The Pretty One: On Life, Pop Culture, Disability, and Other Reasons to Fall in Love with Me - Softcover

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Keah Brown is a journalist, freelance writer, and activist. She has written about living with cerebral palsy in Teen Vogue, Essence, Catapult, Glamour, Harper’s Bazaar, and other publications. She holds a bachelor’s degree in journalism from the State University of New York at Fredonia and she has a love for popular culture and cheesecake. She lives in New York with her family.

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The Pretty One

INTRODUCTION

Hey, friends! My name is Keah and I’m cute as hell. I love popular culture, music, cheesecake, cheeseburgers, and pizza. I dance in cars with my friends and again at their weddings. We sing songs down store aisles and play cards for hours. I live-tweet TV shows and laugh at my own jokes. I text my friend Danielle Sepulveres about Christmas movies and watch the Hallmark Channel for hours. When I am alone, I thoroughly enjoy playing The Sims. I am obsessed with lipsticks and I am trying and failing to learn the art of applying eye shadow. (I hope that you read all of that in the same vein as the intro to the Nickelodeon show The Wild Thornberrys, because that was my intent, though I don’t think it lines up quite as nicely as I would have liked it to.)

My point is that I do all these things in a disabled body, not because I am brave or bold, but because I like doing them and I would love doing them in any body. I adapt to the world because I have to do so in order to live. My disability is cerebral palsy, and it affects the right side of my body, effectively altering my motor skills and reaction time as well as the strength of my bones on that side. I don’t do things in spite of anything—except for maybe the people who told me I’d be nothing and no one. I don’t mind being an inspiration if it is for a valid reason, such as admiring how many slices of pizza I ate, an essay or an article I wrote, my clothing choices, or how quickly I can learn the lyrics to songs. As long as the inspiration doesn’t come with pity or self-congratulatory pats on the back, I am all for it. Let my love for cheesecake inspire you the way it will one day inspire a nation. At least you can say you were there first.

Before I hop on a soapbox, let me stop and share some fun but key facts about myself. Let’s start with music: Paramore and Demi Lovato are my favorite musicians, and music has been a huge part of my journey so far. I tell myself that my love for TV is balanced only by my love for books, so it’s fitting that I became a writer, in order to write about TV and fight for proper representation in media for people who look like me, and a journalist, in order to talk to musicians, writers, and actors. I love doing both, so don’t even bother asking me to choose. I like getting lost in other people’s worlds for a while—it takes the pressure off having to answer for my disabled body and sit in the contempt that some people have for it—and I like talking to people and figuring out how and why they became who they became. I hate winter even though I live in western New York, where it snows so much that it has felt like a personal attack on my life, for all my life.

Apart from the weather where I live, my life experience is far exceeding my expectations. I never thought anyone would want to hear what I had to say until I started telling stories and talking about the things and people that matter to me. The truth is this: I’ve always felt average, plain, and wrong, but there is nothing average, plain, or wrong about me, and it took me only half my life so far to figure that out. I wrote an entire book and you are gearing up to read it. How cool is that? So cool.

Sometimes, it is beautiful to prove yourself wrong.

A thing that happens when you’re tasked with writing a book is that you start to learn new things about yourself while you write to contend with your past. Who I am at present is a person who loudly and proudly gives a damn about herself, other people, and the world at large. Caring is fun, and I find that it has made me both happier and healthier, though I wish that I could care less about the opinions of naysayers. Rome wasn’t built in a day and all that, so I’m guessing there is still time to change and reach my final form. When writing this book, I had to remind myself that who I had been in the past is important, too, and I try my hardest to remember that, instead of hiding her away out of embarrassment. In any case, I am unable to go back in time and tell her what I think she knows now. If I did that, though, who knows if any of this would still be possible? I won’t let wishful time travel get in the way of my experience.

There is still so much left to learn. One of the biggest things that I am discovering is that I should learn to sit in my joy longer and not immediately apologize for being proud and happy. My happiness and joy are still relatively new because I started embracing them only four years ago, and while they are still growing, changing, and taking form in new and exciting ways, where I am now and where I am going are possible only because of where I was.

What I can see now is that I was always cute. I look at old pictures and see a girl whose smile was wide and face was full but who didn’t see her beauty. I smiled widely for a girl who didn’t like waking up and seeing herself, because she didn’t want anyone else to know the truth, which she let out only when she was alone. It is my belief that sometimes we keep secrets and hide our deepest insecurities because we believe that if other people found them out they would agree and believe them to be true, too. At least, this was why I tried my hardest not to let on how depressed and angry I was. (But I’m certain now that I wasn’t as good at hiding my feelings as I thought I was.)

At the time, I didn’t recognize that I was feeding into the narrative of shame and disability that society had created: that Keah saw someone so broken that she could never be whole again. Yes, my insecurities were self-made, but they had been encouraged and influenced by a society that had taught me early on that I was not supposed to feel beautiful in a body like mine. I was supposed to hate it until the day I died. The minute I stopped listening to that kind of thinking was the minute I started living.

I am a twenty-six-year-old black woman with a physical disability who is much more than her disability. However, I understand that the erasure of disability in our society is just as harmful as the negative portrayals of disability throughout our society. For a really long time I believed that ignoring my disability and tucking it into the deepest parts of myself would make it go away. But that isn’t the way the world works, and that is no way to live. My disability is not a thing to see past but instead a thing to acknowledge and accept before able-bodied people and I continue existing at the same time in this world. I have both physical and invisible disabilities, and I refuse to be ashamed of them, because they are beautiful in their uniqueness and their familiarity. They are mine, but they also belong to a world of others, and that makes them worthy of my appreciation and acceptance.

When I sat down to write this collection, I decided that honesty would be the basis of the essays you will read. Honesty in the face of sadness, imperfection, anger, grief, and joy. Now that I have joy, I never want to let it go. I want to smother it like a middle-aged mother who is sending her son off to college or a father who lingers at the door after his child has left for her very first date—until his wife softly pats him on the arm before pulling him away. (I watch a lot of Hallmark movies, as I said, where these things happen, so just go with it.) I find that in order for me to be the best version of myself, these stories have to be told, because I need to forgive myself for who I was in order to become who I am becoming. The...