I’m beginning to understand that “not spanking” isn’t necessarily the right or best thing when disciplining children. I’ve seen (heard, actually) friends of ours spank their children and do it in such a way that their kids feel loved and cared for and comforted.
The first time it happened, I was in shock. I couldn’t stop it from happening. I froze. I sat there and listened to it and it tore me apart. It took me back to my childhood, when I couldn’t prevent my younger brothers and sisters from being spanked.
But afterward, their little boy gave his mommy a hug and said, “I’m sorry” - and he meant it. It wasn’t something he was forced to say (the way I was). He was genuinely sorry.
She held him and let him cry, and he felt more love in that moment than I have felt in a lifetime from my mother.
There wasn’t any anger or cruelty or any of the terrible things that I experienced from my parents. There was only the love of a mother for her son.
Their children are happier than I ever was. I would trade my childhood for theirs in a heartbeat.
Their methods are infinitely better than my parents’ were - and they even seem to be better than using grounding or time-outs. The punishment is simple, quick, and over with.
They have closure - something that doesn’t happen when a child is grounded for a week or even sent to his room for ten minutes.
I see it. I understand it, and I can’t accept it.
On the one hand, I cannot - absolutely can not - accept the idea of hitting a child.
On the other hand, putting myself in their children’s shoes, I would rather have had what those kids have than what I had and I think I would rather have had that than the longer, more drawn out - but less physically painful - discipline methods that don’t involve spanking.
It ain’t simple.
The one thing I am sure of, is that I am very very glad that my husband and I weren’t successful when we tried to have children. I’m not ready, and I don’t know if I ever will be.
I love kids.
But there is a central problem with being a parent. Spanking or not spanking is only a symptom of it.
It’s much more basic than that.
I can’t face the idea of telling a child “no” and then enforcing it. No matter what you do, you have to hurt them - either physically, emotionally or both.
You have to tell them that they can’t do some of the things they want to do and you have to make them do some things that they don’t want to do.
No matter how you slice it, no matter how you do it, that’s painful for a child.
And I can’t do it.
I am so incredibly fucked-up inside that I don’t know if I will ever be able to be a parent.
Maybe there is a God. Maybe he matched me with an infertile husband for a reason.
I never thought I would say this, but thank God for infertility.