Wait—am I 16 and Grounded Again?
I was grounded for the majority of my early teens. What is now called a "spirited" child is what I was, for sure. I was creative, stubborn, and independent, a risk-taker, a rule-breaker. How could I express myself, like Madonna, if there were so many rules? How could I explore who I was if I couldn’t have freedom, like George Michael? How would I ever find true love if I couldn’t be someone’s sweet child o’ mine, like Guns n’ Roses? I was a bird who hated being caged.
My family and I have been sheltering-in-place for ten weeks. The longest I was grounded for was four weeks—when I was caught in a web of lies going to my second rave in Santa Cruz on a stormy night with a bunch of girls on acid. I had just gotten my driver’s license, and it was February of ‘96. This is one of my most revised chapters in Raver Girl; it was difficult to write because of the emotional complexities of that night/morning—it was the most stressful experience of my life at that point, which ended in an epic fight with my dad. That rave—called Area 51—was more intense than when I got caught shoplifting and made a suicide gesture which landed me in the emergency room. And that was just the beginning of my acid adventures in my memoir.
As sucky as being grounded was, it was necessary. I was a wild child who wasn’t remorseful and learning from her mistakes—yet. As soon as I was free, I would embark on another setback that got me grounded again. When I was grounded, I spent most of my time in my room, organizing, playing dress up and beauty up (glitter!), doing homework (mine as well), catching up with friends on the phone, journaling, watching TV, and being with my family. I was sober, and it was bona fide me-time. To have that much me-time now seems like a vacation. Though I wasn’t self-aware enough to go inward and meditate on what I’d done or what I needed, I always came out of a “groundation” feeling, well, grounded.
Before there were selfies there was raver dress up with Mr. Blue and Ms. Lemony Lime:
I was reminded of all this when I witnessed a boy sneaking out of the house next door where an 18-year-old girl lives. I was in the middle of a nauseating Peloton spin class and instantly revived when I saw this around noon on a Sunday about a month into sheltering. It was hilarious and made me more curious about the girl next door and how she’s spending her sheltering time. I never see her go out for walks, and her Mini Cooper hasn’t moved since she drove home from college mid-March. I imagine she binge-watches everything I wish I had time to watch (Betty, Friends, Never Have I Ever), spends hours on TikTok and sexting, and is probably depressed like the majority of the world right now. I feel sad for her—she has been robbed of finishing her first year of college in the usual way.
But at least she’s having fun with the mystery boy with Presley Gerber hair.
I have a 2.5-year-old son, so my sheltering days are spent doing a lot more than what I did when I was a grounded 16-year-old. But I have been organizing, playing dress-up and beauty-up (glitter!), doing homework (mine as well), catching up with friends on the phone, journaling, watching TV, and being with my family. And though it’s been a coronacoaster, I’ve gone from having weekly meltdowns to meditating and practicing yoga daily (and a bunch of other grounding practices), surrendering to what is out of my control, grateful for what I have. And like when I was grounded, I am staying safe by staying home.
I miss seeing family and friends, date nights, playgrounds, movie theaters, pre-dystopian grocery stores, group fitness classes, the list goes on. But I know I’m doing my part for my health and community—and I know it’s not forever even though it feels like it is.
PLUR,
Ms. Red