[Portland author (and Mercury columnist) Courtenay Hameister’s new book, Okay Fine Whatever, documents a year in which she attempted to squash her crippling anxiety by putting herself in the most anxiety-inducing situations imaginable. In this excerpt, Courtenay—who has issues with being touched—schedules a session with a professional cuddler.—Eds.]
On the day of my session, I started feeling some creeping anticipatory dread early in the afternoon. Nothing that rose to the level of a panic attack, but the under-the-surface kind of anxiety that puts you on edge and makes you check your purse for Ativan before you leave the house.
Samantha’s storefront was on Lower Burnside in Southeast Portland. A window display featured copies of her books and T-shirts with the store’s logo: a simple illustration of a red heart with a circle at the top and two crisscrossed lines across the middle, turning the heart into a person being hugged.
Based on first impressions, I didn’t think this was my style.
I arrived at the same time as my editor, who had joined me to take pictures, which only served to increase my level of discomfort, especially since he had clearly made up his mind about Samantha ahead of time (he was firmly in the snark camp).
The interior looked like it might’ve been a gym in a past life. No-pile carpet, white walls. A curtain ran along one side of the main room near the back, and the furniture was sparse and mismatched, which I forgave since she’d just opened up.
As soon as I met Samantha, I understood the draw. A five-foot-three impish brunette, she had a reassuring smile and a sweet, kind energy that would’ve put me at ease if I hadn’t come in, as my friend Stacey’s dad used to say, “wound up tighter than a clam’s ass.”
“You don’t look excited about this,” she said, grinning.
“I wouldn’t say that I am,” I said. “This isn’t really a thing that I’d… y’know, normally…”
“Do?” she said.
“Nope,” I said.
“I get that a lot,” she said. “We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, and we can stop at any time.”
She sounded like my dentist.
The buzzing in my chest had been at threat level 6, and that took me to about a 7. I tried not to imagine what we were going to do because that made it worse.