No, You DON'T Get to Touch Me

Responding to "Reclaiming Touch: Rape Culture, Explicit Verbal Consent, and Body Sovereignty" by Hazel/Cedar Troust

I was planning on responding to a different piece before I reflected on this one, but I was reminded last night once again why the assumption that it's OK to touch someone without asking is erroneous. Last night a co-worker decided to try to startle me by talking right behind me, and when I told him that it would have been successful, and would have been cause for a rather sharp reaction from me had he touched me instead, he looked puzzled. I reach out & touch people on the back all the time to make sure they don't run into me, he said. I encouraged him to warn me verbally. This isn't the first coworker to consider touching my back (shudder) without asking, and sadly I doubt he'll be the last.

(page 171) "...rape culture works by restricting a person's control of hir body, limiting hir sense of ownership of it, and granting others a sense of entitlement to it. "

I didn't realize just how invasive and demeaning casual touching can be until I was pregnant. Complete strangers feel totally comfortable grabbing a woman's pregnant belly without even asking. Don't. Don't do that. It's not your body, it's not just an unattached floating belly, and you need to respect pregnant women enough to ask.

Before becoming pregnant, I was relatively invisible. Sure, people would approach me and hit on me, and occasionally I'd get cat calls when walking by myself, but it was no where near as intrusive or constant as when I was pregnant. I miss that relative invisibility, though now I can relive it when I go somewhere people don't instantly recognize me and leave the kids at home.

Truthfully, I've never been the touchy-feely type, and some touches can panic me. A coworker asked why once, and for simplicity's sake, I told her I'd been attacked (true, but unrelated). My mother mentioned on several occasions while I was growing up that even as a baby I really didn't like cuddling much, so I was probably just born wired this way. Really, if I haven't given someone permission to touch me, even if that permission is stated only within the confines of my mind, I don't want to be touched.

When people touch me, especially "superiors," without making sure it's OK, then they deny me agency. It's difficult to diplomatically explain that I don't welcome being touched, and that no one is entitled to touch me without my consent, when inside I'm cringing. I flinch. No one is entitled to touch me (or anyone else). Not even doctors. I am not public property.

(page 173) "Practicing explicit verbal consent, I was able to decide first and then accept touch--or say no, which was much easier, because I was no longer breaking off contact and rejecting, but simply not beginning, that activity. I found that there was tons of touch that I accepted rather than wanted, even from people I really wanted to touch me--and to my surprise, I found the people I touched regularly were the same."

I rarely practice explicit verbal consent, though I've started asking to touch my friends, like asking if they'd like a hug when they're upset. It's a bit liberating, because asking permission is much more productive than standing there wondering if my crying friend wants physical comfort (a hug) or really doesn't want to be touched in that moment. Standing there is awkward, and I try not to assume permission to touch except with those I'm most intimate (and who regularly welcome my touch).

I've also realized that I do assume touch is OK, especially with my husband. I like to rest my legs on him or lean against him when we're sitting together because it makes me feel closer to him. I rarely think to ask permission, and it tends to make him feel like furniture, which is the opposite of closeness. When I remember, I move away and ask permission. It's not frequent enough yet.

Sometimes, usually when I'm fatigued, touch--normal, caress-y type touch--just plain feels bad. It's overwhelming and sets off a flight-or-fight response in me. I've stopped being embarrassed about that, which makes it easier for me to request firm touches at that time. I've called them massage touches, trying to allude to the firmness/pressure I need, but I keep getting told a variation of "I don't know that many massages," so I need a different term.

Until I was confident enough and direct enough to explain my physiology, it seemed that my rejection was about my partner, rather than about the touch. This wasn't useful, and led to hurt feelings. As I've become more and more practiced in asking for firmer touches, my touch panic has been greatly mitigated, allowing me to enjoy sex where previously I'd flee or flinch or resist without explanation.

The assumption that it's OK to touch unless told not to and that assumption that it's OK to have sex with someone unless told not to are on the same continuum of belief. Do not assume consent.

(from the notes section, page 330) "Rape is not always a deliberate attempt to harm, but it's never an 'accident.' Though perpetrators may be unaware that what they're doing is rape, non-consensual, or hurtful, if they took their victims' feelings and body sovereignty seriously, they would take more care to do only things that were wanted. Rape is defined by its effect on the survivor, no by what's going through the perpetrator's mind at the time of the assault, but the latter is relevant in analyzing how to stop rape."

Not much to add to this excellent insight beyond that I've said in previous posts. The same feeling of entitlement that allows people to touch without asking, the assumption that your touch is welcome can be hazardous and cause great harm. If you ever have to wonder if your touch is welcome--that you're not sure should be answer enough. I respect people too much to believe that the thought of sex turns anyone into slavering idiots incapable of stopping.