I'M NOT A HUGGER

Listen, ya'll are going to get these blogs whenever I feel led to write! I hope you don't mind the randomness that is Vashti. I am up at an unGodly hour per usual and of course I'm already deep in thought. Every Sunday at church someone awkwardly stands next to me and I can see the wheels turning in their head on the decision of whether to hug me or not. I'll explain why. So, about 5-7 years ago I realized that when people go to hug me I get anxious. I thought to myself, that can't be right I love hugging my grandparents, I love hugging my nephew...and well, that's it. I'm chuckling just writing that. 

My family was never big on hugging. My parents didn't really hug us. Actually in my high school graduation picture, you can see how odd me and my dad look standing that close to each other. And it's not because we don't love each other, we just aren't a physically affectionate family. We are wordsmiths so we have always shown our affection through making fun of each other, and we still do. Talking to my mentor a few years back I mention that hugs are weird. I mean think about it. People are coming at you with a large grin on their face and their arms opened wide like they are going to embrace the whole bit of you. I laughed as I told her because even thinking about hugs like that I knew wasn't normal. I knew it was a me problem, and once I know something is a me problem I need to address it. 

She proceeds to ask "why (beyond the odd outlook of the actual hug) does it cause me so much anxiety?" I told her I was unsure and then I was immediately taken back to that day. It was dark outside, me, mom, and dad were sitting on the couch. Dad decided the movie that night which meant we were watching a karate movie, probably something starring, Jet Li. I don't know why we allowed my dad to pick the movie because he was and is known for falling asleep during EVERY movie, and this night was no different. What was different than any other night prior was I laid my head on my mom's lap. I had just recently started doing that during the day as I was homeschooled. I also randomly started giving her hugs. 

We all fell asleep. I woke up with my head still in her lap alarmed and alerted. Alerted because her breathing machine was going off but more alarmed because she hadn't told me to get off her lap. You see, any other time I put my head on her lap, after 5 minutes, she would tell me to get up because my big ol' head was too heavy for her frail legs. When I would hug her I would squeeze her just to annoy her. She was always telling me to get off. Joking of course, my mom was a big jokester. A great sense of humor. So, her machine alarm is beeping and I'm alarmed because my head is still on her lap, her hand resting on my head. I jumped up to see an image of my mother I don't think I can ever erase. I will spare you details but I knew something was wrong immediately.

I sprang into action, waking up my father, calling 9-1-1, explaning to them what all they needed to bring because I stayed up many nights researching how to care for my sick mother. I went to every doctor's appointment I could. I explained to my Spanish speaking grandma what the doctors were saying. I was prepared. More than prepared. So prepared my nervous system stopped and my mental system went into overdrive. What does she need and who needs to be made aware flooded my mind. I filled up her oxygen tanks because I needed the reassurance that she had extra just incase the ambulance ran out. I laid her down on the couch, changed her tubing, made sure she was decent because I didn't want her to be embarrassed when she woke up. When she would wake up. She is going to wake up. There's no way she won't, I did what I needed to do and this is just a hick-up. God's going to heal her. I have to hug her one more time, squeeze her until she tells me I'm hurting her. 

She never woke up. I never got to hug her again. She never yelled for me to stop again. I never heard that God forsaken high-pitch beep of her breathing machine again. I was her caretaker, her child, and her biggest annoyance and I was proud to be all of it. I still am but it's like my body, which was already awkward when it came to physical touch, became even more shut down. Even more alarmed. I fought to even get there with my mother, after physical abuse from others I didn't long for touching. However, I pushed through it with the safest person I knew. And now she was gone and who was going to be my safe person to fight through this with? 

Hugs. Hugs aren't just a hi for me. Hugs were the way I fought the numbing I felt for years. My mother knew and she allowed it. She knew I needed to feel something again. I feel the same way about heads on laps. Obviously, we don't just do that in everyday life but it brings me so much anxiety at even the thought of it. 

So, I'm sorry if I have offended you. In the moment I try to find the best way to explain without explaining but I can come off cold and harsh until you get to know me. If you know me, you know I speak hug through encouragement, thought acts of service, gifts, etc. I speak hug in every way but a physical hug. 

When my daughter was born, I was terrified, terrified to love anyone that much again. Terrified that I would have another human that I longed to hug that would be taken from me. It's taken some time but I try every day to spend a few moments hugging her. It heals a piece of me every time. Every time she comes at me with those big ol' eyes, huge smile, and wide open arms I feel less and less anxiety. I feel less and less like I have to run, Like I have to make sure she's ok. If you have ever said or texted me anything that's associated with loving me or you have hugged me and I have responded with are you ok, everything ok, which I know many of you have received, I'm working on it and I'm sorry.

While I still say from time to time I am not a hugger, I am saying it less because it's becoming less true. 

With love 💚