There was a three-year chunk as a teen where I should have been

Melissa McCarthy, with the sharp edge of humor wrapped in truth, once confessed: “There was a three-year chunk as a teen where I should have been tranquilized and put in a cage.” In these words, playful though they seem, lies a profound acknowledgment of the chaos of adolescence, that storm-filled season when the heart surges with emotions too great to contain, when impulses roar like wild beasts, and when the mind, still unformed, wrestles with its own untamed power. McCarthy’s exaggeration carries not shame but honesty, showing us that even the most radiant lives are forged in seasons of turmoil.

The teen years are a crucible. They burn with restlessness, with rebellion, with confusion. The soul seeks freedom yet fears responsibility, seeks belonging yet resists conformity. To describe this time as worthy of a cage is to admit that it is an age when restraint seems impossible, when reason flees and wildness rules. Yet the beauty of McCarthy’s words is that she laughs at her own past unruliness, transforming what could be a story of regret into one of resilience and growth. Humor here is not denial, but wisdom—the recognition that turbulence is part of the journey.

The ancients knew this well. Plato spoke of the soul’s stages, warning that youth is often overtaken by passion before the discipline of wisdom has taken root. Likewise, in many cultures, rites of passage were created not to deny the wildness of adolescence, but to channel it. The Spartans tested their youth through trials, the Native tribes sent their young on vision quests, and in doing so, they acknowledged the storm within while guiding it toward transformation. McCarthy’s words, though jesting, reflect this universal truth: the wild beast of youth must be faced before the calm of maturity can settle in.

Think also of Winston Churchill, who in his schoolboy years was deemed unruly, inattentive, and difficult. Teachers thought him unteachable, and his behavior was more animal than scholar. Yet that same energy, once refined, became the fire that steadied a nation during its darkest hour. What seemed ungovernable in youth became greatness in maturity. This mirrors McCarthy’s confession: what feels like a season of chaos is not the end, but the seedbed of transformation.

From this we learn that the wildness of adolescence is not something to be feared, nor to be shamed, but to be understood as part of the path. To feel restless, reckless, and caged is natural, for it is the soul’s way of testing the boundaries of the self and the world. What matters is not to suppress these storms entirely, but to endure them and allow them to teach discipline, empathy, and humility in their wake. The cage McCarthy jokes about is less a punishment than a symbol of the boundaries all must learn before true freedom is possible.

Practical wisdom emerges: if you are young and in turmoil, know that this season will pass, and from its fire you will emerge tempered. If you are a parent, a teacher, or a guide, do not only scold the wildness of youth but seek to channel it. Provide outlets, provide challenges, provide compassion, so that the storm may find its horizon. And if you look back, as McCarthy did, laugh gently at your younger self, knowing that those years shaped the strength and joy you now carry.

So, children of tomorrow, remember: the storms of youth are not curses but trials. Endure them, forgive them, and laugh at them when they are past. For the wildness that once demanded a cage may, in time, become the vitality that gives light to the world. And as McCarthy’s words remind us, no season of chaos is permanent—each is but a chapter on the long road toward wisdom, maturity, and peace.