What I miss most

Over a year ago, I had to quit my writing group. Not because they didn’t accommodate my disabilities, but even with accommodations, my body was too tired and painful to go to someone else’s house after work. I almost cried when my groupmates reached out last month and offered to meet over Zoom. Not only did I get to stay at home, but I had energy to enjoy it.

The pandemic continues to create new opportunities for me. This week, encouraged by my writing group experience, I signed up for a virtual writing workshop with one of my favorite authors, Samantha Irby. (Check out her new book, Wow, No Thank You.) The workshop challenged participants with the following prompt: What do you miss from your pre-pandemic life?

My immediate reaction was NOT MUCH.

Do I miss forcing my disabled body into the office every day? Peoples’ disregard for my health and safety? My friends forgetting to check on me due to busy schedules? Inaccessible authors’ events and writing workshops?

Brimming with gratitude and sarcasm, this is what I wrote:

I miss the fear I used to induce when wearing a mask. Before Americans cared about breathing, my N95 declared I was different. In a bad way, of course. I chose a black fabric to discourage any double takes. On the bad days, when my muscles ached with inflammation, I hummed the Imperial March as coworkers and grocery shoppers scurried away. No more wasting energy on small talk or pretending to fit in. Most people worried I was sick or weird–the difference didn’t really matter as long as it didn’t affect them. Only the bravest, people who had been through hard shit too, made direct eye contact and befriended me.

Now that masks are cool, I can’t distinguish the empaths from the assholes. Are they wearing one to protect others too or do they only care about themselves? Worst of all, I’m no longer protected from expectations or criticism. Recently, when I took off my mask in order to load my groceries into my car with adequate oxygen flow, a customer lectured me on the importance of masks. My disability parking permit just doesn’t wield the same power.

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