It was an ordinary morning filled with the usual chaos of getting my older children ready for school. There were breakfasts to prepare, homework to finalize, and lunches to pack. Nothing particularly stood out about that day. We had just returned from a family trip to visit my husband’s relatives in Scotland, and I was feeling the effects of jet lag and irritability. With my husband away on business, I lacked the usual support, which left me with a multitude of excuses for my state.
My youngest son, who had recently turned four, had been battling an ear infection. The pharmacy had neglected to flavor his medication, making it a struggle to get him to take his antibiotic. I tried bribing, persuading, and even begging him. After an exhausting hour filled with tears, he finally accepted the yogurt and strawberry mixture. It was his first day back at Pre-K after a two-week absence.
As we headed to his bedroom to get him dressed, I noticed the time—my conference call was in just 30 minutes. He had started wearing a school uniform right before our vacation, and I quickly realized that its novelty had worn off. When I presented his shirt, he erupted in tears. “I don’t want to wear this shirt, Mama,” he cried, his fists clenched tightly. I attempted to remain composed, explaining that everyone in his class had to wear the same shirt, citing it as a rule set by the teacher. My reasoning fell on deaf ears as his cries intensified, and each attempt to dress him was met with resistance.
I found myself sitting on the floor for what felt like an eternity. With precious minutes slipping away, I tried to hold him between my legs to pull the shirt over his head. In a moment of defiance, he arched backward, causing his head to collide with my nose. In that instant of pain and shock, I reacted by smacking him firmly on his small back. The sound reverberated in the air as his big brown eyes locked onto mine, and he began to sob uncontrollably. I sat there, stunned, feeling a mix of disbelief and disgust at my own actions.
I managed to finish putting the shirt on him and carried him, still crying, to the car. During the short drive to school, I attempted to explain what had transpired. “I’m sorry, buddy, but Mommy is late for work. If I don’t go to work, I will get in trouble. Do you want Mommy to be in trouble?” In trying to justify my actions, I inadvertently made him feel responsible for my mistake.
By the time we reached school, his tears had diminished. We walked quietly to his classroom, and as we turned the corner, his little fingers entwined with mine. My heart sank. What had I done?
Once I returned to the car, I broke down in tears. What kind of person had I become? Would he ever see me the same way again? Should I skip work to spend the day making amends? Yet I knew that wasn’t an option. I had broken a fundamental trust; as his protector, I had failed him. There was no way to reverse my actions.
When my husband called to check in, I couldn’t bring myself to share what had happened. Shame engulfed me. What kind of mother strikes her child? This was a mistake that no number of apologies could undo. I am not a violent person; my behavior was completely out of character.
Later that day, I picked him up from school. He was on the playground, racing down a slide. The moment he spotted me, he charged over and leapt into my arms. I felt an overwhelming mix of joy and guilt. There was no way to rationalize my earlier actions.
I understand that losing one’s temper is a part of parenting. With three children, I have faced numerous challenging situations, yet I had never resorted to physical discipline before. Parenting is a series of countless decisions, but on that particular day, I made an unthinkable choice—one that I will carry with me indefinitely.
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Summary:
This reflective piece discusses a moment of parental failure when the author lost control and physically disciplined her child. It emphasizes the challenges of parenting, the importance of maintaining composure, and the emotional aftermath of such incidents. The narrative offers insights into the complexities of parenthood and highlights the need for support and resources in family building.