Sorry You Have a Body: A Song about Body Burnout

AJJ’s “Body Terror Song” appears on their self-produced 2020 album Good Luck Everybody. Known for their folk-punk style and often political lyrics, AJJ creates music that cuts straight to the raw emotion and anxiety of the moment. Written between 2017 and 2020, the album captures the emotional chaos of the era, just before the world locked down. “Body Terror Song,” the album’s third track, wasn’t written in response to COVID-19, but it certainly resonates.

The song opens:

‍I'm so sorry that you have to have a body

I'm so sorry that you have to have a body, oh yeah

I'm very sorry that you have to have a body

One that will hurt you, and be the subject of so much of your fear

It is a striking and often unspoken admission of the grief, fear, and ambivalence that many people feel about living in a body - any body. Scroll the comment section of the music video or AJJ’s recorded performances of the song, and you’ll see hundreds of comments from people all relating to the lyrics through different lenses. It widely resonates among people navigating chronic illness, disability, eating disorders, gender dysphoria, body image struggles, aging, and the aftermath of violence. There’s a universality of how burdensome it can feel simply to be human. 

‍It will betray you, be used against you, then it'll fail on you my dear

But before that, you'll be a doormat, for every vicious narcissist in the world

Oh how they'll screw you, all up and over, then feed you silence for dessert

One in four American adults live with a disability. And most of us, at some point, will either become disabled or care for someone who is. For many, the body is not a site of safety, it is a source of pain, betrayal, or shame. When this is the case, we can begin to conclude that the body is an agent working against us, something that we have to “control.” It is a common source of tension for many Americans, and a deeply engrained cultural belief. 

For those living with chronic illness or disability, the sentiment is even more intensified. There’s a deeply ingrained and harmful idea that a disabled body is inherently shameful, something to be controlled, overcome, or hidden. In these early lines, AJJ acknowledges that the body is not only a source of personal struggle, but also a site of political, interpersonal, and institutional violence. The distress doesn’t come from the body alone, but from the reality that our bodies are often acted upon, controlled, denied, and harmed. The experience of living in a body is shaped by forces far beyond individual control within systems that often end up inflicting harm. For many, access to life-saving medications, appropriate treatment, and essential accommodations can be unceremoniously taken away at any moment, contributing to a deep and chronic sense of vulnerability and instability.

‍I'm so sorry that you have to have a body

So very sorry that you have to have a body, oh yeah

I'm sorry that you have to have a body

Filled with infection

One hundred scabs singing in unison

Eyes and hands, sometimes bullets,

Uninvited, passing through us

Uninvited, passing through us

Medical professionals, too, often become alienated from their own bodies. The culture of medicine encourages overwork, emotional suppression, and physical neglect. We’re taught to override signals of exhaustion or pain in order to meet the demands of a system that thrives on self-sacrifice. When we’re devalued, overextended, and emotionally wrung out, we tend to default to survival mode—which often means doubling down on the very overexertion that’s harming us. Over time, we may begin to expect others to do the same. And when they don’t, we can start to resent or even demonize them: “They’re so lazy.” “If they went through what I did, they wouldn’t be complaining.” When the uninvited messiness of having a body surfaces, either in our own lives or in our work, those internalized expectations often get projected onto our families, colleagues, and, ultimately, our patients. The risk is even greater when someone’s experience of their body presents in ways we don’t fully understand or relate to.

I'm sorry that you have to have a body

I'm sorry that you have to have a body

Understanding the internalized drive to overexert and hustle and how it shapes our beliefs about health, worth, and productivity brings us closer to seeing these pressures for what they are: cultural narratives, not personal failings. When we situate ourselves within the systems we live in, we open up the possibility of rejecting the expectation to become optimized, efficient, “biohacked” humanoid versions of ourselves. By questioning who these ideals actually serve, and consciously choosing acts of self-compassion over constant overexertion, we move closer to living fully embodied lives. And when we do that, we make more space for others to do the same. We begin to loosen our grip, and maybe, we don’t always have to be sorry to have a body.

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July is Disability Pride Month! Did you know that only 40% of physicians feel confident to provide the same quality of care to their patients with disabilities as their patients without disabilities? To celebrate Disability Pride Month, why don’t you take a moment to learn more about disability pride? You can start with Dr. Kathleen Bogart’s Disability is Diversity blog.