I’M NOT A hugger. There, I said it. I don’t want to hug colleagues, acquaintances and people I haven’t seen in donkey’s years or simply just because we share a relation. I don’t want to do fake air kisses and figure out which cheek goes first and how many cheeks we’re doing, while I try not to headbutt you or worse, meet in the middle.
It doesn’t mean I don’t like you or I’m not happy to see you. It doesn’t mean I’m devoid of emotion or have no heart. It simply means I hate feeling obliged to lean in for that awkward moment of orchestrated contact that often feels as authentic as Dolly Parton’s wrinkle-free forehead. No offence Dolly, but you get the idea.
I fully accept that some people are huggers. They’ll throw their arms around a lamppost given the chance, slap you on the back, and talk in your face about how well you’re looking and how long it’s been since they’ve seen you. And look that’s grand, but they’ve got to accept that not everyone wants a hug. Declining is not a unilateral rejection of that person.
Hugs, in my humble opinion, should be reserved for consented-to contact and have a real emotion behind it. Our lives were indeed devoid of hugs for too long thanks to the restrictions placed on us by Covid, but if anything, it has shown me, even more, why I want to reserve my hugs for genuine feelings and not just as part of an expected social norm.
Hugs have gone from being an authentic physical statement of joy and love with your dearest, to nothing more than a stage-managed, empty ritual we’re expected to complete at the office shindig with Karen from accounts, who we only otherwise see once a month on a Zoom call. Declining said hug is often frowned upon, however, and immediately sets up shifty vibes in the minds of many.
But what do hugs even stand for anymore when you’re expected to hug someone you barely know or are not that keen on or you just don’t feel like it? This mindless carrying out of a physical action has sucked the feeling out of what a hug is supposed to be; a spontaneous show of genuine affection.
Having kids reinforced my feelings about hugs. I love hugging my two little boys. There is nothing on this earth nicer than having their tiny arms clamped around me squeezing me for dear life. Yes. Me. The ardent non-hugger, who’s just short of waving a placard saying ‘down with your fake hugs’, does indeed love hugs.
The real ones, that is.
I love my boys’ crazy, run-from-the-back-of-the-room, into my arms and almost knock me down hugs. I love the tear-filled, snotty ones after they trip over. I love the quick hugs, the backwards hugs, the long hugs, and even the sticky-fingered ones that ruin my jumper hugs. I love the random ones where they say “Can I have a hug?” and jump into my arms for no reason other than they need me. I love them all. They are the very embodiment of what a hug should be. Real emotion. Not a hollow chore that expresses an emotional void.
The funny thing is, though, my boys are like chalk and cheese. My youngest is a hugger. He always has been, even as a small baby. He loved snuggles and cuddles. He still, to this day, wants to be carried from time to time and I of course oblige because there’s not much longer, I will be physically able to carry him like a Koala.
My seven-year-old however is not a hugger. He never really was. Even as a toddler, after a fall, he’d be back on his feet and off again in a flash. He’d only go in for a proper melt-in-your-arms hug when he was really under the weather. I could count on one hand the number of times he wanted to be carried and he is still selective with his hugs.
Sometimes they are full-on bear hugs, other times they are backwards hugs. Sometimes he’s not up for hugs. All of that is fine by me.
I tend to ask the boys if they would like a hug. I rarely presume, because I understand perfectly that feeling of being obliged to hug someone, even someone you love deeply, when you just don’t want to. It’s not a nice feeling.
It may seem like a small thing in the grand scheme of life, but hugs can teach us a lot about consent. While I’m nowhere near ready to broach the subject of sexual consent with a four- and seven-year-old, what I do know is that I can teach them about the idea of consent in a non-sexual way and why it’s important, especially in today’s world with the added pressures of social media and the internet.
If either of them doesn’t want to hug someone, including me, they don’t have to. Their decision is not a rejection and that’s something us grownups need to remember. Neither is it an indication of anything other than they don’t want to. We need to remove the pressure to hug people as a matter of course.
It’s the same concept when a stranger touches a pregnant woman’s belly or pats a child they don’t know on the head. Seemingly benign physical consent might appear meaningless on the surface, but highlighting the need for the consent around it, even from an early age, might just sow the seeds for the future and perhaps even teach us all a few things in the process.
Niamh O’Reilly is a freelance writer and wrangler of two small boys, who is winging her way through motherhood, her forties and her eyeliner.
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