Across Ireland, thousands of people are living with chronic pain that persists despite scans, medication or treatment. I know this both from my own research and practice and from that of my colleagues at Chronic Pain Ireland.
I’ve also learned something that is rarely discussed in medical settings, which is that many people living with chronic pain are also living with a quiet absence of nurturing touch. This concerns me, as my work has taught me that touch isn’t a luxury; it is a biological regulator.
Touch is important from birth, from our first moments of life. It teaches the nervous system whether the world is safe or not. Gentle, warm contact activates specialised nerve fibres in the skin that communicate directly with emotional and stress-regulating centres in the brain. When we experience safe, affectionate touch, our body releases oxytocin, reduces cortisol, slows the heart rate and shifts into a calmer parasympathetic state.
A little while ago I discussed this at length with Dr Sue Carter. Sue is a leading researcher who pioneered the understanding of oxytocin as a foundational hormone for social bonding, pair-bonding and maternal behaviour. In simple terms, her work clearly demonstrates that nurturing, supportive touch tells the body that you are safe.
Chronic pain, on the other hand, is often a sign of a nervous system that has become protective and vigilant. Modern pain science shows us that persistent pain is not always about tissue damage, but is frequently the result of heightened sensitivity in the nervous system. Stress, trauma, loneliness and prolonged strain can all contribute to this state of high alert. When safety signals are insufficient, the body remains braced. And a braced body, of course, hurts more easily.
Touch matters
Research shows that people who feel touch-deprived are more likely to experience anxiety, low mood and reduced self-confidence. Many adults report wanting more affectionate, non-sexual touch than they currently receive. There are lots of reasons why people may feel deprived of comforting touch, ranging from cultural reserve and gender norms to bereavement, divorce and living alone. Any of these factors can quietly reduce everyday physical contact. After the pandemic, some people never fully returned to previous patterns of hugging or closeness. You might know people who have changed their attitude to physical contact since lockdown, or feel that way yourself.
The absence of touch doesn’t cause chronic pain on its own, but it can remove one of the nervous system’s most powerful regulators. What’s more, touch can also directly reduce pain. Studies show that holding a trusted person’s hand can dampen threat responses in the brain, while gentle stroking can reduce the perceived intensity of pain. Even imagining supportive touch can lower stress reactivity. Supportive, consensual contact communicates cooperation, safety and care, all of which help the nervous system to self-regulate into rest and repair mode.
Touch is about a felt sense, not just physical contact. It is nuanced and has to be exercised with integrity. The same gesture can feel comforting or intrusive, depending on context and history. The golden rule is that safe touch must be invited, chosen and consensual. A sensitive approach is required and for people with trauma histories, touch may need to be reintroduced gradually.
It’s also important to remember that touch doesn’t always have to be relational. If you live alone or feel uncertain about asking for touch, self- touch can also regulate the nervous system. Placing a warm hand on your chest, giving yourself a gentle hug or slowly stroking your forearm while breathing calmly can also stimulate calming pathways. The key to doing this is attention; consciously noticing the warmth, pressure and softening in the body.
Chronic pain often reflects a nervous system that has been protective for a long time. Safe, warm, respectful and welcome touch is one way to remind your body that it’s OK to let this guard down. If you notice traits of hypervigilance such as rapid breathing, tension or sweaty palms, begin gently. Place one hand on your chest. Take one slower breath. Relish one moment of warmth. Sometimes healing starts with something profoundly simple: allowing the body to feel safe in contact again.