Control + Alt + Delete: An Unintended Lesson About How Control Manifests Rebellion

I experienced a period of rebellion, one could say, at a socially respectable age; I hit that milestone of my growth chart just as I had everything else with these notable exceptions: I came out of the womb with a head full of wispy locks and I had a gummy smile for far longer than I should have. I began teething at 18 months instead of the common range between 2 and 6 months. I prefaced speaking to my parents, both as a joint unit and asindividuals, with the word “hate” and I listened to loud music while I studied. These were two hallmarks of me having reached adolescence. Less universally characteristic were my demands to take piano lessons, to attend school an hour earlier and dismiss myself more than an hour later for extra curricular activities. I was a rebel.

Rebellious tendencies that are not correlated to age seem to emerge in moments when one feels he/she is being controlled. Perhaps that explains the allure of Fifty Shades of Gray, a narrative that I have not read, but that has become a pop cultural icon for sexual submission. The protagonist not only accepts but also finds gratification from being controlled. This is so contrary to normative discourse.

During the coronavirus pandemic, legislative officials mandate certain protocol: staying at home, keeping a distance of six feet between you and someone not in your isolation cell- the company with whom you keep at home- and minimizing time spent in crowded spaces at places still open to the public: groceries, pharmacies, and gas stations. Despite quelling the rumor that there is a dearth of essentials like toilet paper, many continue to purchase superfluous quantities of these goods.

I am not suggesting that rebellion automatically creates poor intent. Instead, I am posing the logic statement that should there be control, then there will be rebellion. In this same vein, I am arguing that rebellion is not resistance and that resistance is instead a form of rebellion. Resistance is to intentionally act in opposition. Rebellion, however, is to act without conscious awareness; It is committing to the opposing view without intent. Let’s view this idea with a couple of parallel scenarios.

When playing ‘Simon Says,’ one is either going to do as he or she says - should a female be issuing the commands for the game. Should one not do as he/she requests, he/she therefore, rebels, first touching toes and then shoulders instead of acquiescing to Simon’s request to first touch one’s shoulders and then toes. More likely than not, the rebel had not memorized the order of Simon’s commands and had rebelled without any intention of losing the game.

Another example: Should one ask expecting parents whether they are going to have a boy or a girl, a common quip is that there is a 50-percent chance it is either one or the other. There is no control over the outcome, and the rebellion is simply not coming up with a name just yet, or perhaps coming up with multiple gender-specific names. Rebellion may even be to have an expectation for a gender. This rebellion, however, does not create tangible results, not really anyway, unless expectations of the baby’s sex is met.

For background, I had taken advantage of my ability to walk long distances. My thighs were sturdy, referred to as “tree trunks” by some, that I had inherited from my maternal side. My New Yorker heritage deemed traveling by means other than public transportation, taxi, or foot, a foreign concept. A driver’s permit did not a Sweet 16 birthday make. Instead, as a rite of passage, my parents purchased my first diamonds: clustered stud earrings. Ironically, on my 16th birthday, I attended a charity walk in Battery Park, New York City as part of my duties for the community service society I would later preside over as president. Flash forward to several years later, when I took advantage of not only my ability to walk, but also my urbanite lifestyle when I went on walks solely to clock in steps. I walked long distances even when I had no desire to, even on days that I needed to prioritize other tasks. I walked for hours before my graduate school commencement ceremony on an empty stomach.

Recently, the weather has become conducive to enjoying strolls, in spite of the shelter-in-place. Medically stabilized, after years of stealthy treks, I am now able to walk outside freely and of my own accord. Still, my past haunts me. My mother attempted to reel me in with an invisible kid leash, trying in vain to keep me at home. I felt like I was, in some way, being controlled. I noticed that my desire to walk outside increased exponentially. I felt an adrenaline rush, as if I was acting out of rebellion.

In a blown-up argument a few days ago, my parents decided that I was at fault. I am to blame for the discord. My father in particular likes to tear me a part, bit by bit, into pieces. My education but lack of job, my penchant for collegiate sweats when running errands, my incessant questions asking for opinions and timelines, me still living under their roof, and my sensitivity to discussions revolving around exercise and food. He considers these flawed character traits. My mother’s approach is different. She out rightly name-calls and hurls insults as effortlessly as dandelions dissolve into pollen particles that hang on the slightest of breeze.

I tried to smooth out everything. I took the blame, knowing fully well that I was a scapegoat. I tried to understand their bitterness, while also explaining how and why things are not panning out as we planned. I tried to offer where I could have gone wrong, despite their personality flaws. I begged them to let things pass and to move on without grudges. But all this trying, they concurred, was my way of controlling them. With that feeling of control, they in turn rebelled.

Their chosen method of rebellion: doing what could aggravate the lingering anorexia, like intentionally deciding not to come downstairs, where the kitchen is, and therefore skipping meals. They decided to lengthen their workouts, amplifying the guilt I felt at limiting my movement and choosing to eat anyway. In this respect, I felt without control. Perhaps that explains why I could not rebel against my body like I had in the past. Perhaps that explains my decision to go downstairs, eat my lunch and snack, and not ask if they will eat nor wait around to see if they do. When I was in treatment, I was told to relinquish control. I felt like I did just that. I gave into my body’s desire to eat.

My dad’s favorite insult was, “You cannot help but act the way you do. It’s not in your control,” as if anything I do or say is disordered. And there in resides a perplexing question: If not having something in one’s control is considered bad, shouldn’t one possess control? He believes that my nature is rebellious, and that it is a result of not having control. Rebellion, as I mentioned before, does not necessitate negative intent or effect.

Rebellion is simply a manifestation of control. When a child’s behavior is referred to as out of control, they are discerned to be wild, uninhibited, and not following decorum. In this way, that child is not following rules, and for all intensives purposes, is a leader. A leader, however, is in control. This is a major component of the logic that suggests control correlates to rebellion.

Even when one has control over him or her own self, rebellion manifests, counter intuitively, toward one’s self. Let us take a step back and use Pink’s hauntingly grim lyrics: I’m a hazard to myself. Don’t let me get me. I’m my own worst enemy. Perhaps that is what the treatment providers were suggesting when they advised me to let go of control. Knowing details, numbers, and information, and furthermore, trying to harness all these things to equate to specific outcomes, did nothing but cause me to spin into a whirlwind. I hate to have to reference the eating disorder again, but I think it does well to exemplify what I mean.

My father weighed me at my lowest. I could hardly make it down the steps into the basement. 60: In the traditional numerical percentile, I was just 10 points above failing. Unnervingly I thought, I wonder if I would still be alive if I dipped into the 50s. My intention is not to stir fear. My intention is to inform. My intention is to be transparent. This example shows how having control over yourself, can create a rebellious nature toward yourself. You can will yourself to do something that you would otherwise not force yourself to suffer through.

Suffering is a major part of religious ethos. Asceticism and fasting, paying penance, and denying yourself of desires, as is done for Lent, suggests that this form of rebellion is sanctifying. It is condoned, admired, held on a pedestal, and is God-like. To be in control, is endowed with a higher power. With faith in tow, let us no longer imagine a scenario in the present-day, one which is currently universally ringing true for all: the pandemic.

We can try to control our immunity with masks and gloves. On occasion, we hold our breath while in close proximity to someone else, just as my childhood best friend did whenever we passed by a cemetery. Ironically, she said holding one’s breath out of respect for the dead would also guard against the inhalation of said spirit from inhabiting your soul. This control rebels against entropy, or whatever will be, will be. If we enable God to be in control and profess that we die when it is our time, or that God has written what will eventually happen, then we are rebelling against guidelines. The idea of acting with precaution coexists with accepting that whatever will happen, will happen regardless. Control and rebellion goes both ways. You try and control the forces that be, but also let destiny, God, or what have you, be at the helm and in control. You’re rebelling against the divine, and you are rebelling against the virus.

Is rebelling synonymous to fighting, then? Rebellion is not, as we discussed, always playing the offense. In many respects, rebellion is playing defense. At the end of it all, control and rebellion are always present. They adapt, change, and evolve. We go through a phase of teenage angst. We may try and control our ageing, swapping red wine for retinol to smooth out wrinkles, and maybe even swap Bordeaux for Botox. In the end, rebellion has the purist of intentions: To lengthen our time here on Earth so that we may do and feel more.