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A letter, in lieu of hugs

Updated: Dec 10, 2020

To all my friends and relatives,

We don’t hug anymore. In fact, we stand a generous distance apart, wearing masks and struggling to understand each other’s words. No more visual access to our smiling, wordy mouths. I feel so uncomfortable over here, on my side of the 6 foot invisible barrier. This chasm of space between our bodies can’t be traversed. We are bodies that don’t dare to touch. We live with this new sense of danger every time we are near each other. Guilt, remorse, ache and responsibility litter the landscape of our former closeness.

Goodbye is just a wave and a kiss blown from far away. No fucking hugs.

I want you to know I still love you. I want you to know how much I want to hug you. I want you to know I haven’t forgotten how to be close to you. I want you to know you are still precious to me. I want you to know I would touch your cheek if I could, and wiggle closer to you so I could feel your warmth. I want you to know I’d offer you a sip of my hot chocolate in a heartbeat, if this virus wasn’t an omnipresent predator. I want you to know I see your goodness, your purity, and that I don’t think of you as contaminated or diseased. I want you to know I’m just being as careful as I can, because my protective parts are worried about my safety and my family’s safety. I still love you. I’m still here.

Can you feel this ripple of love coming at you, from my heart over here, at a distance?


Written by Jessica Sorci, LMFT, PMH-C

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