25/07/2026
Recently, a client (this is not her) spoke about something she hadn’t fully understood until that moment.
She grew up with her grandmother. There was love in the home, but very little physical affection. No lingering hugs. No being held close. No being rocked simply for comfort.
In her watsu session when I held her like a baby she felt that need in her. She later told me, “I didn’t really realise that. But today, when you held me like a baby, I felt it in my body—how much I had craved being hugged and just held close.”
That stayed with me.
We often think of touch as something optional, but safe, consensual, attuned touch is one of our earliest languages. Long before we understand words, we understand being held. Being soothed. Being safe in someone else’s arms.
When those experiences are limited in childhood, the longing doesn’t necessarily disappear. Sometimes it simply goes underground, waiting to be recognized.
The body remembers what it needed, even when the mind has learned not to ask.
Of course, touch is never a universal intervention. It must always be consensual, appropriate, and responsive to the individual’s comfort, history, and boundaries. But when offered safely and ethically, it can become a powerful experience of regulation, connection, and repair.
Sometimes healing isn’t about finding new words. Sometimes it’s about finally experiencing what the body has been missing all along.
