Something about that simple act of holding her hand. It’s an electric thing, a control thing, a shield thing, an erotic thing. It runs all up and down the line of being so very important, and so very simple.
There are times when we’re out and about and she knows *all the things* are pushing down – we all have it happen, we know what’s going to trip our anxieties at times and other times, it just washes over you. But she knows. And those times – those are when we’ll be walking or talking or just looking at whatever and I’ll feel her take my hand.
It’s a bit like a Supernatural (show) thing of healing – where the angels on the show have this power to heal. I won’t say everything melts away and is instantly better, but I can feel the anxious energy shared between us then. Two fighting instead of one. It’s an active swipe at whatever is happening and just sort of says “we’re here… we face it head on.”
Other times, you curl up on the couch, give me that “shhhh… we both just need some time…” look and snuggle in. Pulling my hand around and holding on tight adds the seal to the snuggle and all is better. More present.
And then there are THOSE times. Those times when you run your fingernails up my arms, 4 fingers across – just strong enough to scrape across my skin as you move up my arms. You reach my outstretched palm, look me in the eye and I know not to move an inch. Your hand, your nails scrape across my palms, your fingers sink in around mind, and you clinch down hard, pinning me, doing nothing but pulling energy now. Pulling it so you can draw down defenses, capture my full attention, freeze me in place.
It’s really cool that holding hands can be so powerful, so basic, so intimate. It’s cool that it gives, shares and takes energy, that it supports and controls, all depending on what is really needed the moment.