Updated: Sep. 2, 2015
Originally Published: Jan. 15, 2015
I often find myself caught in a struggle between the mother I aspire to be and the reality of my parenting. While I don’t exactly fit my ideal image, I can confidently say I’m not the same mother my own mother was. My journey as a parent exists in a murky gray area, a mix of aspirations and daily challenges.
I admit that I sometimes lose my cool. I can curse when I’m frustrated, raise my voice, or just feel too exhausted to engage fully with my child. But one thing is certain: my son is deeply loved—without question.
Growing up, I often felt unloved and neglected. I was the overachiever, the math whiz, the spelling bee champion, and the valedictorian, desperately trying to earn my mother’s affection. She wasn’t malicious; she was a single mom juggling three jobs to care for six kids. She did her best, but that included physical discipline that left lasting scars.
While I may not embody the perfect vision of motherhood, I categorically reject corporal punishment. In stark contrast to my upbringing, I celebrate my child’s achievements every day. He possesses a self-confidence I never had, and we express our love for each other multiple times throughout the day.
Yet, there’s a paradox: my kid is often frightened of me. Yes, I can be a strict parent. My parenting style is a blend of indulgence and high expectations. I let him choose meals and invite friends over at will, and I’m often silly and playful with him. However, I have zero tolerance for disrespect. When he talks back, he knows there will be consequences—like losing privileges or getting grounded. Currently, he’s on a break from his tablet, and he has more chores than most of his friends, but I don’t care.
I maintain a strict academic standard as well. I don’t expect perfection but demand effort. I’m not a tyrant, though; he has plenty of time for video games and leisure activities. As a single mom, I realize that a little fear can be a useful tool to maintain some order in our lives and prepare him for the teenage years.
But then came the day I found myself arrested for disciplining him. We were driving home one evening, and he spoke to me in an incredibly disrespectful manner. I warned him that if he didn’t change his tone, I would pull over. He didn’t listen, so I did just that. I opened the door and told him to get out. I didn’t act out of anger; I assessed the situation and thought it was safe enough, considering the surroundings.
But as I drove away for a brief moment, he began crying, and someone called the police. When the officers showed up, I was initially confrontational, which only complicated things. Shortly after, Child Protective Services arrived, and I realized the gravity of the situation. I begged the officer not to cuff me in front of my son, and thankfully, he obliged.
The police took us to the station for hours. I focused entirely on calming my son, reassuring him that everything would be alright. Eventually, they decided not to press charges, but the ordeal left me seething. I expressed my frustration, remarking that they should focus on real issues, like the drug dealers in our community.
Then came the social services investigation, which was equally nerve-wracking. They didn’t make an appointment but just showed up at my door. The social worker seemed almost apologetic after seeing our clean home and hearing about my son’s achievements. It was clear that he was well cared for.
As I reflected on everything that happened, I felt a mix of anger and fear. While I’m grateful that there are people looking out for children’s welfare, I was frustrated that my attempt at discipline led to such a dramatic outcome. The system jumped to conclusions based on a single incident rather than considering the context of my parenting.
We live in a world where fear often dictates our actions. I worry about raising my son in such an environment, where even a bike ride around the neighborhood feels daunting. The thought of him falling into the wrong crowd terrifies me, especially with the prevalence of drugs in our area.
Even as I strive to be a fun and cool mom, I know I must also be the strict one. It’s crucial for him to have a healthy respect for authority—especially mine. If he makes poor choices as he grows up, he’ll face the consequences, but I’m determined to guide him through it.
Would I change my approach if I could go back to that day? Absolutely not. If that makes me a bad mother in someone’s eyes, so be it. I work tirelessly to provide for him and believe I have the right to discipline him as I see fit—without crossing the line into abuse.
The law, however, disagrees. They often assume the worst-case scenario without knowing the whole truth. I worry that this incident may have shaken my son’s trust in me. How will he perceive me as he grows older? Only time will tell.
After writing this, I need to take a moment to breathe, sip some tea, and regroup. And then, I’ll bake. Little Oliver has recently declared iced oatmeal raisin cookies his favorite, and I want to make sure he has a warm batch waiting for him when he gets home.
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Summary
This piece reflects on the complexities of parenting, where love and discipline collide. The author shares a personal incident of being arrested for disciplining her child, revealing the challenges of raising a son in a society filled with fears and misconceptions about parenting.
Keyphrase: Parenting and Discipline
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