I Appreciate Not Having a Body

Kelly Jean Fitzsimmons
6 min readMar 11, 2021

The pandemic has taught me to appreciate many things, but my love of being a disembodied head came as a surprise.

I miss hugs.

I don’t miss the obligatory post-show squeeze from the drunken bar owner who let us use the backroom for free, which included a sloppy whiskey-scented kiss landing too close to my ear.

I miss the sounds of writers scribbling out their imaginations onto sheets of loose-leaf.

I don’t miss lugging folding chairs, setting them up in a tight ring in a corner of the bookstore, or shifting uncomfortably as the torturous plastic seat cuts into the sides of my ample ass.

I miss playing conductor for a chorus of college freshmen brainstorming points and counterpoints for their argumentative essays.

I don’t miss fighting the urge to yank at my low-crotching tights or worrying about how big my butt looks when I turn toward the blackboard.

Pre-pandemic, my life was nonstop. I walked holes into my boots, pushed through the Thunderdome that is Penn Station, and rode the subway to the end of the line juggling a series of side-hustles to support my “teaching habit.” The sad fact that most people know but few understand is that working as an adjunct English instructor for multiple universities isn’t enough to survive on without a second, or third, source of income.

After a year of so many of us being totally fixed where we are, I’ve discovered something I could never have imagined last March. I have more confidence now that I exist as an adorable Lady Max Headroom inside my Zoom square.

I miss people.

I don’t miss them being able to see my body.

I love being free from bras that boost my tits up, shapewear that sucks my stomach down, and shoes that pit my toes against one another in a blood feud.

All of it resulting in sweat. Dear God, so much sweat.

Sweaty thighs chub-rubbing in the summer, sweat trickling down my back or pooling in my cleavage underneath my layers in the winter. One chilly fall evening, a particularly lithe friend stood shivering next to me on the above-ground platform of the N train.

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Kelly Jean Fitzsimmons

Writer, educator, and producer of No, YOU Tell It! (noyoutellit.com) Stalk my Insta adventures @KJ_Fitzsimmons @noyoutellit