Dette Allmark
Too close to touch
By Dette Allmark
I was pondering on the issue of self care, a term lauded about the place in this covid era. Of course as a mother self care is vitally important both to rejuvenate lowered inner resources, and replenish creative and caring wells, by treating ourselves kindly and honourably. However what has failed to be expanded upon in these current individualistic times is mutual care, this can not be reduced to a care emoji when scrolling through facebook, lighting a candle in your window or clapping outside your home at an allotted time. These demonstrate consideration and concern but do not serve to relieve some very pressing human needs. There are some needs that are easier to meet than others, a food parcel, or trip to collect a prescription, a weekly phone call or zoom chat. There are many charities who have worked tirelessly to fulfil these practical requirements. And for some lone mothers, bubble families have filled this gap but for others who are not bubbled are in fact left at the mercy of the virtual. As a single mother there is one need that cannot always be met in this pandemic, it is that of touch. A now forbidden hug, a kiss to the forehead, a consoling touch of the arm, for many these acts of mutual platonic care have in covid evaporated at the expense of feeling physically and emotionally connected. To feel the heat of someone's touch, tangibly be able to look into someone's eyes, and actually cry on someone's shoulder are surely human and basic requirements. For those living alone or parenting alone these may be few and far between. As an adult to be embraced by another adult induces the true and unspoken sense of being fully looked after and belonging.
So what is the impact of having long periods without these life affirming and supportive human needs met? Our resilience lowered? Our sense of belonging dented and our emotional balance jarred? Our parenting strained? Touch is a part of our life story present from birth, from the first skin to skin contact, cradling in arms, kisses and the contact of suckling. It is only in cases of illness or neglect that a child is bereft of this loving physical communication and the subsequent effects to physical, mental and emotional development.
I remember fondly as a child adoring the special times in which my mother brushed and dried my hair, the warm breeze of the hair dryer, the strokes of the brush and most importantly the gentle touch of hands who were not frequently demonstrative. This was equally echoed in hugs issued by homely aunts or older women from our community that served to show acceptance and adoration. I still remain calmed and stilled when someone brushes or washes my hair, the act of surrender to what feels like a maternal giving of care. Certain images are brought to mind, Balthus paints the act of an older sister combing her siblings hair, Degas paints the practical ritual of a mother untangling her daughter's long red locks. Moore draws tenderly a woman having her hair combed lovingly. This may only be one example of how touch and mutual care is present in our upbringing and speaks to us of how important touch is for making us feel cared for and belonging to a tribe. When mothering alone, yes you have the hugs and kisses of small infants, however these do not always match the unfulfilled need of being enveloped in the arms of another adult to fully communicate the message you are not alone in fact you belong and are cared for. Belonging is not only spoken in kind words but in tactile actions and it is these that can escape us in these virtually removed times.
As single mothers we manoeuvre through this isolating pandemic blindly, with extended periods that are devoid of touch, something which has been available since birth is now off limits. We find ourselves wondering why we feel destabilised and more aware of the cracks in our resilience. Touch is one part of that essential mutual care package that when removed leads us to feel so torn away from those we love and the community we belong to. I for one know that something critical to buoyant survival as a mother will be fully restored when once again I can be greeted with a hug, consoled with a shoulder or my wayward locks be combed back into order.