hold hands or sit close together, physical affection may feel perfectly ordinary. If you grow up in an environment where affection is expressed more through words, practical help or simply being there for someone, touch might feel less familiar.
Neither necessarily tells us how much love exists within a family.
But I do think those early experiences influence how comfortable we become with physical contact later in life.
What feels natural to one person can feel surprisingly intimate to another.
The Unwritten Rules of Adult Touch
For much of my working life, I was involved in the corporate world, where I became very conscious of physical boundaries.
I generally avoided touching people, partly because I didn't want to invade anyone's personal space and partly because I didn't want an innocent gesture to be misunderstood.
A handshake was fine. Beyond that, I tended to keep my hands to myself.
I don't think that was necessarily a bad thing. Respecting someone's personal space is important, particularly in professional environments where people may not feel comfortable expressing an objection.
But I wonder whether, in trying so hard to avoid inappropriate touch, we sometimes become uncomfortable with perfectly ordinary physical affection.
Of course, there's an important distinction between respecting boundaries and being afraid of touch.
Someone might appreciate a reassuring hand on their shoulder. Someone else might find exactly the same gesture intrusive. Neither reaction is wrong.
The difficulty is that we can't always know how another person feels without communicating.
And perhaps that's part of the problem. We often seem more comfortable avoiding touch altogether than having a simple conversation about it.
A Spanish Friend and the Art of Hugging
I have a Spanish male friend who has always greeted me with a big hug.
Not a brief, slightly awkward British hug with a polite pat on the back, but a proper, enthusiastic embrace.
Initially, I found it a little strange.
Not unpleasant, just unfamiliar. It wasn't something I was accustomed to, particularly between male friends.
But over time, something interesting happened.
It stopped feeling unusual.
Now it seems entirely normal, and I would probably find it odd if he didn't greet me that way.
He hasn't changed his behaviour. What's changed is my perception of it.
I think that's quite revealing.
We sometimes assume our personal comfort levels reflect what's natural or appropriate, when in reality they can be heavily influenced by our upbringing, culture and experiences.
In some cultures, physical affection between friends is commonplace. In others, people tend to maintain more distance.
Even within Britain, attitudes vary enormously between families, generations and individuals.
What we consider normal is often simply what we've become used to.
Why Are Men So Uncomfortable Hugging Each Other?
I think there's also an interesting difference in how men and women are encouraged to express physical affection.
Women holding hands, hugging or sitting with their arms around each other rarely attracts much attention. Two men doing the same thing can still seem unusual, particularly among older generations.
Growing up, I suspect many boys of my generation absorbed the message that men were supposed to be tough, independent and not particularly demonstrative with their emotions.
Physical affection between men wasn't necessarily discouraged explicitly. It simply wasn't something we saw very often.
Which is rather strange when you think about it.
Watch a football match and you'll see men hugging, embracing, jumping on each other and celebrating together without a second thought. Yet some of those same men might feel uncomfortable giving a close friend a hug outside that environment.
Clearly, the physical contact itself isn't the problem. It's the meaning we've learned to attach to it.
I also wonder how much of this comes from the tendency to associate physical affection between men with homosexuality, as though a hug must somehow indicate sexual attraction.
There's nothing wrong with sexual attraction between men, of course, but it's an odd assumption to make about an ordinary expression of friendship.
My Spanish friend has helped change my perspective on this. What initially felt unfamiliar now seems completely normal, and I rather like that.
Perhaps younger generations are becoming more comfortable expressing affection, although I suspect attitudes still vary considerably.
I don't think every man needs to become an enthusiastic hugger. Some people simply aren't comfortable with physical affection, and that's fine.
But it seems a shame if men avoid expressing warmth towards their friends, not because they don't want to, but because they've been taught that it's somehow inappropriate or unmanly.
Dancing also Changed My Relationship with Touch
Another influence has been learning salsa and bachata.
Partner dancing involves physical contact with people you may barely know. You're holding hands, placing a hand on someone's back, moving together and communicating through subtle changes in pressure and movement.
Initially, that can feel quite intimate.
But something I've come to appreciate is that touch doesn't automatically have to be romantic or sexual.
On the dance floor, touch has a purpose. It's a way of communicating.
A gentle movement of the hand or a change in body position can communicate something without a word being spoken.
And while dancing can certainly involve attraction or flirtation, it doesn't have to.
You can enjoy a lovely dance with someone without wanting anything more from them.
In fact, good partner dancing depends on sensitivity to the other person. You need to be aware of their movements, their comfort and how they're responding to you.
It's a form of physical communication that requires cooperation rather than simply doing what you want.
I think that's a valuable lesson beyond dancing.
Touch can be enjoyable, reassuring and meaningful without needing to lead anywhere.
Why Touch Matters Beyond Childhood
We know that physical contact is particularly important during infancy.
Being held, cuddled and comforted is one of the earliest ways babies experience care and connection. Skin-to-skin contact is also associated with important benefits for newborns.
But it's not as though we reach adulthood and suddenly stop benefiting from physical affection.
A 2024 study published in Nature Human Behaviour reviewed research into the physical and mental health benefits of touch, including 137 studies in its meta-analysis.
The researchers found that touch interventions were associated with improvements in a range of outcomes. For newborns, these included weight gain and regulation of the stress hormone cortisol. For adults, benefits included reductions in pain, anxiety and depressive symptoms.
Interestingly, the researchers also found that, for adults, touch from a familiar person and touch from a healthcare professional produced comparable benefits in the outcomes they measured.
That doesn't mean every hug or massage will make someone feel better, or that physical affection is a substitute for medical treatment.
But it does suggest that touch continues to play an important role in our wellbeing throughout life.
And while some people have little desire for physical affection, others may miss it enormously.
For someone living alone, recently bereaved or without a romantic partner, opportunities for affectionate physical contact can become surprisingly limited.
We sometimes talk about loneliness as though it's entirely about having someone to talk to.
But there can also be a physical dimension to loneliness: missing the simple experience of being held, hugged or close to another person.
Perhaps we should recognise that the need for human contact doesn't necessarily disappear simply because we're adults, single, older or no longer in a sexual relationship.
When Touch Becomes Associated with Sex
One of the things that strikes me is how readily we associate physical intimacy with sexual intimacy.
Particularly between adults who aren't related.
If two people are physically affectionate, we often assume there must be some romantic or sexual interest involved.
And while that may sometimes be true, it certainly isn't always.
A hug isn't necessarily an invitation. A massage doesn't automatically have to be sexual. Holding someone close doesn't necessarily mean you want to have sex with them.
Equally, touch can be sensual or sexual, and there's nothing inherently wrong with that either, provided everyone involved understands and welcomes it.
Perhaps the difficulty is that we tend to put physical contact into fairly rigid categories.
It's either appropriate or inappropriate, friendly or sexual, innocent or suggestive.
But human relationships are rarely that simple.
Physical affection can exist in many forms, and its meaning depends on the people involved.
What My Work Has Taught Me
My work with Sensual Bodyworks has probably changed my perspective on touch more than anything else.
Not because I've discovered some great secret about human connection, but because I've had the opportunity to meet and talk with people whose experiences, attitudes and comfort levels are enormously varied.
Some people are naturally comfortable with physical affection. Others are initially quite nervous, even when they've actively chosen to experience it.
Some find it easy to discuss sexual matters but surprisingly difficult to ask for something as simple as being held.
Others are comfortable with affection but much less comfortable with anything overtly sensual.
There's no single correct way to feel about touch.
One thing I have become increasingly conscious of is how important it is not to make assumptions.
Just because someone enjoys one form of physical contact doesn't mean they'll welcome another. And just because someone was comfortable with something yesterday doesn't mean they'll necessarily feel the same today.
Consent isn't simply about avoiding unwanted sexual contact. It's about recognising that everyone has their own relationship with physical closeness.
That applies just as much to a hug between friends as it does to a massage.
I've also come to appreciate how much difference a relaxed, unhurried environment can make. When people feel comfortable expressing what they want and don't want, touch can become something to enjoy rather than something to negotiate nervously or endure politely.
Have We Become Too Cautious?
I don't think the answer is simply that we should all hug more.
There are good reasons to be conscious of personal boundaries, and not everyone wants more physical contact.
Nor do I think we should romanticise the past. Unwanted touching was often tolerated or dismissed in ways that rightly receive more scrutiny today.
There's also a very real difference between affectionate touch and unwanted physical contact, particularly where there's an imbalance of power.
We've seen enough examples of people using their position, authority or celebrity to disregard other people's boundaries. Greater awareness of that behaviour, and a willingness to challenge it, is unquestionably a good thing.
But the lesson shouldn't be that touch itself is something to fear. It should be that physical contact must respect the wishes and autonomy of the people involved.
The answer to inappropriate touching isn't necessarily less touching. It's better understanding, communication and respect.
Greater awareness of consent and personal autonomy is a positive development.
But I do wonder whether we sometimes confuse respecting boundaries with avoiding connection.
There's a difference between assuming someone wants to be touched and being comfortable enough to ask.
"Would you like a hug?" is a perfectly reasonable question.
And "No thanks" should be a perfectly acceptable answer.
Neither needs to become awkward.
Perhaps we could benefit from being a little more open about physical affection, without assuming that everyone experiences it in the same way.
Perhaps Touch Isn't the Complicated Part
Looking back, I find it interesting how much my own attitudes have changed.
The boy who grew up without many hugs became an adult who was careful to avoid unnecessary physical contact, particularly at work.
Then came different friendships, dancing and eventually a career that involves touch as a central part of what I do.
I haven't suddenly become someone who wants to hug everyone I meet, and I still think respecting personal space is important.
But I'm certainly more comfortable with physical affection than I used to be.
And perhaps more importantly, I'm less inclined to attach assumptions to it.
A hug can simply be a hug.
Touch can be comforting, affectionate, playful, sensual or sexual. Sometimes it can be several of those things, and sometimes none of them.
What matters is that the people involved understand and welcome it.
We spend so much time learning how to communicate with words, yet physical contact is one of our earliest forms of communication.
Perhaps we don't need to make touch less complicated.
Perhaps we just need to become a little better at understanding it.
