Why a mother doesn’t want to be touched

Posted April 3, 2015

I’d gotten home from work around 10 p.m. after a 14 hour
day. It was the start of the term, and I was setting up some programs at the
university. Mel, my wife, had been home all day with three sick boogery
feverish kids.

I walked in, and Mel was at the table, eating cookies and
milk while looking at a laptop. She was still in jeans and a t-shirt. Usually
by this time of the day she is in pj’s, but the fact that she hadn’t taken the
time to unwind and undress told me she’d had a rough day.

After working 14 hours, the one thing I wanted was a kiss
and to hold my wife. When I was in my 20s this usually meant sex. But now, in
my 30s, I’m more interested in simple physical contact with my wife. People often
describe me as a people person, but honestly, it’s not true. Social interaction
feels a lot like acting to me. I’m good at making jokes to disarm a person. But
honestly, I often find chatting with others exhausting. With Mel, my wife, I
don’t feel that. I feel a deep comfort in Mel’s arms. There is also something
about being at work, sitting across from people, chatting, legs crossed, arms
folded, hand shakes, and formality that makes me long for some form of real
physical contact that I really only get from my wife.

I sat next to Mel, put my arms around her, and kissed her
cheek. And as much as I wanted her to turn and embrace me, she didn’t. She kept
her body slightly rigid, hands forward on the keyboard.

I pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I just spent all day with sick boogery kids clawing at me. I
don’t want to be touched for a while. I just… want some space,” she said.

I felt offended. It made me feel like she didn’t love me. I
was her husband of 10 years. She should want to be held by me… right? I wasn’t
one of her children, I was her husband.

“I just wanted to hold, you.” I said. “I’m not asking for
sex, or anything. I’m too tired for that. I’m getting old, obviously. It’s been
just a long day.”

At the mention of being held, Mel cringed a little. Once
again, I was offended. I usually am when this happens. And it doesn’t happen
all that often, but always more than I’d like. But it was late, and I didn’t
want to fight.

“Fine,” I said.

This is not the first time Mel said that she didn’t want to
be touched because of the kids clawing at her all day. Honestly, I didn’t get
it. I don’t know if I ever fully will. For me, as a man, it’s a difficult thing
for me to wrap my head around. I always want to touch my wife. She is the most
beautiful woman I know. So much of my attraction to her, my love for her, my
passion for our relationship is manifested through physical interaction. At
this stage in our marriage, it isn’t just about sex. When she kisses me, I feel
more confident in our relationship. I feel better about who I am as a man. This
became particularly apparent in my 30s. I know this sounds effeminate, but I
don’t feel as attractive as I once did. I have a difficult time keeping off
weight. Not that a lot of women looked at me in the first place, but sometimes
they did. But as I’ve gotten older, I don’t get that affirmation like I used
to.

I’m also starting to watch a lot of my friends get divorced
because they fell out of love. I worry about that. Falling out of love sounds
sneaky and organic, like a weed that creeps into a flowerbed. Never in my life
has physical interaction with my wife felt more needed as a confirmation that
she still loves me. That she isn’t drifting away from our relationship because
of the stress of raising a family.

When I read what I just wrote, it sounds whiny, but it’s the
reality of who I have become in my 30s. I feel a deep need for my wife to kiss
me and hold me.

We were both in bed now. It was almost 11, an hour after I
got home. She slid next to me, and I put my arm around her.

“It’s not you,” she said. “It’s just… I love the kids. I
love you. But all three of them were sick, and I couldn’t do anything without
the baby clawing at my leg whining, so I held her all day. And Norah, she just
wanted to be snuggled.” She let out a breath. Then she went on, trying to
describe how boggery, drooly, puky, children tugging at her body at her all day
makes her want to crawl in a bubble. “In the evening, after a long day with the
kids, I just want a moment, an hour or so, to not be touched. To just spread
out, and not worry about someone pawing at me. It’s not that I don’t love you,
it’s just that these days with kids feel like sensory overload.”

And as she spoke, I compared it to how tired social
interaction wears me down. I understood what she was feeling just enough to
realize that we were at an impasse.

“Does that make sense?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “It does. I don’t like it, but I get it.” Then
I told her about my day, and how, at the end of it, all I want is to be held.

“I’m not sure if any of that makes sense, but that’s how I
feel.”

Mel crawled into the hook of my arm and rested on my shoulder.
I put my arm around her, and we just stayed like that for a while, not
speaking.

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Clint Edwards was blessed with a
charming and spitfire wife, a video game obsessed little boy, a snarky
little girl in a Cinderella play dress, and an angry baby girl. When Clint was 9-years-old his father
left. With no example of fatherhood, he had to learn how to be a father and
husband through trial and error. His work has been featured in Good
Morning America, The New York Times,
The
Washington Post, The
Huffington Post, Scary
Mommy, The Good
Men Project, Fast
Company, and elsewhere. He lives in Oregon. Follow him on Facebook and
Twitter.

Clint Edwards

Clint Edwards was blessed with a charming and spitfire wife, a video game obsessed little boy, a snarky little girl in a Cinderella play dress, and an angry baby girl. When Clint was 9-years-old his father left. With no example of fatherhood, he had to learn how to be a father and husband through trial and error. His work has been featured in Good Morning America, The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Huffington Post, Scary Mommy, The Good Men Project, Fast Company, and elsewhere. He lives in Oregon. Follow him on Facebook and Twitter.