A lot of people know I don’t like hugs.

This isn’t entirely correct.

I hate light touch, because it is physically painful and/or uncomfortable. Unfortunately, it’s a regular part of life (which I very much dislike). Often when people meet me, they consider a light touch on the shoulder an acceptable greeting. When someone wants to get around me, they will usually lightly touch my hip or waist and move me out of the way. People want a hug when we first meet, or when I go somewhere to meet them (even if I don’t know them well). Generally, I can get away with sticking my arm out for a quick handshake instead. Handshakes are still uncomfortable, but they are not as anxiety-inducing as hugs. I find that people try to hug myself and other women, but attempt a handshake with men, which is annoying.

One way to explain this would be to imagine you are stabbed by a tiny needle. It’s gonna hurt, you’re going to flinch away, and you’re going to say ‘ouch!’ and probably get annoyed at the person who pricked you. You will probably try to avoid this person. The prick will be even worse if it’s done unexpectedly, or done from behind you when you cannot see it coming.

Now imagine people get offended when you flinch away, or get annoyed when you try to say ‘no, I don’t really want you to stab me, thanks’. Imagine pricking someone was an acceptable way to move them, to greet them, to show affection. That sounds like a pretty crazy world, in my opinion.

For me, light touch feels painful, like a pin prick. And like a pin prick, I need to rub the area that has been touched afterwards to remove the horrid muscle memory. People often get offended by this, or at the very least look affronted. How dare I deal with the pain in a way that doesn’t affect them at all! (Sarcasm)

On the other hand, deep pressure or firm touch feels fine, calming, and even intensely relaxing. Going back to the needle metaphor, consider a magic trick. A magician pricks themselves with a pin to prove it’s real. They then go to lie down in a bed of pins. The audience is in suspense, worried they will be sliced up. But no! They are fine. They lie down, then get back up and bow with not a scratch on them.

Firm touch is similar to this, in my experience. Light touch takes all of my attention. My nervous system is going ‘Hey! Over here! We are under attack! Pay attention! Who cares about maths or writing, this is painful and we must defend ourselves!’. I’m hyper-focused on that one tiny spot of light touch. Deep, firm touch is different. My nervous system registers the touch is there, and then moves on. I think this may be how non-autistic people experience all forms of touch.

Deep pressure can be incredibly calming. I cannot explain it, but maybe consider the relaxing feeling you get when you sink into a comfy bed after a long day on your feet. The comfort and relaxation is amazing.

Back to hugs.

When I was younger, people would often hug me even if I was overwhelmed or made it clear I didn’t want a hug. I’d feel guilty for rejecting their hug, but also angry and confused as to why I couldn’t deal with it like everyone else. I came to associate hugs with pain and sensory overload, because people would try to comfort me during a sensory overload in the same way that they would comfort a non-autistic child; by hugging me. But in sensory overload, hugs are painful. Touch is painful. I remember that once a friend wanted to hug me at lunch time in school, but that situation is incredibly overwhelming and I refused. She proceeded to circle her arms around me without touching me ‘because that’s not a hug’. I curled up into a ball and kept saying ‘no’ and trying to ask her to stop without pushing or using force. Everyone was laughing, because they didn’t understand that this was intensely stressful and anxiety inducing. Every inch of me was in fight or flight mode. I was terrified. My senses were saying ‘something is here, something is preparing to attack’.

She eventually stopped, and I instantly moved away. But then I tried to laugh it off. Making and keeping friends is very difficult for me, and everyone else was laughing and I felt the only way forward was to suppress my anxiety and pretend everything was fine.

I didn’t feel I could say ‘that wasn’t okay’. I can’t remember if I told her about it later.

But they didn’t accept me saying no. They completely disrespected my bodily autonomy.

It’s terrifying. If an autistic person doesn’t want to hug you, PLEASE do not force them. It is so very scary, and all it teaches us is that saying ‘no’ doesn’t matter; other people’s feelings matter more than our pain and fear.

So that is why I would tell everyone ‘I hate hugs’. I believed it for a while.

I’ve since come to realise I LOVE HUGS. When they are from family or friends, when they are very tight, when I’m not overwhelmed, and, most importantly, when I seek them. If I want to hug you, I will (unless you don’t want me to). If you ask for a hug or indicate you want one, give me the choice as to whether or not I will comply. Don’t force hugs.

And please, when someone says ‘hey, I’m touch sensitive and light touch actually hurts so please don’t touch me lightly’, don’t laugh, then touch them and go ‘wait, like this? This hurts?’.

Yes. It does. I just told you. Listen when someone tells you that something hurts. Don’t make them prove it. I’ve learned to hide the expressions of panic and pain from light touch, because it makes others uncomfortable and offends them.

If you want a hug, ask.

If they say no, respect that.

It’s really not that complicated.