The Sun and Oxytocin: A (very rough) first personal essay
First things first; Happy Black History Month! I celebrated today by listening to the greatest song of all time “Return of the Mack”. Do yourself a favor and listen to it. You’re welcome. 😂
If you’re looking for a way to support black businesses, BE BHM has a fantastic list; blkLSTed here. Do yourself another favor and buy from one of the amazing businesses on that list. I’m partial to Bayles Catering, but don’t take my word for it. Go and see for yourself.
In other news, today is a first for me. I’ve been wanting to try my hand at essay writing for awhile and, in true Candace fashion, I choose to be extremely vulnerable. So go a little easy on me today. Or not.
Here we go.
I like hugs. Not those fake church hugs where there is an obtuse angle between two bodies. Did you know that it takes 20 seconds for oxytocin to be released when you hug someone? Do you know how long 20 seconds is? It’s just long enough to slightly feel the body heat of the other person, long enough for you to feel that the other person wants to embrace you. That’s the kind of hug I like. I like oxytocin.
I think the first time I gave a real-ish hug to anyone in my family was when I was in my late teens or early 20s. It was cold and stiff, like the cover of a new book fresh off the press. We’ve given each other several of these hugs throughout the years, and each one feels a little different, but we never make it to the real hugs. Some are just plain fake; we just do it because I mean, that’s what family members do…right? But then some of them, some of them felt a little real, like maybe the walls had come down a little, and the sun started to shine for maybe…7 seconds. Not quite enough oxytocin for me.
The hugs for me became a metaphor of our relationship. Some days are sunny-ish.
“Hey, how was your day?”
It was ok. Hey, I’m writing for a magazine now!
“That’s great! I’m so proud of you! How’s Lola?”
She’s great!
Those are like the real-ish, hugs.
Other days are overcast. Some, it’s pouring.
“Hey”
Hey
“How are you?”
I’m good. How are you?
“You know what, I’m tired of you treating me like I don’t mean anything to you.”
I’m sorry you feel that way, it’s just that it’s hard to talk to you without fearing you’ll blow up in my face.
“You know what Candace, I’m done.”
Click.
That wasn’t even like a church hug. Not a drop of oxytocin in sight. We’ve become as unstable as the Alabama weather. Oxytocin levels fall and rise like the mercury in a thermometer. Except I imagine after too much of that the thermometer may crack, right?
Well, I cracked, and I’m in search of oxytocin, and calmer weather.
I imagine the rain must end sometime, and the sun will give me the hug I’ve been yearning for.