I go to meetings where people like to stand up at the end, hold hands, and say a prayer together. The hand-holding feels cultish and creepy to me, so when I realized I didn’t actually have to do it, I stopped. 

Now, when everyone stands up to say the prayer, I stick my hands in my pockets and step slightly out of the circle. 

During the prayer, people will reach out to hold hands behind me, or in front of me. Or they will stick their elbows out into me, or lean their shoulders against me. They mumble and chuckle awkwardly, and apologize for leaving me out. They want to include me, and they want to be connected, and they’ll connect me whether I want it or not, even if it means poking me in the side. I let them. They are awfully nice people, many of them. 

One friend said I have “defiant oppositional disorder.” She’s a social worker, and can’t help herself. Others have guessed that maybe I am afraid of infection, or that I don’t enjoy being touched. 

I’m not phobic about germs, and I love touch. I hug people sometimes and they hug me. I got a massage yesterday. I hold hands with my grandson when we cross the road, and I love the feeling of that little hand in mine. 

But I just don’t feel like holding hands at the end of the meeting, and I don’t have to, so I don’t.  

People do know they’re supposed to ask for consent these days. But at some level, they don’t know consent is real. That anyone can just decide, in any situation, not to go along with the crowd. 

It’s unfortunate, mind you, that I have been a member of this organization that holds the meetings for over fifty years. It really messes with people’s heads when the old-timers don’t know how they’re supposed to behave. I guess they’ll just have to shake their heads and laugh at how I’m losing my grip on reality.