Lately, I’ve noticed a particular part of me rising to the surface — the rebellious teen.

He shows up not with chaos, but with a kind of quiet defiance. A desire to get even, to prove something. Not in loud ways, but in subtle ones. Like enjoying the sound of my dog barking at the neighbour who let his own bark for years without care. Or silently outgrowing someone who underestimated me, then walking away without needing to explain why. There’s satisfaction in that. There’s history in it too.

That part of me remembers what it was like to be disrespected, overlooked, or made small — to have no power and no voice. And when I feel disrespected now, he still believes it’s his job to defend me. His voice says:

“If I don’t fight back somehow, we’ll be walked on again. We’ll be disrespected into disrepair.”

But I’ve come to realize something deeper. The adult in me is here now. The one with boundaries. With options. With a calm, quiet strength that doesn’t have to prove its power — because it’s already rooted in it.

The Dog Park, and the Shift

The other day, I spoke with a woman at the park who had a young dog. She seemed open and kind. I suggested letting the dogs play, but she explained hers hadn’t been let off the lead yet. I didn’t push. I simply respected the moment, wished her a good day, and walked away.

It felt… clean.

Not because I got anything from it — but because I didn’t need anything from it. There was no chase. No overthinking. No trying to prove my worth or seek connection from a place of hunger. I walked away proud of how I handled it. That was new.

It wasn’t performance. It was presence.

Understanding the Rebellious Teen

That rebellious energy — it’s not wrong. It’s not immature. It’s the part of me that developed a spine when others wouldn’t protect me. It says:

“If connection doesn’t work, we’ll settle for power.”

And sometimes, it did protect me. But the problem is, it doesn’t trust that I’m safe now. It doesn’t know I’ve got choices. That I’ve grown. That I can walk away cleanly — not out of punishment, but out of peace.

What I Know Now

I don’t have to perform power to have it.

I don’t have to jab back just to feel seen.

I can simply set the boundary, speak the truth, or walk away without residue. I can feel someone disrespect me and say, “That’s not for me,” without needing to make them feel it too.

Because the most powerful thing I’ve realized is this:

There’s nothing anyone can really do to me anymore.
Not without my permission. Not without me handing over my center.
And I’m not doing that anymore.

A Quiet Promise to Myself

So here’s my new practice — a kind of inner protocol for the moments that poke at old wounds:

  1. Pause. What boundary is being poked?
  2. Ask. Is there a clean way to name it?
  3. Decide. Can I walk away proud or speak up without revenge?
  4. Affirm. “There’s nothing anyone can do to me that I can’t walk away from.”

And to the rebellious teen in me:
You were never wrong.
You did your job.
But you don’t have to fight so hard anymore.

I’ve got us now.