I want to hold something

A strange little vulnerable craving of mine

I’m posting this now, at midnight, and refuse to wait until morning because midnight seems to be when I feel the bravest.

A few weeks ago, I saw a baby video on Instagram and felt this overwhelming need to hold said baby. I didn’t want it to be mine; I didn’t want any of the responsibilities that come with caring for another being. I just wanted to hold it. I wanted it to wrap its little hand around my finger and just sit there in my arms. I have this reaction now when I see other people’s pets, sometimes even wild animals, and sometimes my friends—I just want to hold something and have that something be chill with me holding it. I want to just exist for a tiny bit of time with something in my arms.

At first, I thought that some maternal instinct had awoken in me, but I don’t really want to be a mother. I think I’d be too overprotective and restrictive and anxious. I can take care of something for a little bit, sure, but I don’t need it to be mine forever. It being mine means that it has no choice in being mine. But if it’s not mine, that means that it either chose me to an extent or that it’s content with spending its time with me.

I wanted to explore this all because I’m trying to figure out if this feeling of needing to hold something is being caused by me being without a pet for too long, or if it’s me not wanting to rely on others for comfort, and instead wanting to comfort others in order to protect myself from something.

In terms of the former, of course I want a pet again. Just a little critter to take care of. To take care of. I want to watch a little being exist in my life; I want to watch it run around and climb shit. I had guinea pigs some time ago, but I don’t think I can do that again yet. So I was thinking of a leopard gecko—a little guy that can skedaddle and stuff. But upon doing my 1:00am research, I learned that they can potentially live for twenty years which for some reason is too long for me. And that sounds shitty, that a part of me would want it to die sooner—that sounds horrible. But it highlights me not wanting something ‘in my arms’ for too long. Or maybe I’m just worried that I’ll get lazy with caring for it after a while (even though this has never happened).

So, moving onto the latter: the comfort thing.

The last couple years, I went through a drawn-out forced-acceptance that (at the time) a very close person to me had replaced me with someone else literally with the snap of her fingers. I had depended on her way too intensely, specifically for comfort, but also of course for simple companionship. It’s taken me a long time to fully accept what happened and to move on. But I have. Thankfully.

Within the last couple years, I’ve gotten really close with two of my highschool friends who are so considerate and understanding of the way I am because of that pretty (very) unhealthy friendship experience to put it lightly, and I’ve known for a long time now that they would probably comfort me if I simply asked, that they would go out of their way if they knew that I needed them.

But I’ve gotten to a point where I find myself pushing down this old need of mine to be comforted—I love hugs and cuddles and leaning on shoulders. My old friendship made me feel that I was only able to receive comfort because I wasn’t really ever given the chance to give it. I also felt guilty every time I asked for it.

I’ve craved physical comfort for a large portion of my life (within that friendship), but now, I find myself seeing it as something to distance myself from. It’s not a weakness, but my brain has put together this equation made up of the moments of my life and has spat out the answer, ‘being comforted and vulnerable is bad and will cause you to end up alone.’ This isn’t true. But the equation is technically logical for me because I experienced it playing out in front of me in real time.

So, do I want to hold something for the sake of holding something and it being mine for a little bit? Or do I want to hold something because I feel more secure in a relationship if I’m the one who appears to have everything under control? Or is it all the same—different questions that have the same explanation. It’s like I’m backing into myself but I don’t know from which direction.

Have I matured in realizing that I’m not the only person on earth who deserves to be comforted? Or am I abandoning old cravings in order to protect myself from possible future friendships/relationships that could result in me being left behind? Is it growth or is it a twisted form of relapse? Is it growth or am I closing myself off? Is it growth or is it me adopting the mindset of the person who left me?

It’s either growth or everything else. Or it’s possibly both. Maybe. Maybe it’s just everything. And it’s fine that I don’t know the answer yet; I think posing all these questions to myself is helpful because I probably do know the answer but just haven’t revealed it to myself yet. But I do think the whole being-left-behind-by-a-person-I-trusted thing takes the cake for the reason why I feel this way at all. I of course want a pet again, but I think that I more so want to be craved by another being first: wanted first, asked first, relied upon, etc.

I love physical touch, but I don’t want to be the one to ask for it. It makes me feel annoying. Even in cases where I actually need comfort. And when I feel fine and still want comfort, I feel that I need to be in some kind of distress to deserve it.

I think I want to hold something because I wouldn’t judge any being for wanting to be held because of the ways I feel judged when I want to be held. Maybe that’s the closest answer I’ll get from myself right now.

Anyway, I think it’s super annoying how one person/experience/breakup impacted me so much and in ways I’m still trying to uncover. Super annoying. But I’ve learned a lot from it and I’m kind of glad that it happened (even though I was quite literally grieving the death of a relationship that I thought would last forever and was kind of losing my mind probably). It basically taught me what a relationship of any kind should not look like. And there’s still a lot for me to unpack, a lot for me to unwrap. But for some reason my mind refuses to just tear the layers and get to the core of it all. No, it wants me to peel back every layer very carefully and attentively. And I think that’s okay. Maybe it’s for the best.

I hope that anyone who is going through/has gone through any kind of breakup, especially one involving any form of betrayal, knows that life does get better—even if it has to go on without a certain person. And trust me, I know it probably doesn’t feel like that. But I ended up creating healthier relationships because of that experience and life is actually nice when you’re not worried about if/how one individual perceives you.

There’s one quote I found a while ago on substack that goes something like, ‘do not regret a war that has matured you.’ I think it was what kickstarted this unwrapping of my past. I hope that it helps someone in some way.

The horrible experience was worth it to get to the person I am now. Even though there’s a lot more for me to figure out about myself. But I’m the safest and maybe the healthiest version of myself now. And maybe that’s enough.

I was horrified to post this because it’s probably one of the most vulnerable things I’ve admitted to myself (and to a bunch of people I don't know), but what is art and life and community without spilling your guts and ranting about things that can’t be changed (or things that can). I hope to spill more of my vulnerable guts in the future and I hope to inspire even just one person to be silly and to feel fully and deeply and stupidly and beautifully out loud.