Touch: An Act of Remembering
Touch is more than sensation. It’s a language, a memory, a way home.
In my practice, I witness daily how profound, and how tender, the experience of touch can be. Whether it’s healing from trauma, reconnecting with the body, or simply remembering how to feel… this is an invitation to explore what touch truly means.
This piece came through as a weaving of poetry, reflection, and lived experience — for those who know, in their bones, that we are meant to hold and be held.
From the time we are born into this world, the body craves to hold and be held.
Actually, it begins even earlier — in the womb, wrapped in warmth, sensation, and sound.
We are held before we understand what it means.
Held before we even know we are separate.
Just as we are held by the universe, we are made to hold each other.
It lives in us. It is our birthright.
Touch is the essence of true, tangible connection.
It’s what makes us feel whole, sacred, human.
And it’s not only physical.
When someone says “that really touched me”, they aren’t talking about skin.
They’re speaking of the heart…of being stirred, softened, met.
To be touched is to be moved.
To let something or someone all the way in.
Over time, we’ve been taught to touch lessor never taught how to touch with care, permission, and presence.
Many of us didn’t grow up in environments where safe touch was modelled.
And now, with the surge of technology, the things we touch most often are made of plastic, glass, and metal.
The living, breathing contact between bodies is often replaced with cold surfaces and scrolling.
The act of receiving touch is vulnerable.
The act of giving touch is a deep honour.
And what does that word really mean — “honour?”
To honour one’s body as a sensitive, sacred vessel.
To listen to the subtle hums of vibration that move between contact.
To take care.
To offer touch with love and presence, not expectation.
To understand that we are never entitled to someone else’s body, but instead, invited into a space of trust.
That is what makes it sacred.
The gift of touch is one of the greatest blessings we have.
Just look at the animal kingdom.
Most sentient beings are deeply attuned to touch, not just through the body, but through their field.
They sense each other before a paw is lifted.
They know when to play, when to soothe, when to retreat.
It’s instinctual, intuitive, a language of the nervous system.
And when you place your hand gently on a beloved animal, slow and soft...
Watch how they melt.
How their eyes close.
How their breathing slows.
In that moment, they are not just being touched, they are being met.
They are safe. They are loved.
And we, in turn, are reminded of how simple it really is.
Some people carry a strong aversion to touch, not because they don’t need it, but because it hasn’t felt safe.
For some, this is rooted in trauma, fear, or violation.
For others, it’s the overwhelm of a hypersensitive system, where even the gentlest contact can feel like too much to process.
In all of these cases, safety is the thread.
The invitation is not to push through it, but to meet the body where it is.
To rebuild trust in slow, consensual ways.
And yes, with the right conditions, touch itself can become the medicine.
Not all at once, but over time. With care.
Touch is what holds us together.
Touch brings your body home.
Touch is what grounds us to this Earth.
Touch is remembering who we are.
