As a child, I was raised in a remarkably calm household, where yelling was virtually nonexistent. Visiting friends’ homes, I often found myself taken aback by the loud voices of their parents, raised in anger over a messy room or a missed curfew. I associated yelling with chaos and unhappiness, marveling at how my friends seemed unfazed by the uproar. For me, such an atmosphere would have felt unbearable.
Now, fast forward to my own life as a parent. Somehow, I’ve become the loudest person in the room, raising my voice amid the constant noise created by my three boys, along with a few neighborhood friends. In a bustling home, I’ve adopted a louder tone just to be heard. Frustration often leads me to escalate my volume, hoping my kids comprehend just how serious I am.
With the abundance of parenting advice online, it’s easy to feel inadequate. I’ve read countless accounts of parents who claimed that swearing off yelling transformed their lives and turned their children into model students. The mom guilt that comes with these stories can be overwhelming. I’ve tried to approach my children with calmness and soft tones, maintaining eye contact, but in the chaos of my household, that approach rarely yields results.
Let’s be real: yelling isn’t intrinsically harmful; it’s simply another method of communication. The real issue lies in what we shout. There is a stark contrast between yelling “You’re so careless!” and “If I have to step over this mess one more time…” Kids have a unique ability to test even the most patient individuals, and sometimes a raised voice is inevitable. It’s essential to recognize when anger may cloud our judgment; if you feel too heated, it’s wise to take a step back. However, when used correctly, yelling can be an effective communication tool. My children quickly learn that when I raise my voice, I mean business, and it gets their attention.
Ironically, despite my parents never raising their voices, I grew up with an intense fear of yelling. I was overly sensitive, often interpreting criticism as personal attacks—a trait that has taken years to overcome, surprisingly not typical for someone who endured yelling in their childhood. My fear of confrontation prevented me from pursuing opportunities that involved high-pressure situations, like joining the military.
Notably, my parents’ calm demeanor didn’t guarantee a peaceful relationship; they ultimately divorced, proving that silence doesn’t equate to harmony. In my home, my children understand that yelling is merely an expression of frustration, not a sign of hatred or failure. It’s temporary and never meant to be hurtful. (If I ever feel truly overwhelmed, I retreat to my quiet space with a box of snacks until I cool down.)
While I question whether my approach is beneficial, I recognize that raising my voice is a valuable part of my parenting toolkit. I’ll continue to utilize it when necessary—just ensuring my windows are shut to maintain some peace in the neighborhood.
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In summary, yelling doesn’t inherently make you a bad parent. It’s the intent and context behind the raised voice that truly matters. Understanding this can help foster a healthier environment for both you and your children.