My movie bummed you out? GOOD.

It's not my job to make you (or anyone) feel better about my existence.

Move Me movie poster. Kelsey on her bed with grey sheets, arms over her head looking into the camera—her wheelchair blurred in the background.

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🌀 methods for engaging with our anger in a healthy way

🌀 embodied methods for integration and release

Someone at my last screening of our film, Move Me, said something that struck me. After the credits rolled and the lights came up, they raised their hand for Q&A. I couldn’t see them–I think they were a paraplegic–but I can’t remember exactly. 

What I do remember is what they said, and how it made me feel. Without any other context or question, they uttered, in almost an accusatory manner:  “I felt…bummed. I mean, how are you now?”

I was stunned. It felt like a demand. Like they wanted me to answer for and resolve some discomfort my film–my LIFE–had caused them.

That’s when it hit, the anger.

How dare you, after I just shared my whole fucking life and truth with you, have the audacity to ask me to make you feel better about the feeling you’re now grappling with. Maybe you need to sit with your own discomfort for a hot second. Sit and think about why you feel that way, and then actually ask me a fucking question. How bout that?

But of course, I didn’t say that.

I saw a quote on one of my favorite Instagram accounts recently—Black Liturgies. It read:

“Be careful of those who demand your niceness more than your dignity.”

I’m not here to make someone, anyone, feel better about my disabled existence or explain my complicated and sovereign process with grief and adaptation. I’m not here to defend my process. I’m not here to make you feel better because my experience is different than yours. 

I’m here for me. I’m here to share my truth, my light, my story. If that fucks with you, maybe you need to examine WHY? 

My process certainly doesn’t have to, nor does it intend to threaten anyone else’s either. 

Spoiler alert:

Yes, I got the electronic stimulation implant. Yes, I love myself deeply. Yes, some moments I don’t like being disabled. Some days I don’t like my disabled body. Some days I feel I’m a moving celebration of disability and divinity. Life is fucking complicated. Humans are complicated; and I’m human too, dammit. 

I have love for the woman who asked this non-question, because maybe she felt threatened or scared or triggered by what I shared about my disability story. And maybe she wanted some inspiration porn—another disability story made to make us all feel uplifted and hopeful.

I’m also not here for that. 

I wanted Move Me to fuck you up. We (my wonderful co-director Daniel Klein, and I) wanted it to stir up a lot of emotions and questions within our audience, because quite frankly, that’s what becoming disabled did to me. I have gone through a crazy wilderness of identity and emotion in order to find myself and know myself and love myself again. We wanted people to feel the complexity of life, of profound change, of disability, of being human. 

But, I raised my eyebrow with a sarcastic smirk and answered her. “Am I happy? Yeah, I suppose I am.” But I didn’t want to tell her that. It’s hard to know what to say in those moments. You know, the kind where you wish you could go back in time and say what you really wanted to say. I must admit, I felt closer to that version of myself than I ever have in that moment though, so that’s progress. That enthroned version of you who speaks completely candidly and without fear of how it might make the other person feel, because it’s not your fucking problem. They weren’t thinking about how their words were going to make you feel when they vomited that insensitive, demanding shit out at you. 

I told her in a nonchalant way, that I’m ok. I have a lot that I’m grateful for.

AND, life is hard. 

I love myself, AND yes, I do wonder sometimes about functional recovery. Call me a bad cripple, I guess. Whatever. I’m allowed to love myself and command respect while at the same time dream of shit being easier. It doesn’t mean that I think I need to be “fixed”, it just means I’m HUMAN. And as such, I’m allowed to hold seemingly opposing ideas at the same time. I think it makes our lives more honest. 

We’re all so quick to judge. I have lived in two very different worlds—both disabled and non-disabled. And I have learned so much from that dynamic and dichotomous experience. I have learned that people with disabilities don’t need to be fixed. The world and our ableism and our inaccessibility needs to be fixed. We are beautiful and important and valuable just the way we are—not in spite of our disability, but because of it. We all have something to give the world simply by existing in our own unique way that only we can. Disability life has gifted me wisdom that I hold, both like a sword to wield and a treasure to cherish. I bow to the wisdom of disability over and over again in my life. And sometimes I curse it. This has been the most humbling and frustrating and heartbreaking and heart-opening and eye-opening journey to behold. 

I’ve heard people say with pride after loss or tragedy, “I never looked back.” But I do look back.

My past informs how I move forward. It taught me something. I earned that shit. And you better believe I’m taking it with me on the road forward.

A wise guide once told me:

Your future is behind you, pushing you forward, your past is in front of you, lighting the way.

So I try to let my future, like an assuring hand on my back, and my past, like a light on my path, guide me into the unknown rooms of our lives.

I’m not responsible for how my film makes someone feel. Do I care? Absolutely. But I can’t control those things. I can’t validate your experience while invalidating my own. I just told my unabashed truth in hopes it would help others heal as it helped me heal. And it was terrifying. Putting myself out there to be judged and criticized and misunderstood, it wasn’t easy. But I still wanted to do it. I felt compelled to create and share and connect. And in that way, it was easy. 

I’m happy if Move Me makes anyone feel anything. I think it’s good to feel uncomfortable and to question the meaning of our lives and our emotions. It’s good to investigate ourselves and each other and where we intersect. 

So if I could go back, I think I’d gently ask her:

Why do you feel bummed? What about my story bummed you out or let you down? Are you making assumptions or judgements about my story? Where does this bummed-ness come from, me or you? 

Those are questions. I dare you to answer them for yourself. 

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Below you will find methods for engaging with our anger in a healthy way, as well as embodied methods for integration and release. This work feels very sacred, empowering, and liberating, both as a woman and as a person with a disability. As marginalized people, or people who have been oppressed, we are often told that our anger is inappropriate, invalid, or unnecessary. And well, fuck that. 

What we don’t express can become our sickness. But we innately have, within ourselves, the ability to release that which no longer serves us, and to speak and honor our truth. We’re allowed to be angry, and we all could probably use some guidance in finding a healthy relationship with something we’ve probably been ashamed of, and/or been told to suppress for far too long. Be the lion. Roar.