Would you brave a ‘cuddle puddle’ with complete strangers?

A poster appeared on the back of the toilet door at my local open mic night. White clouds floated in a neon blue-green sky with the words ‘How to Find Oneself in A Queer Cuddle Puddle’ over a sugar pink centre, right in my eyeline. I was intrigued. A cuddle party with strangers?!

Two weeks later, I donate £15 for a ticket, gather a blanket, water bottle and snacks and head into central Brighton to be part of my first adult cuddle puddle. Dressed in leggings and a soft pink jumper, I’m shy but excited.

Cuddling can be good for our health

In Wales, where I’m from, we have a unique word: ‘cwtch’. It’s not just a hug, it’s a warm, safe place, such as a lamb’s manger or the cosiest nook. I long for this sort of holding, but platonic touch is something people don’t discuss often in the UK. We need it – touch, such as cuddling, is known to improve our health – yet embarrassment and social norms get in the way.

…Yes, there will be physical contact, but it’s not sexual. This intrigues me

Chris Jepson is a massage therapist at Hove Hands. “Human touch is healing​ and skin-to-skin contact ​is known to calm the nervous system, ease stress, and foster deep connection,” he says, “in a world that craves warmth; safe, consensual touch is a powerful remedy.”

This Cuddle Puddle is being run by the Devil’s Dyke Network: ‘an inclusive platform for poets, performers and artists dedicated to building community and generating positive cultural and political energies.’

I’m drawn to the event and the fact it’s aimed at queer people. Connecting with other LGBTQ+ people outside of dating is something I’m keen to do. Yes, there will be physical contact, but it’s not sexual. This intrigues me, and I want to find out more.

I’ve tried some weird wellbeing trends: this might be the weirdest yet

I’ll be honest with you, in pursuit of better wellbeing and improved mental health, I’ve tried some unusual methods already. From Shamanic drum journeys to sound baths, trapeze to ecstatic dance, and the – now ubiquitous – wild swimming, this isn’t, as they say, my first rodeo. However, it IS my first cuddle party, or cuddle puddle.

How can this feel even better?

As we enter the dance studio venue in Brighton and take our shoes off, I’m drawn to a neon hand-painted sign that says: ‘How Can This Feel Even Better?’ It’s in green, orange and yellow, surrounded by fairy lights. We’re invited to place our own items next to it if we want to.

There are people with squishy toys; someone’s in pyjamas, others wear onesies and clutch toys. To me this is inner-child work. This is safety. As a queer neurodivergent person, this is an opportunity to unmask and let my guard down – for me and the other attendees.

…it feels like the world has slowed and I can breathe deeply and well

Friends have asked me if I was worried there “might be creeps there”. No, I was not worried about this for a moment. I have encountered creeps (and worse) in business networking events, on buses, and walking home. Entering a conscious, thoughtful space designed to discuss consent and work somatically felt safe for me. Together we’ll create our own safety. There are ground rules, and two experienced facilitators. This is the work they do.

We practice consent

There is a kind, opening circle, and opportunities to talk about how we feel. There are gentle, thoughtful warm-up exercises. Practicing saying ‘no’ and ‘yes’ to an offer of touch, such as holding a hand or linking your finger with someone else’s. There is hand sanitiser, water, discussion. We remember to breathe, we share our pronouns if we want to. I sit back-to-back with a stranger, supporting one another’s weight. It feels good, I find it soothing and calming.

Our yeses are joyful. Our nos are respectful. I listen to my body and my intuition, I don’t say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to please someone else. The atmosphere is kind, tentative and thoughtful. Nobody is diving in. There is quiet playful laughter. We create a temporary haven from the news cycle and the outside world.

I’m worried about my noisy stomach, worried about not being chosen

Eventually, after many gentle exercises and plenty of discussion and a break, we work together to make a pool of cushions and blankets and mats. And begin to arrange ourselves into a ‘puddle’. I don’t remember if there was music or if it was quiet. I do remember worrying about my noisy stomach. And I worried a bit about the fear of not being picked or chosen. We’ve been practicing our nos, what if everyone says ‘no’ to me? Rejection is a huge worry of mine in life.

A tall, gentle man asks if it’s okay to join us and lies behind me

I snuggle down on the pile of beanbags, cushions and blankets, with two other women. A tall, gentle man asks if it’s okay to join us and lies behind me once I agree. He places an arm around my body. It does not feel sexual to me, instead it feels like the world has slowed and I can breathe deeply and well. I feel happy and held and comforted.

I cannot see the faces of the strangers in front and behind me and I close my eyes. Mostly, I find myself most at ease among queer and neurodivergent folks, it’s like coming home. To a home I feel safe in, and where I’m accepted. I’m sad when the time’s up, but a pink-haired stranger stays cuddling me, hands on my hands as we start to debrief. I feel calm and soothed. It was the tonic I needed, and I think I knew that. There is a closing circle and some readings. Several of us ask when we can do this again.

Touch is good for us

Reflecting on my experience, I felt the Cuddle Puddle had a positive effect on my wellbeing and soothed my nervous system. I turned to a therapist to get her expert insights too. Rayner Ward is a counsellor and clinical supervisor and she explained to me why touch is important.

“Recent times have shown us the damage isolation can do and how hard it is to reconnect. Connecting with others is fundamental to wellbeing. Sharing that connection through touch can be one of the simplest ways to share the vulnerability of humankind.

“To simply share the joy of life or the pain of suffering with one hand on another is incredibly valuable. Touch not only warms the heart but reaches us in a way tech will never do.”

Five things I learned in my cuddle puddle:

• It’s about consent and finding what feels right for you. It wasn’t a free-for-all, it was a gentle way for me to reconnect to my own body and boundaries.
• Everything slowed down, and I stopped worrying. I felt very present in the moment the way perhaps others do at yoga or in meditation.
• It wasn’t as embarrassing as I expected. The other cuddlers were kind and thoughtful and the facilitators guided us.
• Cuddling is hungry work! I would bring more snacks for the break if I went again.
• Just because it’s not for everyone doesn’t mean it’s not for me. A lot of friends said this event would be their worst nightmare. But my experience was dreamy.

The Cuddle Puddle was held in Brighton by Devil’s Dyke Network