Intimacy - Beyond the Slap & Tickle

Somewhere along the way, we took the word intimate for a long walk. We led it out of philosophy, psychology, and human experience, and ended up folding it neatly in a drawer, labelled - "Reserved - Date Night"... But why even take this subject on, when we seem quite happy for it to describe what we take off? Is intimacy all about the bodies beneath the clothes, or the self beneath the surface?

Intimacy comes from the Latin intimus, meaning “the innermost.” The place closest to our interior world, our thoughts and emotions, our hopes and our fears - the vulnerable truths that we don’t readily just offer up to anyone.

To be intimate, in its original sense, is not to get naked and "do stuff", but to allow our inner circle of peeps, to get closer to what is most "us". To let carefully selected bits of ourselves to be known from the inside out. This matters, because when we get too reductionist around intimacy, and it just means sex or romance, we miss its far more expansive role in our lives.

Intimacy is genuine connection. It seems mostly about what is not spoken. It’s that experience of being seen and understood, without explanation. It is two old friends, holding hands at a funeral. It is "having a meltdown" with someone that totally gets you. And that shooting star moment of intimacy, where total strangers embrace, united by either the grief, or maybe the relief, that comes with the human experience.

Evolutionary biologist (so cool, on a business card..) Dr. Justin Garcia describes intimacy as “the pleasurable and comforting feeling associated with any close connection that grows between humans.” Which is a lovely plate of biscuits. It’s the moment of eye contact across a table when no words are needed. That fleeting girl-on-a-train moment, or simply just hugging your bestie like you stole them.

In other words, intimacy is not just a sexy "because it's your birthday" luxury, or an accessory to Valentine's Day. It’s a fundamental human need - one we are totally wired for, yearn for, and often go without, in a world that moves too fast to notice how down we have gotten around disconnection.

If intimacy is a biological necessity, then the much-touted, widespread loneliness that is the struggle for many, isn’t a personal failure, it’s a cultural one. Modern life offers unprecedented access to people, yet the few opportunities for depth we are gifted, often go to waste. We are surrounded, but not always connected. We hashtag our way through relationships, often mistaking proximity for closeness and chat-threads for connection.

Being surrounded, is not being connected. And here’s the twist - the emotional freedoms we cheer for - choosing our friends, setting our boundaries, doing what we want, are all great, but this all-you-can-eat buffet of choice, we seem to shy away from investing in true depth and meaning, as it is so easy to surround oursleves with more superficial comfort. We protect ourselves from depth. And depth - the awkward, orchestrated kind of depth - rewarding depth - is where intimacy actually sits down with her packed lunch.

I have recently started to sign off various communications by voice and type, to a wider section of family and friends with "I love you". I can sense a hint of collective alarm at this. Partly because it is a new thing for them to hear, but mostly, I suspect, because it sows a little discomfort around their response options. "Do I say it back? Do I soften it with humour? Do I just ignore it?" My youngest daughter has developed a response to my "I love you" that sounds like a  suburb of Cape Town - "Lo-wu-too"...click. Hang up.

It's a small phrase with a much bigger emotional footprint. Without my input, it asks somethuing of the recipient. Not with any obligation, but with presence. For many of us, that moment of being asked to meet mere expressions of intimacy, can feel a bit destabilising. Not because it is quick-sandy, unsafe ground, but because the terrain has become wholly unfamiliar. We have buried in the supposition that we know someone loves us, so they don't have to say it..

I want to stress this: my desire to lean a little into intimacy is not designed to destabilise. It’s not a test, a demand, or an attempt to redraw boundaries without consent. It’s simply an act of naming what already exists. Of letting affection and connection be spoken instead of implied.

We’ve become very skilled at containing love and over-dressing traditional intimacy, saving it for the “right” relationships, the “right” moments, the “right” tone. But intimacy doesn’t always need ceremony. Sometimes it just needs permission and our willingness for it to emerge.

And here’s an even quieter truth: when we hesitate to receive expressions of love, it often isn’t because we don’t feel it, but because we’re unsure how to hold it. We worry too much and way too often about what's behind it and how to respond. About saying the wrong thing. About opening a door we’re not sure how to close.

But intimacy isn’t about forcing reciprocity. It’s about offering presence without expectation. Reaching our to take someones hand, telling a friend that we love them and trusting that whatever comes back - or doesn’t - is enough. This, too, is a practice. Learning to give warmth without attachment. Learning to receive it without having a bloody panic attack. Allowing connection to be expressed in wider, looser, more human ways. To simply get out of our own way.

Here’s the good news: it’s okay to be intimate. Really. It’s okay to let someone in. To chance vulnerability. To share your thoughts, your fears, your needs, even when it feels risky. I recently wrote to a dear friend of mine who had been putting off corresponding for like 6 months, in almost total silence, saying she was busy with this and that. Anyway, I immediately went to the mindset where thought I had done something to upset the apple cart, and told her in no uncertain terms, how impoirtant and absolute our 40 year friendship was to me, and if I was to lose it, how sad it would make me. I felt a bit like Jane Austin's Mrs Bennet in my sudden sentimentality, and she responded "don't be so silly - you mean the world to me". My vulnerability was met in a sort of empathetic half-way house. Which is totally fine. But what felt the best, and still does, was that now she knows. I said it and I meant it. Even though her email back was literally one line (above) it was fine. Intimacy is not a bridge we rush across like herded sheep. But it is a bridge, nonetheless. One that leads to real connection, the antidote to isolation, and the soil where trust and empathy grow.

Yes, it requires courage. Yes, it sometimes weirds us out. But like any muscle, intimacy gets stronger the more we practice it. We need to be better at it, not just for the people around us, but for ourselves. Being intimate reminds us who we are, what we value, and how we can show up fully in the world. It's a freaking practice, people - not a prize. Nothing to do with your knickers or your knockers. It grows through intention, attention and presence. Through noticing each other, listening without judgment, and creating moments, big or small, where human intimacy can live and thrive - where connection is of the highest priority.

Affection may be fleeting, but connection endures. Vulnerability may feel (and be) quite risky, but it’s the threshold of trust. And the more we embrace intimacy, not as something to perform, but as something to live by, the richer our lives will doubtless get, my friends. The better will feel, our communities and our most worthy friendships.

I love you.