What Comes After Rebellion?

A Gen Zer's journey to an unexpected destination

My profile on Substack opens with the statement, “Sheep aren't as dumb as you think we are.” It’s about time I explain what I mean by that.

I used to collaborate with a magazine called Third Factor, which reported on something called Positive Disintegration. To summarize, it’s a process where a person goes through an intensely difficult internal struggle before ultimately coming out on the other side transformed for the better. Disintegration, in this case, means to dis-integrate from society, and the process often involves shedding unhealthy, ingrained societal values.

This kind of nonconformity is a theme many viewers and readers of The Coddling would likely resonate with. Surely, once we finally break free, our lives will be fundamentally transformed. Amidst the internal storms of questioning, lost without any sense of direction, it is the ultimate goal to be able to climb up out of the dark and find our answers. Many see these answers as finding themselves—embracing nonconformity, avoiding conformity like the plague, patting themselves on the back for being visionaries while they stay in that coveted rebellious stage.

But rebellion is only the first part of the journey.

What happens after you’ve rebelled, and broken free?

Where does one go next?

The answer is different for everyone, but the least I can do is share my experience, and hope it will help others along on their own paths.

What Are My Values?

I went through a perilous disintegration to find myself. After years of figuring out how I wasn’t actually being authentic by being “different,” I finally sorted out what my own values were: responsibility, hard work, and communication.

I considered myself to be positively nonconforming to a culture of nonconformity (or as I’ve called it in Third Factor pieces, maladjusted to maladjustment). I had fully discovered who I was and, more importantly, found the courage to move against my previous high school’s culture, which prioritized values like strict rules on political correctness and pressure to “be different” or rebel against societal norms.

But more often, I found myself asking —“Alright, what now?”

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Also by Margo Margan

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• How "The Coddling" Movie Helped Me: A Gen Zer's story

• “Why Do You Only Write About Gay Men?” My high school taught girls to fear straight men

• Will Homosexuality Be Pathologized Again? My mental health misdiagnosis opened my eyes to the threat

• Suffering from Anxiety? Maybe You’re Just Nervous

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Lonelier than ever after breaking away from my peers, I was desperate for connection. Those around me felt oppressed, and I thought I was broken because I didn’t feel the same. I told myself, “Surely if I saw the atrocities they spoke of, I would be horrified. I would understand!”

I did the only thing I could think of to “correct” my perspective — I attended a service at a Catholic church. I knew the fervent progressives at my school had understandable reasons for becoming that way, and I was expecting to see similar things for myself—sexism and homophobia severe enough to scare me out of ever questioning them again.

I had initially been taught to fear Catholics in particular as guilt-tripping legalists. I went to church to witness firsthand the evils Christians were most often blamed for, and to finally repair my point of view.

I didn't find what I was looking for.

Sitting in a church pew, taking in what church was for the first time, the biggest thing I noticed was an incredible feeling of peace. It was magical. The members were friendly and welcoming. The priest's words spoke to my heart in ways my high school’s activists never could.

Still, I felt flabbergasted by the idea that I might actually, truly, authentically be happy here, a place that was practically the capital of capital S-Society—a place where both conservative and liberal friends alike seemed convinced I could never belong.

I spent the next hour sitting in that pew, questioning.

I returned the next Sunday, and then sat and questioned each Sunday thereafter. These questions were no longer those of liberation, but rather critiquing the moral value of every decision I made.

Should I adjust my morning routine?

Or cut words like “overrated” from my vocabulary?

Was there some insert-jargon-here value I was still missing?

An Unexpected Evolution

After attending more masses, my mindset shifted completely.

I was moved by how, even without me knowing the words, I and the church crowd were like one body—standing and singing our psalms in unison. This image stood in stark contrast to how, during the first week of my high school, we would all gather silently in the auditorium under a somber gloom like attending a war memorial. We were then called to stand one group at a time based on what “identities” we belonged to.

My behavior in church would have been scorned by both my former high school and my current cultural commentary communities. “Mindless,” they’d say, the pinnacle of being a “sheep.” But we sheep love our flock.

I realized my earlier questioning was coming from me still clinging to that old habit of rebellion, spinning my wheels without actually moving anywhere, questioning for the sake of questioning. Rebellion is a relative state, and becoming stuck in permanent nonconformity is what sank my earlier community to begin with. If I was truly going to find happiness, I had to find not just myself, but my home. I had to find a community.

And doing so meant—hang onto your seats—ultimately conforming to something.

How does one go about this change?

What Now?

The biggest rule I followed was moving towards what I wanted. I would focus on upholding what I loved. Sometimes, people simply walk in opposite directions, but that doesn’t mean I hold hostility toward those walking away from me. We can each focus on following what we want on our own paths.

I was terrified of breaking away from my old community, not because of shame, but because of the fear of getting in trouble. I was worried Catholicism would turn me into a raging, Bible-thumping bigot. However, after thinking about these concerns, I realized I was unlikely to cause a conflict unless I went out of my way to argue. Words came to me in prayer to pull me out of the fear, and to this day, I still tell myself this motto: “You can’t fear what you don’t fight.”

The need for connection, and the continued presence of prayer in my life, led me to commit to fully converting to Catholicism. This was my first step towards happiness. The first choice I made for myself. Thanks to the Church’s teachings, I could let go of most of my lingering anger towards my old community and move towards a new one.

It was through attending Mass, and later religious classes, that I finally felt accepted. Over and over again, I heard God loved me just as I was. I was then taught in my Catholic classes we are all unworthy of God’s grace. There was no way to earn salvation.

Though this may seem like a chiefly religious sentiment, there were nonetheless valuable lessons for my broader life to be found inside. I had dismissed society in favor of some grand moral perfection. Running through hoops in my mind trying to create the perfect psyche. A goal that would never be achieved.

So I needed to stop desperately reaching for it and start living.

I decided to give society a second chance. Where some saw an ignorant instinct to follow the trends, I found joy in belonging, joining in, and being a part of something. Though rebellion was essential when escaping an unhealthy environment, it was not the secret to happiness. I instead found my solace in community, including the conformity that came with it.

I’m proud to call myself a sheep. We’re a lot smarter than you think.