Fear is an interesting thing. I perused Wikipedia’s list of phobias today, before I started writing this story, in the hopes that some one at some point had named my irrational fear, but the closest I could find was: Haphephobia – fear of being touched which is not exactly the case. I suffered for five years with a mostly irrational fear of hugs. And like most irrational fears it grew out of one particularly horrifying experience that will be forever embedded in my memory.
When I was fifteen I worked at the coffee shop that my brother owned, and like most fifteen year old girls I was super awkward and extremely insecure. All these circumstances are integral to the traumatic event I experienced. I often let my friends come behind the counter, especially one particular friend that I had a hard time saying no to most of the time. He was probably three years older than me, and might very well have been the first guy that ever told me I was attractive. He would walk behind the counter and get himself a coffee, and I wouldn’t stop him. But then one day, I was coming out of the bathroom, and walking to the front of the counter, and he was walking towards me with his arms reaching out in both directions. This was I knew the universal pre-hug gesture, but as he got closer and I wrapped my arms around him, waiting for him to do the same. I looked up at him, looking down on me and the look on his face was the most horrible thing in the world. It wasn’t a smile, but more of a confused half laugh. I looked over to wear his right arm was still stretched out over the trash can and saw a piece of plastic wrap fall from his hand into the garbage. I unwrapped my hands from his torso and looked nervously to his other hand where he had just grabbed his coffee from the counter. I took a step backward waiting for him to say something “what was that?” he said and looked at me almost laughing. I wanted to run and hide. I shrugged it off, and tried to explain to him what I had seen as he reached out in both directions for all the wrong reasons, but I didn’t realize how badly I was traumatized until a year later.
A year later, I had for a strange number of reasons a whole new set of friends, and one friend that perhaps wanted to be more, always hugged me good bye when I would leave. After a few weeks of this behavior, he finally let me know that he thought I was a horrible hugger. “what?” I gasped, sure that a person could not be bad at hugging. He told me it never seemed like I committed to the hug, like I was always just waiting to be released. I thought for a short time that it was just him, that maybe I didn’t like him hugging me, but soon I realized he was right.
The two events fed off each other in my mind, and I started to have a very strong aversion to hugs. I didn’t want to be criticised or mortified so I avoided them at all costs. It wasn’t until three years later that I confronted my issues. I had driven to St. Louis to see a concert, this concert like most events in my life has a long back story as well, but we’ll skip it for now. I had made good time and had plenty of time to sit and wait in line for the doors to open. In line I met a girl named Destiny. Destiny loved hugs. We were probably waiting for at least an hour so we had plenty of time to talk, and after the concert I told her that I would drive her home because what is fifteen minutes on top of eight hours anyway? She was after all a 16 year old girl and I was 20 so I didn’t really see her as a threat in anyway. But before we left she insisted on giving every band member she could find a hug. I might have been averse to hugging them souly because they were drenched in sweat, but when i thought about it, it didn’t bother me as much as the idea that I would do it wrong. I knew now that I was a bad hugger and the last thing I needed was the lead singer of my favorite band to tell me that. But Destiny thought I was insane for avoiding all these hugs even after I explained to her the traumatic events I had experienced. because I knew that Mike had been right. I never fully committed to the hug, I was always trying to back out in case I learned that the situation had changed. So before we left she discussed with Sam Means, that I was a bad hugger. She asked him if he would please grade my hugging on a scale from one to ten. I think he gave me a 6. That was better than I had hoped so my confidence was very faintly renewed.
St. Louis had been so much fun, that I pooled all of my resources and flew to Las Vegas to see the last show on the tour. I should have known better. After the show everyone was hugging everyone. I was by myself trying to meet up with a few fans I knew were as super dorky as I was. I ended up spending a good deal of time talking to Heather but everyone she talked to would hug her as they left, and just for being there they’d hug me too. They were sweaty and lovely, and didn’t give me time to misunderstand what their open arms might mean, and there was no time to dwell over the quality of the hug that I provided. It was a whirlwind of hugs, not in the way that most trips to Vegas are, but for me it was worth it. When that lead singer did finally give me a hug, I was almost completely confident in my skills. But well, now I guess I am.
