A Morning Hug
A Morning Hug
My coffee this morning tastes like a good hug. I think that’s why I like Starbucks white mochas. I hate paying for it- so I don’t do it as often as I’d like. There’s just something about them- with each sip there’s the faintest hint of a smile that comes across my face. They must put some kind of chemical in it to keep me and my money coming back…
Back in CT I was known for not liking hugs. Well, I’m going to dis-spell that rumor (that I started). Truth be known, I was very scared to let anyone get close to me. I hated being touched and I didn’t want people to know the “real me”- because then they wouldn’t like me at all. That’s why I gained weight- to keep gentleman callers and the pretty popular girls at arm’s length. A few friends got close- they got to know me, and as it turns out… loved me for who I was. I love giving and receiving hugs from them. My teens… oh how I love my teens. I could hug them all day long and not tire from it- not even for a second.
So here I am in Chicago- losing weight which I believe to be the physical manifestation of the deep inner healing that God is doing in my life. I’m not terribly afraid to let people in… sure there’s some shyness and awkwardness, but it isn’t because I view myself as unlovable. That’s huge. I know that I have value and I know that I can be a great friend. I’m just terrible at reaching out to others. Before I moved, my best friend actually gave me lessons on how to meet new people and carry on conversations. Those lessons have definitely helped, but I still can’t seem to make the leap to “friend”. I try blaming it on work- I mean, I work with all men- nasty mouthed and some lacking in the hygiene department, I work most Sundays so I can’t really meet people at church. Yet, I’ve turned down offers to go with my room mate and hang out with other people. I spend 90+% of the time at home in my room. I’m self secluding and still longing for inclusion. I am a self saboteur.
Why share this? I can think of a few. In the show Pushing Daisies, the main character and his love interest cannot touch lest she dies. They have to take extreme precautions to not come in contact- plexi glass between the driver and passenger seats, they hold hands in gloves, and they kiss with a sheet of plastic wrap between them. They had to have a barrier to their intimacy. The internet, a blog, some posting, it seems like that barrier. It provides that level of protection and yet allows me to bare my soul. Then there’s that healing issue. Someone that I greatly respect told me a short coming and called that part of his brokenness. I want to have that kind of freedom- to be able to admit to being a broken person and know that I can still be loved. So whether you want to call this therapy or a step of faith- I call it healing.
I don’t have a friend that I can hug out here yet, so I’ll have to continue to settle for Starbucks, but I know that as I continue to heal hugs will eventually find their way to me.