The Rebellious Truth

The word rebel has come up for me several times this week: at work by a parent struggling with a teenager, by a friend of the family struggling with a teenager, in the many parenting books I am currently reading, and by a reference to my teenage self as a rebel. That didn't sit well with me, as I never thought of myself as a rebel. More like aimless.

I have a friend who once shared a story with me. She was driving along, her three kids in the back all singing or gabbing away, when a policeman pulled her over for one thing or another. She lowered her window and this cop began to berate her. He used harsh words, a belligerent tone and was extremely rude. Afraid, one of the children began to cry. Despite the cop yelling at her to stay in her car, she said to him, 'what, do you think this is America?', and proceeded to climb out. She proceeded to explain to him that she had always taught her children to respect the law and police officers, that when they needed help they were to call for the police. His atrocious behaviour had undone all that by terrifying her young children, and what did he think he was accomplishing? Suitably chastened, the officer turned around and returned to his car.

When I first heard that story I was astonished and in awe. Get out of your car to face down a police officer? That takes guts!

The first famous people that came to my unilluminated mind were James Dean and Marilyn Monroe, but that seemed woefully inadequate, after all, James died speeding along at 24 in a terrible car crash and Marilyn at 36, addicted to alcohol and sleeping pills. Hardly an appealing goal for anyone.

Time Magazine this year in March published a list of history's most rebellious women in celebration of International Women's Day. This list, which includes photos, is made up of some absolutely amazing women. Some of them are Tawakul Karman, Aung San Suu Kyi, Harriet Tubman, Mary Wollstonecraft, Joan of Arc, etc. I urge you to take a look at this list and share it around and make sure every female, especially young ones, know who they are. Well, most of them anyway, as some listed here were so violent that I wondered why they were to be admired. Just because they were female?

Interestingly, I didn't find an equivalent list of rebellious men. Are there just too many? Is it too normal a behaviour for them? Or aren't there very many? When I googled 'rebellious men' I got pages of bible quotes, a few fashion stores, one of which had clothing styled after military gear. Is that rebelling? Looking like you're in the military, but you're not really? Is the intention to support our military?

Next I googled 'modern day rebels' and first up was a link to a hilarious series of pictures, a bit tongue in cheek, of 21 Modern Day Rebels Who Do What They Want at pophangover.com. My favourite has to be the smiling pooch unwittingly sitting behind a sign that states "No Dogs Beyond This Point," but the postage stamp was pretty clever too. I hope that poor dog clinging desperately to the signpost made it down safely.

The next links really weren't what I was looking for either. I decided to look up the definitions of rebel.

According to oxforddictionary.com, a rebel is a person who rises in opposition or armed resistance against an established government or leader; a person who resists authority, control, or convention. Not quite satisfied with this definition, which could describe any two-year-old testing boundaries, I found at vocabulary.com this definition: someone who exhibits great independence in thought and action; a person who takes part in armed rebellion against the constituted authority (especially in the hope of improving conditions). That last phrase is key for me - the hope of improving conditions - the reason for the behaviour, which can hardly be applied to teenagers getting pregnant or addicted to drugs or cutting school.

At psychologytoday.com I found a great article by Carl E. Pickhardt entitled Rebel with a Cause: Rebellion in Adolescence. He states that "although the young person thinks rebellion is an act of independence, it actually never is. It is really an act of dependency. Rebellion causes the young person to depend self-definition and personal conduct on doing the opposite of what other people want." It's a bit to chew over, but worth the effort. He also writes: "Rebellion can cause young people to rebel against their own self-interests - rejecting childhood interests, activities, and relationships that often support self-esteem." He offers an informative breakdown of the stages of rebellion from children aged nine all the way through to their early twenties, when the mind-set shifts from, 'You can't make me,' to 'I can't make me,' when the person is unable to get themselves out of bed for a job, complete assignments for class, or act in their own best interests. According to Pickhardt the last challenge of adolescence is to figure out how to end the rebellion against self interest and accept their leadership authority.

I think the best definition comes from urbandictionary.com: "a rebel is a person who stands up for their own personal opinions despite what anyone else says. A true rebel stands up for what they believe is right, not against what's right. It's not about smoking crack, drinking till you're rendered unconscious, or beating the crap out of anyone that crosses your path. It's all about being an individual and refusing the follow a crowd that forces you to think the same way they do even if it means being an outcast to society. True rebels know who they are and do not compromise their individuality or personal opinion for anyone. They're straightforward and honest and they will sure as hell tell you like it is."

It's convictions, it's guts, it's standing for a greater good, (eliminates many politicians, doesn't it?) and it's faith in who they are. That to me is a rebel. I only wish I was one! I'd love to hear your examples of who you think is worthy of being called a rebel.

The Threatening To-Do List

I've been procrastinating a lot lately. My attention wavered from my studies. I haven't faced up to writing more than boring repetitive journal entries. Clutter was getting so deep that the house started to take on that stale stuffy smell. I was managing to get the kids chauffeured around on time and the dog out for a walk, but everything else seemed too much, not enough time, too busy. Ever been there?

Today I decided to listen to a webinar for my studies while I pottered about dismantling the alarming amount of clutter. It was called Clearing Out the Clutter. Sometimes I surprise myself. While the coach talked about how clutter zaps our energy and creates an obstacle to moving forward, I created a staggering pile of paper to recycle (why did I print out so many film scripts and how many doodles can kids leave lying around?), filed away important documents, stashed a few treasures in memory boxes, and finally made executive decisions about bits and pieces.

Then the coach suggested we do an exercise. I quickly rushed over, plopped into a chair as directed, feet on the floor, and took a few deep cleansing breaths. Then with pen and paper I followed her instructions and made a note of everything that came to mind as she asked a series of questions, like: What unfinished tasks do you dwell on, What are you worried about, Are you concerned about something in your future, Has someone made you angry, Is there someone you need to forgive...? And then my breath caught. My heart is pounding again as I relive that moment. The coach's words then faded into the background as my attention turned inwards. What was going on? Why had time stopped? Why couldn't I breathe?

Forgiveness. There was someone I needed to forgive. Someone I knew well, who tried hard at everything, who knew she was human but still made mistakes and beat herself up terribly for it. Someone who liked to appear happy and easy to get along with, but who felt challenged treating herself the same way as she treated others. As that to-do list grew and grew, incorporating intentions of better fitness regimes, stricter guidelines for children, more studying, more support for her family and pets, more gardening, reading, tidying, housecleaning, effort at work, getting more sleep, meditating, writing letters - you get the idea - she felt worse and worse about herself. Ever called yourself hopeless? Even though you perhaps would never call someone else that?

And so, stunned into awareness, I said to myself, I forgive you. For letting those opportunities go by. For being too scared to take action. For dropping out of this or that. For being too nice to my kids. For being too afraid to stand up and say, I matter, and this is not how I do things. For not believing that I am worth it.

I forgive you.

And with a tentative sigh, a clean slate, I tuned back into the coach and continued to toss that clutter, both the mental and the physical. Thank goodness everyday is a new day.

Cotton Ball Craze

Summer holidays. Warm evenings. Beach. T-shirts and shorts. Sunburns. And lots of time with the kids. Could it be any better?

I thought perhaps it could be a smidgen better. With the holidays also comes a lot more time together and more chance for friction. Yes, okay, it's learning life skills, but looking for consequences for poor behaviour doesn't sit so well with me. Determined to find another way to stave off the sibling squabbles, I googled ways to encourage and reward good behaviour in children.  I discovered a website called Your Modern Family and found an easy reward system to set in place. In an empty jar you drop a cotton ball when the child does something nice and unexpected. When the jar fills up, they get to choose an activity (you set the guidelines) to do with a parent or whole family. I like that option better than getting more 'stuff'. After a discussion with my daughters, a short trip to the dollar store for a pretty jar, we were off and running.

I could see their brains cranking, the smoke pouring out of their ears, as they started to digest what it meant to do something spontaneous, nice, or helpful. At the end of day one, there were two or three cotton balls collected, and much discussion about what activity would be chosen. Rock climbing seems to be high on the list. Fish and chips on the beach for dinner a close second. They batted ideas back and forth while in the background I continued to do laundry, make meals, feed the pets, clean up, plan activities, etc, and then I headed into the pantry and pulled out an empty jar of my own.

What are you doing? they demanded. I want a jar too, I said. When mine is full, then I get to pick an activity too. I didn't elaborate then, but I was thinking a weekend away on my own with no one expecting anything of me and lots of time to read and write. I explained that every time I did something for someone else, without being asked, then I too could score a cotton ball.

At the end of day three we all stood before our jars and stared. The girls had six or seven each, which was really great. I rewarded them for random acts of kindness, sharing, and efforts made to make someone laugh. They were getting really creative, and I noticed that they were not reacting so emotionally when the other child had a mood swing. Our eyes then swung to my jar, which was overflowing with cotton balls. Their eyes opened wide and jaws hung low.

Mom, how did you do it? Well, let's see, I answered. I cut up fruit for your breakfast without being asked, then fed and watered the dog, cats and bird without being asked, I put away your breakfast foods, I washed your laundry, I hung up your laundry, I made your lunch, I swept the floor of dog hair, I changed your bed linens, I emptied your bins, I took your clothes off the line and folded them into piles so all you had to do was take your pile to your room and put it away, I made your afternoon snack, I tidied up afterwards, I made your dinner, I washed up afterwards, I read a book to you, I tucked you in and kissed you...you get the picture.

They turned their dear little faces to me in astonishment. I smiled. Quite widely. I used the momentum to expand their list of chores, and which they have actually, unbelievably, agreed to. Their cotton ball jars are filling quickly, and the amount of spontaneous kindness and assistance has increased. But more than that, there is a new appreciation for what their mother does in a day. And I too learned a lesson: I do too much. They are fully functioning members of the family who share this house and are quite capable of handling more responsibility in the running of it. I have wanted to find more time for reading and writing, and now I have. I have also learned that it's a good idea to reward myself too because I do a lot and it should be rewarded and not just expected, by me or anyone else. I get more cups of tea made for me, and two meals a week are now out of my hands. And I sit down when I see the cotton balls piling up too quickly. Some things can wait, and it doesn't mean I'm a bad mommy. Who knew there was such a lesson to be learned so easily by so many of us from cotton balls? Long live the cotton ball.