Diary of a non-hugger

Oh good grief, what have I done?

You remember before, when I ran and ran and fucking ran and it was shit and I never enjoyed it, and it was painful and awful, but I did it?

Yeah, well this time is worse. Properly. This time is harder.

You may know that I’m in training at the moment to walk 100km in 24 hours. I’ve been training really hard and, since Steve ruptured his Achilles, I’ve been training by myself to get fit enough to achieve this really difficult challenge.

And, you know what? The training is working. I have worked really hard. Not just the hours of walking, but I’ve been running and swimming to make sure I can do it. And I think I can. And other people think I can. It’s brilliant. 

But I got a bit cocky. I was too happy. I was enjoying my training too much. I was “chirpy” at the end of a 28km through-the-night training walk. People started to think I was having too much fun and that the challenge wasn’t sufficient.

And one evening, after a Brook management team meeting, some of the nicest, kindest people I work with decided I needed a “proper” challenge. And they decided to offer me cash if I would face my biggest fears. Oh my word, the irony of these people.

I don’t need to name them. They know who they are. They’re reading this and they don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Well, cry ladies and gentleman. Cry.

They are making me hug people.

Yes, you read it right. Some of the best people I know. Women and men who have dedicated their lives to making sure that young people have the information and support they need to develop healthy relationships, who would lie down in front of a tank if they thought it meant they could improve young people’s capacity to consent, think I need fixing because I don’t like hugging people.

They know this because, 4 years ago, I wrote a speech for a Brook event. And I said this…

“It’s a truth, universally acknowledged, that I don’t do hugging at work. I’m told I’m not touchy-feely. It has been pointed out to me on several occasions that I lack some of the emotional sensitivity or the personal warmth that many of my colleagues are blessed with. I do not tend to wear my heart on my sleeve. 

And yet in the last couple of weeks, I have been reduced to tears 3 times as a result of my work.

When volunteer cohort 2 finished their placement with us, we had a little tea party to say goodbye to them. One of them in particular had a wonderful journey with us. She blossomed before our very eyes, changing from a slightly awkward, shy young woman, not really at home with herself, into a brave, confident and happy young woman grabbing life’s opportunities with both hands. As I listened to her, and her mentor, talk about her experience, I was unable to stop tears of pleasure, not to mention some pride at being involved with the organisation that had partly enabled her transformation. 

Only a few days later, I had to read the report of a very difficult call that the Ask Brook workers had taken. It was a sad, disturbing and violent situation which made me both deeply unhappy and absolutely furious. My tears then were of frustration, anger and fear at how many young people there might be out there in terrible situations who don’t have this young woman’s courage or don’t know how to call someone and ask for help.

And then, yesterday (and she has given me permission to tell you this), my 9 year old daughter asked me, after listening to the news, what rape was. So we talked about that, and we discussed, in a way she was able to grasp, how important consent is, and how sex is something good, and that to use it to hurt or frighten people is a terrible crime. And afterwards I felt a bit wobbly and teary. And I thought about all the children who are being denied the kind of frank and vital information and conversations that I believe no child should miss out on.”

I think you’ll agree there is some moving stuff in that speech. Some insight into why I believe so fiercely in what Brook does. That’s not what my colleagues heard, though. Oh no. For them, the key point of that speech was that I’m not a hugger. I’m some strange cold fish, they think, and they worry about me and wonder about my heart and whether it works properly.

And so yesterday, these huggers, these strange, touchy-feely individuals laid down the gauntlet. If I find 50 people in the next month and I obtain a hug from them, and the person I hug takes a picture to prove it, they will give me a ton of cash for Brook.

I’ve accepted the challenge. I am going to find 50 people in the next 30 days who will agree (by mutual consent) to hug me. I will give them my phone and they will take a photo of us hugging to prove that we are both happy about it and I will post the photo here, along with some insight into the hug.

I mulled this over while I was swimming this morning (training for the other, easier, bit of my challenge) and I wondered whether it is actually possible for me to be giving free consent to these hugs or whether I am being coerced or pressured into it because of the opportunity to raise funds for Brook. That made me realise what a genius idea it actually is. Because with every hug I get, I will be thinking carefully about consent. I will be consciously checking that I want to hug and I will make sure that the person I’m asking is able to say no without feeling embarrassed or uncomfortable. I will be doing that because so many young people don’t have the luxury of informed, enthusiastic, mutual consent in their relationships and I believe one of the most important things we can do for them is educate ourselves and other people about how vital consent is to helping young people have happy healthy lives.

So I promise that every hug I have will be freely consented to by me and by the person I’m hugging. If you see me over the next 30 days and you would like to hug me, please say so. If you don’t want a hug, don’t worry about it and if you think it’s a good fundraising idea (in addition to the little matter of a 100km walk) please do make a donation here.

Who knows, maybe, just maybe, after 50 hugs, I’ll begin to understand what the fuss is all about. But I doubt it.