Growing up in a small Southern town, I was immersed in a culture that accepted spanking as a standard form of discipline. As a child, I quickly learned that engaging in mischief meant I either had to be discreet or be prepared to choose my own switch. Although I didn’t frequently face the consequences, the few instances I did remain etched in my memory. I can vividly recall the dreadful walk to my room, the dread of selecting a switch, and the frantic attempt to shield myself while pleading for mercy. Honestly, just thinking about those moments now makes me feel nauseous.
It wasn’t until I became a mother that I truly began to reflect on the effects of spanking. On my first night home from the hospital with my newborn son, I held him in the rocking chair, feeling the weight of his fragile existence against me. In that moment, the enormity of motherhood hit me. Overcome with emotion, I promised him, “Mommy will never lay a hand on you, I swear.”
Fast forward three years, and I found myself spanking him for the first time. It was a spontaneous reaction to a dangerous situation—him running into the street. In that split second, I grabbed his arm and swatted his bottom. The look of confusion, anger, and betrayal on his face was devastating. I rationalized my actions, convincing myself that this was simply part of tough love. I had been conditioned to believe the phrase “this hurts me more than it hurts you,” so I continued down the path of physical discipline, even though it conflicted with my instincts.
However, rather than improving his behavior, spanking only seemed to escalate it. One day, he hit his little sister, and I was horrified. I raised my voice, saying, “We do NOT hit in this family!” Through tears, he retorted, “But Mommy, you hit me!” In that moment, I was struck by the hypocrisy of my actions, and my heart broke. I realized that I was perpetuating the very cycle I wanted to break.
That evening, after my husband arrived home, we had a deep conversation about our experiences growing up in spanking households. We both recognized that we had unconsciously adopted a practice we never intended to use with our children. After much discussion, we came to a painful conclusion: spanking felt wrong to us, and we believed it was abusive. Determined to change, we spent hours researching the long-term effects of different disciplinary methods. To our dismay, we found a consensus in the scientific community that spanking is not only ineffective but can also lead to increased aggression, antisocial behavior, and mental health issues for children.
Acknowledging that I had harmed my child was incredibly difficult, especially since I had thought my intentions were good. The justifications I had held onto crumbled when faced with the reality of physical punishment. A poignant quote I stumbled upon that evening resonated deeply with me: “Is the child old enough to understand reason? Yes? Then reason with them. No? Then they’re not old enough to understand why you’re spanking them.”
Ultimately, it became clear that hitting my child was unjustifiable; it was merely a practice I had inherited. My husband and I agreed it was time to break this cycle.
That night, I quietly entered my son’s room and kissed his forehead. Although he had grown and changed over the years, he still possessed that cherubic face I had adored since his infancy. I whispered to him, “I promise you, my sweet boy, Mommy will never lay a hand on you again.” And this time, I truly meant it.
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In summary, my journey from a proponent of spanking to a firm believer in non-violent discipline has been transformative. By recognizing the harm it can inflict, I’ve committed to fostering a nurturing environment for my children, grounded in understanding and empathy.
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