It seems fitting that I come out of the gates here on a rather fun topic around our house: punishment. (I was barely eight paragraphs into writing this when there was a house-wide blowout on the subject.)
Quite honestly, I have become rather adverse to even the mere mention of the word ‘spanking.’
There are now two generations below me and I find myself biting my tongue more and more often – because these are not technically ‘my’ kids. I’m tired of that, so I’ve decided to see about changing the way my family – and perhaps some of the world at large – view the ‘problem’ children in their care and how to handle them.
Breaking a Generational Curse
I am the product of the children of authoritarian parents.
The generations before were big on what they called respect and discipline. Any resistance or failure to follow established rules is seen as disrespectful and punishable by whipping. Whipping is, of course, supposed to help teach the child that their behavior is unacceptable and curb future issues.
Polite society would call these generations ‘old school’ as they ‘joked’ about having to pick the switches required to beat their asses or about how they dodged belts, shoes, or extension cords – or worse. I spent the first twenty-something years of my life thinking that was acceptable behavior and have spent the last twenty-something, to the present, trying to break that particular habit.
I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve been whipped – likely not many, relatively speaking, as I was known as a ‘good kid’ most of the time – but I know I took my fair share of licks from the elders in my life, most of whom were likely whipped more often (and more severely) than those coming up under them.
They – we – have realized, somewhere deep down, that what was done to us was wrong and taken at least a few small steps to end the cycle. My parents chose the belt. I chose my hand. Now, three generations in, we all fall somewhere between hands and wooden spoons, with belts threatened or used in the rarest of circumstances. And we yell a lot, sometimes more than a lot.
But it’s still too much.
We can’t condemn violence against other adults and be okay with violence against those smaller and more vulnerable than us – those who are relying on us for protection, care, and guidance. We can’t be mad at those we raise for responding in a violent manner – whether verbal, physical, or both – when it’s what we have taught them. It all rests squarely between abusive, traumatic, and scarring, and it needs to be stopped.
And, despite what we might think sometimes, we can get past the “it’s just how I was raised” mentality so that our legacy is better than the one we inherited. Part of being a parent is leaving a better world for our children, and this is one of the most important steps we can take in that direction – but we have to admit we need to do the work, know we can do the work, and we have to actually do that work to make it happen.
I went from being “mean old aunt Kiva, don’t make her mad” to “I don’t know how you managed to handle all those kids!” (Four second-generation kids under four, for a year and some change.)
Two simple questions started that shift:
- What if me whipping is more about my anger than what the child is actually doing?
- What if the child flat-out can’t help their behavior?
Anger Issues
I don’t remember where I first read the question that was posed, but the basic gist of it asked how much of our desire to spank our children was their need of discipline and how much was simply because we were mad.
My mind immediately flashed back to a somewhat recent day (at the time) when my oldest daughter, barely a toddler, refused to quit getting into our dogs’ food bowl. I was already in a not-so-good place mentally, likely really mad at one person or another in my life – or maybe the world, and she was annoying the hell out of me by not listening, despite my having told/yelled at her several times about it. Finally, I did what came ‘naturally:’ I stomped into the kitchen, yanked her up by her arm, and laid into her diapered rump, huffing and likely thinking to myself “maybe now she’ll listen to me.”
She was a toddler being a toddler, I knew nothing of diversionary tactics, and I was mad – and I took it out on her, even if she did ‘deserve’ it. I can’t say I didn’t raise my hand again after that, but I can say do my best to take my own feelings into account and adjust my reactions to the kids accordingly. As if by magic (/sarcasm), their need for ‘discipline’ starts to diminish.
I’ve struggled with two ‘inherited’ traits: bitterness and an exceptionally short fuse. Beyond dealing constructively with the kids and the annoyances they bring, I’ve worked to just feel my anger, deal with it (preferably in a healthy manner), and move on. I quit getting mad over little things – kids being kids, or getting cut off in traffic, or my boss being ignorant for example. I quit letting all those little things pile up and make my soul heavy enough to weigh those around me down. And I’ve busted my flat, pasty ass to develop patience, understanding, and empathy – three things that were sorely lacking in my life.
I’m still imperfect, but I’m continuing to do what I’ve been doing all along: working to improve myself and teaching ‘my’ kids (all the generations after me) what I can to help them do better than me – setting the best example I can so that maybe they’ll turn out to be gentle, decent, well-balanced, and responsible human beings. We need more people with the skills to accomplish this to counter all the evil in this world, and it’s on us to learn how to deal with our shit so that we don’t take it out on them and we can teach them how to deal with their own – and do it better than we did or do going forward.
The Broken Bits
I can’t speak with any authority as to what I could be diagnosed with (or where, exactly, it all came from) but, having done some digging, I’m leaning toward ADHD and borderline personality disorder that have led mild anxiety issues. I also find a lot of autist content all too relatable, so maybe I’ll get to sport an AuDHD badge. One of these days, I’ll get official – but I can say this much for sure: I know I’ve had issues since about kindergarten, maybe before. (We bounced around so much, it’s hard to say for sure.)
The first ‘episode’ I remember happened while in my Grandma’s care, back in the days of broken down single-wides and trips to The Camp. One thing she did best was sew – and she found a wildly-patterned fabric and offered to make me a pair of shorts. I thought the pattern was cool, so I was excited – until she actually finished them and gave them to me. One simple, child-like thought crossed my mind and my whole world imploded: I wouldn’t have anything to match them.
The resulting meltdown was more than likely seen, and maybe punished, as ‘disrespect,’ but what I remember most vividly was being confused as to why my reaction to something so small ended in what could have easily been called a ‘tantrum’ – or, when I was older, ‘being dramatic.’ At that young an age, I knew my reaction was out of proportion to the situation at hand, but I had no idea what to do about it – and it took me entirely too many years to figure it out. If I’m being honest, I still don’t have it all figured out – but I’m getting there with sheer grit and determination.
I grew up, had probably hundreds of other ‘episodes’ where my reactions to simple things were outlandish, hated myself for being ‘different,’ and left my baby girl in the care of her father and his family – thinking that my mental illness was a learned behavior, and I didn’t want her mimicking me. It didn’t help – she still had ‘episodes,’ too, but thankfully she had an awesome support system and handles herself all the better for it.
I don’t just see these traits in her. I see them in all our kids, especially in the younger generation. I see it in my ‘wild’ (hyperactive and fond of vocal stimming) niece who’s often in trouble for acting just like her mother. I see it in my nephew who is constantly being bullied for being ‘too emotional’ – also known as acting like a baby or a sissy boy, both of which can lead to toxic masculinity issues. I see it in my grand-nieces, who seem to like throwing and breaking things when their feelings get hurt. I remember struggling with almost all of that and not having the help I needed to navigate such turbulent waters.
I still struggle with that, but I could only begin to change my behavior when I acknowledged it for what it was – something I had little control over – and started finding ways to manage what I could.
I hated being punished for something I couldn’t control, I hate seeing it happen to others, and I hate that I still catch myself ‘slipping’ from time to time – but I’m using that as fuel to continue to be the best version of myself I can be, and to try and help protect these kids.
Changing Tack
Let’s be frank: even though my parents ‘disciplined’ my siblings and I well into our teens, my sisters ended up depressed, overdosing on and addicted to pills, with DUIs, and either in jail or rehab. I ended up so dysfunctional that I’m fighting to get my ‘start’ halfway through my life – and am still living at home with my parents because I was poorly equipped to live in a world built for neuronormative people. I feel like a failure often, for so many reasons, and I suspect I’m not the only one.
‘Old school’ tactics didn’t help us or our children turn out any better – so maybe, for the next generation(s), we should reconsider how we handle things. Maybe we should try just a little bit harder to be kinder, be more gentle, be more understanding, and hit ‘pause’ and think before we let loose on our charges – because maybe they really don’t deserve it.
If you’ve made it this far and any of my ‘rant’ stings, I recommend a long, hard look in the mirror. Can you admit something has to give so that you can do better tomorrow than you did today? Do you have the strength to be a more positive influence for those relying on you? Do you have the courage to dig deep into the darkness within you so light can begin to shine through? Can you embrace and walk with your demons instead of pretending they don’t exist? Can you stop passing up opportunities to guide and nurture for the sake of ‘discipline?’
For all our sakes, I pray you can.
(ETA – Now live: ‘Bust Their Ass!’ Pt 2: Alternatives.)