Hugs to the Homeless

                        by Wendy Treynor, Ph.D.


In cancer, I was a beggar.  Due to circumstances seemingly beyond my control, misfortune befell me. My physical appearance was unsightly. I lost my hair, my eyelashes, my eyebrows, my weight (down to 98 pounds).  Although I was 100% human being on the inside, I looked like a freak.  Someone close to me, now, would not even touch me (post-cancer). 

I remember begging this person to touch me, to hug me, to make me feel human again.  Because of my unsightly physical appearance, I had to beg someone—someone close to me—to treat me as a human being.  Responding to my request, this person hugged me, but very reluctantly —a reluctance, which made me feel all the more like a freak, all the more uncared for, unloved, and misunderstood.

The Life of a Beggar

To have to beg people to treat you with respect, with dignity, and then, when someone actually does heed your request, you realize that their act is devoid of all meaning. Their “fulfillment” of your wish leaves you empty, because you had to beg for it in the first place, because you had to beg for something that should have been given freely, something that should have come naturally, anyway. 

In cancer, I just wanted to be seen for my humanity, to be cared for, loved.  That’s all I wanted, and I have come to discover (through social psychological research, and as articulated in my Socialization Theory) that that is all any of us really want.

Beggars are probably people who have not been touched in years.  They have been treated like vermin, as less-than-human, but are not inherently so.  They were babies once—surely, the apple of their mother’s eye.  They were loved, are loveable, and are worthy of our love, also.

I have come to believe that people beg for money not because they want the coins, per se, but because they want to see a sign that someone cares, that their humanity is recognized. Three unexpected and amazing encounters have led me to this perhaps surprising conclusion.

Encounter #1

Last year I happened upon a beggar in Memphis who asked me for change. Instinctively, I said, “I don’t give money but I give hugs.”  The beggar motioned that he was receptive to the idea, so I hugged him. As I was hugging him, I realized that he was hugging me back in a very tight, solid embrace; it was a real hug that said, “Don’t let me go.” He was holding me, hard, for a long time, and I continued to hold him, also, in this way that he needed to be held. It was then I realized that it is has probably been years since he’s been touched!

After our hug, I entered a nearby shop to buy a sandwich. When I exited, he spoke to me again.   He didn’t ask me for a sandwich or money, but instead, conveyed his sincere gratitude.

The next day, I wrote about the encounter in my journal:

“I learned about love in Memphis….  I discovered that to hug people asking for money is the way to go…. One man hugged me so tightly [;] it was a real embrace.  He thanked me afterwards. I thanked him, thinking “No one hugs me; no one touches me.…[Why are you thanking me?] I thank you!” [Then,] I went [into a shop] to get a [sandwich,]… [And when] I came out of the shop, he said again: “Thank you so much”…. I wondered why he was so grateful.”

It was just a hug, wasn’t it? But then I discovered that it was more.  I had an insight that perhaps he had been so grateful, because he had been carrying around a load of shame, thinking that he was an unworthy human being—and my hug transformed him.  It said: “You’re worthy of love!” which of course he is. We all are. Perhaps that is why he was so grateful.  The hug was a sincere form of communication—the message being that of his inherent loveableness—something he had long forgotten living on the streets. In hugging him, I gave him what he really wanted; something which couldn’t be depleted, something that—in my giving it—filled me, also.  We both had the same need, and in my hugging him, we fulfilled it for each other.  It was then I realized that: Hugging is not charity. Hugging is mutually beneficial. Hugging is sustaining, life affirming, transformative.  Hugging is the gift that keeps on giving.

Encounter #2

About a month ago, as I was walking down a street in New York City, a beggar asked me for change.  So, I replied: “I don’t give money, but I give hugs.”  This beggar, too, was receptive to my offer.  So, I hugged him. And as I hugged him, he gave me the sweetest, most tender kiss on the back of my neck! I was electrified! Wow! Where did that come from? I was astonished and amazed and elated. We departed in smiles—and I, being so touched by the event—also in tears. The event reminded me that: Hugging is not charity. Hugging is mutually beneficial. Hugging is sustaining, life affirming, transformative.  Hugging is the gift that keeps on giving.

Encounter #3

When I was in India, I had another extraordinary experience.  After I departed from the Taj Mahal by foot, I seated myself in an open-windowed, open-doored bus—a parking-lot shuttle of sorts— to whisk me back to a nearby parking lot, where I would get my transportation back to Delhi. There were beggars abound. As I was seated, alone, in the front of this windowless, door-less, bus-like vehicle, one of them entered, but kept himself at a distance from me.  I could see his head peeking out from the top of the stairs in the back of the bus, where he (and I, previously) had entered.

I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so I couldn’t see him very well, but I could hear him.  He spoke perfect English. He asked me for some change, and I spontaneously replied, “I have no money, but I have poetry.” He nodded his head, indicating that he was receptive.  So, I opened my journal, and as quickly as I could, found a page with my verse on it and began reading it aloud to him:

“Run away from me and you run away from yourself.

  Walks towards me and you walk towards yourself.

  Walk towards me and you will learn about yourself.”

The next thing I knew, he was in the aisle in the front of the bus, next to where I was sitting. He smiled, indicating that he liked what I had read. He told me his name was “Raju” and that he had no family—no parents, no brothers or sisters, nobody.   I could see him very clearly now, and he was smiling.  I could see his radiant, loving eyes.  His eyes were filled with a radiance so divine that I spontaneously said “I Love You.” 

Physically, his gums were bloody; there was blood all over them, and one of his eyes was blood red— although not bloody, per se, there were no whites to be seen.  He had a disease of sorts, no doubt—and he had no legs. 

He then took my hand and held it, tightly. We were holding hands now.    With my free hand, I quickly turned the pages of my journal to find something else to read him.

I wondered why he felt safe coming up to me and holding my hand.  I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter.  I was captured by the moment.  Should I be afraid of touching him, afraid of catching his disease? Maybe. But how could I deny him? How could I deny this beautiful, loving, soul? I couldn’t.  So, I held on. 

I read him another line:  

“Will you remember me when I become one with the wind?”