New Hypothesis: Sensual Anemia

Coincidence, synchronicity, hypotheses, ideas and theories have a way of seeming like they spring from nowhere. Oftentimes, though, if you stand back you can see the long leading roads and conscious deliberation that bring one to a summary thought or concept.

Many years ago I was extolling the virtues of my mother, who should surely be canonized. I know lots of people feel that way about their mothers, but you’ll just have to take my word for it: with mine it’s true. I feel sorry for everybody else, because there’s just no way your mom was as awesome as mine.

During this long ago conversation, I was listing the diverse ways she had cared for me and expressed her affection. I surprised myself by concluding that this incredible devotion was probably the reason I would never be happy in any relationship: no one was ever going to love me with the fervor and attention to detail my mom had shown me. Literally no one else was ever going to love me *that much*--and therein was the rub. Having had unconditional, expressive, emotive love, would I ever be able to be satisfied with less?

Recently, I’ve been thinking about something that, until a comment by orchidlover, I had not connected with my earlier experiences. But of course, there is nothing new under the sun, and with that connection in mind it finally motivated me to throw this one out there, incompletely sorted out as it may be.

I posit that a large portion of American society is suffering from a severe lack of positive sensory input; that we are, in fact, in a state of deprivation. Perhaps it can be characterized as a sort of sensual anemia.

We are isolated. In our culture, physical contact falls into rigorous, unspoken categories and rules. There is very little in the way of acceptable casual physical affection. Most *allowable* or even desired physical contact is crammed into a few limited types: sexual/romantic, parental, or purchased therapeutic.

So it’s okay for your partner to brush your hair from your face, clasp your hand, or stroke your arm. Because they are your sex partner. Yet it would be considered odd for a good friend to hold you close. It would be pushing it for them to massage your feet. There is our constant unnecessary sexualization of touch, and our fear of all touch having sexual connotations.

It’s okay for a parent to cuddle and hug their child. But not so okay for siblings to cuddle each other. Really not okay if they are of the opposite sex. Something fine between a parent and child cannot be translated to a peer to peer exchange. Again, I think most people would identify a fear of sexualization of these actions as the primary cause of discomfort/avoidance.

Then there’s what you are willing to pay for: massage, acupuncture, manicures, facials, pedicures, waxing. In some of these situations, people expose themselves (literally expose) more than they do even to their sex partners. But because this falls under the awning of “paid services,” it is allowable. This may seem like an exaggerated statement, but anybody who knows what goes into a Brazilian wax realizes that the waxer has as much if not more up close anatomical knowledge of a client than the average gynecologist.

So, what’s the big deal? If all these categories are how it boils down, then it must be what we want, right? Well, setting aside any discussion/argument about our Puritanical sexualization of touch, there’s another aspect to consider.

This self imposed sensory isolation is the exact opposite of the typical childhood experience. Think on the trajectory of a child’s physical stimuli from birth to about age 5.

Now, I’m the first to admit that I’m pulling these observations right out of my ass, totally anecdotal and observational. But doesn’t it seem that children are in a state of constant positive, reassuring, pleasing touching for the majority of their early development?

Babies are constantly cuddles and coddles. They are randomly kissed, hugged, squeezed, and petted. Perfect strangers stroke their faces and dandle them on their knees. Toddlers are apt to receive a casual caress from anyone they careen into, whether fond family member or random shopper in a grocery store. Hair is ruffled, noses tweaked, children swung around by their arms and tossed into the air—always safely caught and returned to earth.

Without asking, without exceptional extenuation circumstances, children are constantly stroked, petted, kissed, hugged, and touched.

Before you ever have a chance to form an opinion, establish an identity, or even register the entire color spectrum, you are bombarded with physical stimuli. Pleasurable physical stimuli that is a part of your everyday existence.

Until it’s not.

So, how does the human psyche deal with this? With the gradual, then full-stop, removal of something that was there before you could even remember? 

Furthermore, you are faced with a world that is set up to deny you the recreation of that environment. Like I said before, the categories are limited and strict.

It leaves me wondering. What if part of the common malaise is this subconscious search for something we don’t even realize we are missing? Is there a measurable correlation between the increase in “spa” services and an increase in personal isolation? Is there a connection between the pursuit of violent or extreme activity and the lack of casual physical contact in the average American’s day to day life?

There have been proposed links between the development of sociopathology and unexplained infant deaths and a dearth of physical contact for the newborns.

Are there people out there who are unhappy because they are longing for something they were never told about, but were given and had taken away?

There are ten million offshoots to a question like this. And I haven’t presented it in the clearest way, I’m afraid. But I wanted to get it out there because I think it was just going to percolate endlessly.

This is not an essay about solutions. I’m not advocating that we try and recreate our relationship with our parents as the base model for other interactions in our lives.

I’m just wondering at the forces that work on us when we aren’t looking.