I want a hug. Not a wimpy, “How’s the day?” hug. I want a hug that is full of emotion, and power. I want to feel strong arms around me.
That hug that I am missing so much lately, has taken on such importance to me, that I grab my kids at every opportunity, hoping for that feeling, but it just isn’t the same. The hug to a child is a giving hug; it is not a hug of surrender.
I have started to think about hugs lately… and how the mere witnessing of a hug can set me to tears. It is not, I don’t think, the desire for sex, as much as it is a desire for surrender. Not so much a sexual surrender, but certainly a surrender of responsibility, much like the child who hugs the parent after getting teased at school. It is a “make the world go away hug”. It is a “protect me” hug. It is a hug offering a safety net. It is that hug that is always there, and will catch you. It is that which is missing from my life, and has been for as many years as I can remember. It is that missing hug, that brings me to tears as I write about it.
Sadness invades because this hug is probably one that grows over so much time, that it is unlikely that I will have the opportunity to develop the kind of relationship that grows those kind of hugs.
I chose badly.
I chose men who did not hug; I chose men who hurt, either with their words or their hands.
I have tried to take those lessons, and use them to properly raise my children. To teach a son to never hit, and to teach a girl to never allow herself to think that it is normal to be hit, are lessons that are priceless for sure.
But is it wrong to want?
Is it wrong that for this time in my life, I don’t want to seek a lesson. I just want a hug.