The Kind of Touch We’re Missing
We don’t talk enough about how much we need non-sexual, intimate touch.
Not just hugs in passing or a quick pat on the back—but real, meaningful, grounding touch. The kind that says, I’m here with you. The kind that lets you exhale in a way you didn’t even know you were holding in.
The truth is, most of us are touch-starved and don’t even realize it. We live in a culture that has tangled touch up with sex so much that we’ve forgotten how to just be with each other in a physical way that’s safe, nourishing, and deeply human.
Touch That Doesn’t Ask for Anything
When was the last time you received touch that wasn’t transactional?
Not a quick hello hug, not a shoulder squeeze before moving on, not touch that was leading to something else—but just pure, caring, present touch?
For so many people, the only time they receive long, sustained touch is during intimacy. And while sexual touch is beautiful and important, it shouldn’t be the only way we get to experience closeness.
We need touch that doesn’t ask for anything in return:
The weight of a hand resting on your back when you’re feeling overwhelmed.
A long hug where neither person pulls away first.
Someone gently holding your hand just because.
A safe space to receive without performing, pleasing, or giving back.
That kind of touch—grounded, intentional, and free of expectation—does something to our nervous system. It reminds us we’re safe. It lets us settle. It brings us home to our bodies.
A Personal Example: When Touch Was What I Needed Most
I remember a time when I was with my ex, and we would get into arguments that would leave me completely dysregulated—my heart racing, my mind spinning, my body overwhelmed. All I needed in those moments was to be held. To feel that steady, grounding presence. I tried to explain that to him: When I’m like this, I just need you to hold me. Please, just hold me.
But instead of understanding, he reacted with frustration. He said, You act like you hate me when you get like that. I don’t want to touch you! His words stung. But more than that, I realized that he wasn’t able to see my dysregulation for what it was—a natural, human response that had nothing to do with rejecting him. It was just my nervous system trying to process the stress. And in that moment, I didn’t need more words, more space, or more distance—I needed to feel his presence. To be held. I didn’t know why or how to communicate it better, but my body did.
This is where we, as a culture, are missing the mark. We expect people to self-soothe in isolation, to use words when they’re overwhelmed, to “calm down” before they can receive care. But the truth is, we regulate through connection. We need each other. And in moments of distress, a steady hand, a grounding embrace, or just knowing someone is with us—without judgment—is often the only thing that truly helps.
The Discomfort Around Intimacy I Didn’t Know Was There
Growing up, I didn’t see my parents express much physical affection. There was no cuddling on the couch, no long hugs, no holding hands. Intimacy was something I never really witnessed—so when I did see it between others, whether friends or partners, it felt foreign to me. Uncomfortable, even.
It was hard for me to process. I’d see people share a soft, lingering touch, or cuddle up together, and I’d find myself looking away, feeling like I shouldn’t be watching. This kind of closeness felt intimate in a way I couldn’t wrap my head around—not because it was sexual, but because I’d never seen intimacy expressed in a healthy, non-sexual way. And that gap created discomfort.
Even now, I still feel that unease when I see friends being physically close, like sharing a quiet moment, making eye contact, or cuddling. It’s hard for me to make eye contact with people who are just being with each other, connecting without needing to perform or explain it. It feels like something private, something I’m not supposed to witness, even though I know it’s a natural and beautiful part of being human. I still carry the discomfort of not having witnessed healthy, non-sexual intimacy growing up.
This is why non-sexual, intimate touch is so important to me now. It’s not just about creating safety for others—it’s about healing my own understanding of what it means to connect without expectation, without judgment. It’s about learning how to be present with others in a way that feels nourishing and grounded, instead of awkward or foreign.
Why This Matters
Human beings are wired for touch. It regulates our stress levels, lowers our heart rate, and helps us feel connected—not just to others, but to ourselves. When we don’t get enough, it shows up in ways we don’t always recognize:
Feeling disconnected or numb.
Struggling to feel at ease in our own skin.
Longing for physical closeness but not knowing where to find it.
Feeling like something is missing but not knowing what.
And for those who have experienced trauma, learning to receive safe, non-sexual touch can be deeply healing. It teaches the body that not all touch is threatening or demanding. That we can be held without expectation. That we can soften without losing control.
Creating a Culture Where Touch is Safe
So many of us are craving deeper connection, but we don’t always know how to ask for it. Our culture doesn’t make it easy. But what if we started shifting that?
What if we normalized caring, non-sexual touch between friends? What if we made it easier to say, ‘Hey, I could really use a hug right now’—without fear of it being needy, weird or misunderstood? What if we allowed ourselves to receive without feeling the need to give back right away?
This is part of why I do the work I do. Because bodywork isn’t just about releasing tension—it’s about relearning how to be in our bodies with comfort, trust, and ease. It’s about experiencing touch that is safe, present, and given with care. It’s about reminding people that they are allowed to be held.
Because we all need that. More than we realize. We need touch that helps us regulate, reconnect, and be seen for who we truly are—without any expectations attached.
