48. Tough Love
affections & rejections
Please click here for the full “read aloud” version:
“Now I’ve been hangin’ around you for days
But when I lean in, you just turn your head away…
…I always have to steal my kisses from you
Always have to steal my kisses from you.”
—Ben Harper & The Innocent Criminals
This TikTok video came across my desk and I felt seen.
It’s a montage of a guy showering love and kisses on his cat. His cat is not having it.
A dozen years ago, when my son was a young teenager, I inadvertently described this cat’s objections to his adorer’s kisses in a piece called, “Tough Love.” It was published in the parenting anthology Monday Coffee and featured on Sammiches & Psych Meds. It still rings true, so I’m sharing it in full below –
I’m not sure when it became clear to us that our son had an aversion to our kisses and hugs, but somewhere along the way, he made it known that physical affection was not his thing.
I wrote “Tough Love” to tease myself about his rejections, and to remind myself that “my needs and his don’t always match up.” This was written in jest, but just so it’s clear: I did, and do, respect his right to not be kissed or touched without consent more than “stealing kisses” implies.
Here, we live by this cat’s rules and try to lessen his need to show his fangs.
Tough Love
(Here’s the audio just for this section)
I torture my child on a fairly regular basis.
Every time I indulge in this behavior, my son’s screams of aggravation and my husband’s entreaties to “stop being so mean” convince me to back off, and I am able to refrain for a few days.
But soon enough I am at it again. I can’t help it.
I tell him, “I am a mom, this is what we do.”
And, “You are my son, and I will kiss you if I want to.”
Oh, he hates that.
Most days, I am very sensitive to the fact that my child is, well, sensitive. His allergy to affection is not just a new teenager embarrassment thing. Like many people with autism, my son’s sensory system is on high alert, and there is something about a kiss that really rubs him the wrong way. Maybe my lips feel like sandpaper to him, or maybe it’s the sound of the smack that makes his skin crawl.
My son is so repulsed by the idea that he responds with a frustrated “Ouch!” when I simply blow him a kiss, not to mention when I actually touch my lips to his skin. I cannot even purse my lips in thought without hearing his preemptive protest. If I do sneak in a quick peck, he grunts “No!” and often hits himself or vigorously rubs the spot where the kiss was planted.
If I really feel like sharing the love, I will give my husband a kiss when my son is in the room. My kid will drop whatever he is doing to run over and give his dad a tap on the head, just to set things right, while giving my husband a very clear look of you’re welcome.
So, with due respect to my child’s aversion, I offer appropriate accommodations. I make do with a ruffle of his hair or a quick squeeze of his hand. I substitute crazy tickle fights for quiet cuddling on the couch. I give my child “deep pressure” squishes instead of gentle hugs. If my kid is in a good mood, I can attack him in a game of “Mommy kisses!” and we laugh as he fights off my maternal advances.
I know that I am lucky to have these interactions with him—some people on the spectrum avoid any kind of physical contact—so I keep my kisses to a minimum, no matter how much I crave a tender moment with my child.
But sometimes I just forget. His infectious laugh and beautiful grin bring out the worst in me. When he is upset, I really screw it up. Even after all these years of parenting this kid, I still try to offer a shoulder rub or soft hug when he is crying. To him, my actions provide the exact opposite of comfort but that maternal instinct to reach out and physically embrace a despondent child is strong. I am still learning that my needs and his don’t always match up.
My unrelenting displays of affection are not just about what I need as a mother, though. I torture him for his own good. Just like crowded grocery stores, dental exams and public bathrooms, there are things in life that you just have to do—no matter how disgusting and uncomfortable. My rigorous campaign to expose him to these awful and painful obligations in life—including receiving a kiss from someone you love—may ultimately pay off. After years of desensitization, my son loves the grocery store, successfully endures the dentist, and stresses about the public john a lot less than I do myself.
Someday, maybe his wife will thank me.
And, on those days when it is clear he can’t tolerate any violations of his personal space, I oblige him. I adjust and adapt. I bide my time. I enter his room, ninja-like, after he has fallen asleep. I fix his blanket, so his feet don’t stick out. I touch his arm, push his hair away from his forehead, and take in his calm, unworried face. He would probably be horrified to know that I am here, every night, ever so gently stealing the kiss that I cannot give him while he is awake.
I know. I’m so mean.
Today, limits on physical affection remain a standard feature of our life, like stockpiling mustard and pushing in our chairs.
We understand (mostly) that his kiss-aversion is related to sensory sensitivity and is not reflective of any lack of love for us. I do worry when I hear experts talking about the value of physical touch to our social and emotional well-being. What does that mean for someone who can’t tolerate it most of the time?
It’s like this: Just as we give him a warning for impending loud noises, dogs, or changes in plans, we try to let him know if we need to touch him. I ask him to avert his eyes if I’m about to hug or kiss his dad, and we risk his disapproval for the love.
I no longer sneak a kiss after my son has fallen asleep, but I’m still guilty of leaning in for a moment longer when I comb his hair.
Thanks, as always, for reading or listening!
This is so lovely, Robin. Both in its sentiment and your writing. :)
Love it! I also love everything else you write….past, present and future. Just in case you forgot.