I can still vividly recall the moment my high school crush took my hand for the very first time. It was in a dimly lit movie theater, and I felt an electric rush coursing through my veins. As our palms met, sweat formed between our hands, and I experienced that familiar flutter in my stomach. At just 15 years old, being touched in such a way was a monumental life event for me, and it’s a memory that feels as fresh today as it did back then.
Flash forward to college, where I found myself on the dance floor of a local bar, feeling heartbroken and tipsy. An unexpected stranger brushed his hand across my lower back, and despite my inebriated state, that moment left an imprint on my memory.
Then, there was that transformative moment when I realized I was truly in love with a young man. The kiss we shared after pouring out our dreams was exhilarating, sending me soaring to new heights—an unforgettable milestone in my life.
Then came motherhood, something I had longed for with all my heart. To share this journey with the man who constantly chose to uplift me made me feel incredibly fortunate. How had I earned such a blessing?
The initial skin-to-skin connection with my newborns was utterly intoxicating. The first hugs, the kisses—it was a love so profound and overwhelming that words fell short of capturing it.
But as time went on, the meaning of “being touched” evolved. It started to feel like an obligation, a burden at times. Everyone wanted a piece of me, and honestly, there just wasn’t enough to go around.
After enduring the physical toll of childbirth, I found myself in a painful process of reconstructing my body and identity. Pulling my little one off my milk-soaked breast while simultaneously meeting my husband’s touch became an overwhelming experience. There simply wasn’t enough of me to satisfy everyone’s needs.
I’ve often felt overstimulated, still grappling with the balance of fulfilling others while also craving my own personal space. The term “being touched” became so broad that it was hard to define. It’s physical, yes, but it’s also emotional—debilitating yet euphoric, infuriating yet fulfilling.
Motherhood has redefined touch for me; it’s those late-night breastfeeding sessions, the feeling of sinking into bed only to be jolted awake by a baby needing comfort. It’s the chaos of navigating parenting with a toddler clinging on for dear life, making sure I don’t escape during bedtime. It’s the brief moments of alone time that seem like a distant memory, replaced by an incessant need for connection.
It’s the bittersweet hugs and kisses goodbye, the hand-holding as we walk to school, feeling the tension of separation as we approach safety. It’s the fear reflected in my child’s eyes when they seek my reassurance, and the pride I share with my partner as we reflect on our journey together. “Look what we’ve built,” we whisper to each other, marveling at the life we’ve created.
While navigating the lows and the fleeting highs of parenthood, I often find myself in a whirlwind of emotions. It’s both everything I wanted and everything I never knew I needed. The love can be overwhelming at times, leaving me in awe of its intensity. Yet, amidst the chaos, I know I will never regret how deeply I have been touched, because these moments are fleeting. I will always yearn for the physical closeness, and emotionally, I will carry these experiences with me forever.
In the end, when they let go, I will still be holding on.
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Summary
The journey of motherhood is a complex tapestry of emotions, from the exhilarating first touches of love to the overwhelming demands of parenting. As mothers, we navigate the delicate balance between meeting the needs of our children and partners while yearning for our own personal space. This reflection on touch captures the beauty, chaos, and profound transformation that comes with motherhood, reminding us that every moment is fleeting and cherished.
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