Craving Rebellion

How I broke free and became a badass.

“Mom, can I get a second ear piercing?” I asked with the cockiness of a ninth grader.

“No,” my mother said.

Huh?! My mother never said no. I was stunned.

I headed straight to my red push-button phone to report back to Betsy, my high school bestie, and plot my rebellion. After finals were over a few days later, we took a bus to White Plains, walked into a jewelry store, and split a pair of hypoallergenic earrings, each getting a second-hole piercing in our left ear.

I was a bit anxious about telling my parents. It was my first act of rebellion (minus some pot smoking), and I felt like a badass—a feeling that I, the family good girl, was unfamiliar with.

The night before my camp departure, my parents and I went to dinner and a movie—our annual pre-camp ritual—and I confessed.

“I got a second hole in my ear,” I said sheepishly, pulling my hair back to reveal my new shiny accessory.

“Oh, ok,” my mom replied.

She reached for her wine glass. My father speared a piece of steak.

Wait! I disobeyed you! I thought. You said no and I did it anyway.

With their blanket acceptance of my defiance, I missed out on my victory lap. My new rebel identity crashed to a halt, and I was back to being the good girl.

Nearly five decades later, I decided it was time to set my inner rebel free. On the way home from the food market a few weeks ago, I swerved into an open parking spot (good karma, always) in front of a piercing place in my suburban town. My adrenaline surged as I got out of my car and pulled open the heavy glass door.

Inside, a middle schooler looked at earring choices with her mom, and a young man scrolled on his phone, waiting for his girlfriend to be done with her piercing. I was alone—excited and nervous. I didn’t need to ask anyone’s permission this time. I typed out my name and address on an iPad, picked out a gold bar, and waited for the nurse to call my name.

When it was my turn, I found my way onto the raised stool, surrounded by bright lights, colorful posters, and a large mirror. I thought about how, as a second grader, I’d asked my mom if I could get pierced ears. She didn’t have them at the time, but my aunt Yvonne did. So it was Yvonne who took me to a jewelry store to hold my hand as the piercing gun simultaneously put a hole in my flesh and plugged a little gold ball into each of my eight-year-old lobes.

Sitting on that stool a few weeks ago—the mother of three adult children—I realized I was a rebel with no particular cause. Someone’s approval, other than my own, was no longer in question. I took a selfie, and sent it to my family. . But when a couple of hearts popped into our family’s group text, the dopamine hit warmed my body. I simply wanted to be my own version of a badass again.

Do you have a rebellion story?

Anything you’ve held back doing that you want to break free from?

A MANTRA FOR YOU:

Courage first. Compassion always.

xx Caren