Talking About It

Talking about it is hard.

Whenever you make new friends there inevitably comes that moment where you have to tell them.

Maybe not right away, maybe its like a few months in.

But eventually you have to say yeah… my childhood wasn’t actually perfect.

“they were really religious… they homeschooled me k-12.” But you seem so normal!

“yeah I have 10 siblings.. no we’re not catholic…” I could never do that! Your mum must be a saint!

“no I will never have that many kids. No I don’t plan to homeschool. No it wasn’t a good experience.”

You sit there feeling like a freak show. Everybody’s gawking because they’ve never even heard of such things. Surely you must be exaggerating?! But in reality you’re dumbing it down, polishing the edges.

And in the back of your mind is the old family mantra hissing “You are so selfish. Telling tales for attention. People are going to think bad things about the family! Where is your loyalty?!”

They all shake their heads in wonderment. Courtship? Isn’t that another word for dating? You are monopolizing the conversation now. But they won’t let you stop. They have so many questions. You’re like a space alien telling stories about your exotic and barbaric planet.

You mentally sweep the years of violence and neglect and manipulation into a neat little dustpan and name it: “It wasn’t really a healthy environment.” And people infer what they want, and you move on. And eventually someone changes the subject and you sit there feeling embarrassed.

You wonder if your cheeks have turned red. Did you say too much? “You always say too much!” You smile and engage in the rest of the conversation. And then you go home and aggressively wash the dishes, fighting back your rising anxiety.

Eventually you find yourself in bed with a pillow over your face.

Trying to slow your breathing. Trying to fall asleep.

Its been ages. It should be so hard to talk about.

Still Crying: The Opposite of What You Meant To Teach Me

This post is from an anoymous author. 
       

     Even when I wasn’t the child being spanked, I searched for a place of solitude where I could cry without being caught. Hearing my brother’s screams through the closed doors of my father’s study was more traumatizing than getting spanked myself.

      Now, 10 years later, if I even hear my dad start to get angry with one of my siblings I immediately find a way to take care of the situation before he does.  i just take over or yell at him for scaring a kids. I'm not scared of him for me. Just scared that the babies will be scared of him. I have to shield them from the cause of the fear that was embedded into my life.

Why did my brother have to get hurt so badly though? I knew he didn’t do anything wrong on purpose! Eventually, I ran out of excuses to hide. Now, I can’t cry. I just deal with it.

When I dragged the wooden spanking stick to one of my parents in total shame? Well, that was alright because I knew I had done something wrong. Did it matter what I had done? They knew better than me and loved me so obviously it was my fault. Now, I am a perfectionist. I am constantly told to “relax” and “it doesn’t have to be perfect…” But doesn’t it?

 For as long as I can remember, I have been able to wiggle my way out of trouble. Mostly by lying, sometimes barely manipulating the truth. You got spanked for lying, but it was better to risk getting caught in a lie than be punished no matter what the truth was. Now, it has taken years of struggling with my natural instinct to lie. Only my hard work has made me the honest person I am.

The only fixed standard in my childhood was that whatever Dad says goes.  If I had any other ideas I had better not voice them. Now, I have to force myself to share my opinions no matter who I am talking to.

It has taken me years to overcome my struggles and will be many more before I am through with them. One thing I can say for sure, however, is that I have only learned the very opposite of what spanking was supposed to have “taught” me.

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Still Crying: "Spanking Time"

This peice is from an anonymous author.

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Its funny how a child can turn anything into a game. 
My brother and i wrote  a song called Spanking Time. 

We usually played a game called court; where the whole point was catching the evildoer in their crime and then punishing them. 

The most exciting part of playing "house" was being the mommy or daddy, because then you had the power to beat the "kids". My siblings and I came up with a game where you would take turns "spanking" each-other and whoever quit or cried first lost.

It's sickening that this was how we reacted. 

The feeling of power was so rare to us kids that we had to become the only source of power we knew to feel in control of our lives.

(Please show your support and leave comments for the authors if you can. Remember, this is an open ended series! Please consider writing something yourself, or sharing the project with your friends and followers. The guidelines are listed here, but feel free to write in whatever format is easiest for you.)

Still Crying: Why I Will Never Spank My Child(ren)

This post is from Scottie M. He blogs over at The Dranther's Lair. This is one of the most complete, concise, and convincing arguments I have heard against spanking. Thank you Scottie!

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One person can smoke a single cigarette once and develop lung cancer. Another person can smoke a pack a day for fifty years and never suffer from the slightest tumor. Everybody is built differently. This does not mean that smoking is harmless or should be encouraged, and to argue otherwise is to prove oneself either stupidly ignorant or willfully biased in favor of a disproven and groundless claim.

I was spanked as a child and well into my teens. A “spanking” in my family was a number of swats with a cloth belt on clothed buttocks equal to the number of years in the child’s age. Spankings were typically only administered for causing physical harm or for direct disobedience. I’m pretty sure I turned out just fine. No PTSD or psychological issues that I can correlate with being spanked. Yet I am 100% against spanking — not because I think every single child who is spanked is thereby permanently damaged, but because the very nature of spanking is an abuse of the parent-child relationship — teaching through punishment and fear instead of love and mutual respect.

The first time I ever told a lie (that I or my parents can remember) was when I accidentally tipped over an heirloom rocking chair after rocking it as hard as I could, despite the fact that I knew I wasn’t supposed to play with it.  I told my mom that it had fallen over by itself.  Then I told her that one of my brothers had come in from playing outside, knocked it over, and gone back out.  I lied because I was afraid of being spanked.  (Of course, Mom saw through my lies and spanked me anyway.)

The reason a spanking appears to work so well is that it is entirely based on fear. It is punishing your children by making them afraid of you. It is threatening them with physical pain for failing to obey (regardless of the specific circumstances you might use to justify it). Only a cowardly leader asserts power through fear. We recognize this universally when looking at political figures — but then turn around and threaten our vulnerable, dependent children with physical pain at the hand of those we ask them to trust above any other? How utterly sick is that?

And hold off on that exhausted and pitiful refrain of “I only spank when nothing else works”. There is always something else. Anyone who resorts to spanking has given up too quickly. How do you even determine what “works” and what doesn’t?  An instant cessation of that “bad habit”?  Immediate, first-time obedience?  If they break the same rule a year from now, does that mean the spanking didn’t “work” after all?  Kids are kids, and they will make mistakes.  Even adults make mistakes.

And hey, if spanking “doesn’t work”, then what? Spank them more? Harder? Burn them? Cut them? Starve them? Lock them outdoors? When you cross the line and decide that intentionally causing your child physical pain is acceptable at all, where do you stop? I’ve heard dozens of personal stories of children who were so stubborn or strong-willed — or were perceived as such — that they were literally willing to let their parents kill them before “submitting”. It’s not common, but it happens, especially when parents would rather be “right” or “win” or teach “respect” than try to approach the situation from a different angle, compromise, pick their battles, and above all keep their fucking violent hands off their kids. I’m glad my parents were not like that. I’m glad most parents are not like that. But causing physical pain to children in any way is nothing short of barbaric, and opens wide the door for “that didn’t work, so we’ll have to make it worse next time”. Because in too many parents’ minds, obedience, respect, and being understood are far more important than loving, respecting, and understanding your own child.

I am as adamantly against striking children (whether it’s a “tap” or a “spanking” or a “beating”, it all involves intentionally inflicting physical pain on your children and thus all falls under the same category in my view) as I am against spousal abuse, domestic violence, physical assault, and rape. It’s inflicting physical pain on the defenseless and vulnerable, it’s cruel, it undermines trust, it establishes power through fear, and is absolutely and irrevocably wrong. I don’t care how many people who were spanked as children grew to be well-adjusted adults (and as I said previously, I am one of them!) — the “no lasting harm” argument is NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER a justifiable defense for abuse. And causing physical pain to your children — however “gentle” or “non-marking” it may be — or threatening your children with physical pain is abuse.

It’s not about how hard you hit or how clearly defined the “spankable offenses” category may be. It’s the fact that they know when they break the rules, Mommy (or Daddy) will hurt them. Their body is not their own. They have no boundaries. They are not safe.

And that is why I will never spank my children.

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Still Crying: Thoughts on spanking

This post is from Gloria Froese. It's a little long, but every one of her words is worth reading. Thank you Gloria!

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I horrify people when they find out when my last spanking was- I was 18. I was furious- when I was close to my 18th birthday, I decided that I wasn't going to get any spankings- I was going to behave perfectly and obey everything-I would be the best, most sin-free person that ever existed- anything to avoid the lash on my body. It was a matter of pride for me- I wanted spankings to be over with at 17.

I’m not sure what happened- I don't even think it was something I did wrong-I think my dad wrongly accused me of something, and took my denial as lying, and I got spanked. The humiliation, rage and violation that I felt still is a vivid memory. I vaguely remember having a very strong discussion with my parents after that, informing them that there were to be no more spankings after that one- I was now an adult, and they would have to come up with a different method of punishment.

Spanking into the adult years is extremely common in these religious circles. Children belong to their parents until they get married, and personal space or dignity is non-existent.

I personally don't think spanking is effective at all. Yes, it gets the result that the parent is looking for- the child is terrified of the pain, and will do anything to avoid having the parent catch them at that again. It's not really a discipline that teaches anything of real value, though. It so easily devolves into an outlet for a parent's frustration- they may claim to only do it once they’ve “cooled down”, but a child knows when it’s being done in rage and frustration.

And really, all that I remember of being spanked is feeling rage, resentment and fear. I'm a methodically honest person and hate lying, but I certainly became good at it- I learned that it was the only way to save my skin. (heh - pun intended!) I learned to suppress my honesty, and would tell my parents what they wanted to hear. (although it usually took several rounds- I was also a very strong, independent child, and was enraged at the injustice of being spanked. I soon learned that sticking up for myself was futile.) I lost count of the times that I hyperventilated from the pain, begging and pleading my parents to please stop-I couldn’t bear it any longer! They laughed and kept on going. If I squirmed, the belt merely traveled up my back...down my legs...wherever it hit.

So, what I learned was that if I didn't do things exactly the way my parents wanted, my backside would suffer. (and by that, I mean any territory from my upper back to knees) I didn't ever actually learn to do something out of free will- it was all terror.

When I look back at those years, it’s not even the physical pain that so much stands out to me. Yes, it was horrible and nearly unbearable, and I sometimes wonder if there wasn’t permanent physical damage done just from the actual blows.

What was the most traumatic was the emotional effect. The terror of knowing that even the slightest transgression- real or imagined- would result in a spanking left me constantly on guard- there was never any time that I could truly be at ease. If I dared to act up or speak out of place while around others, a death glare from one of my parents would let me know what was to come when we got home. The anticipation was nerve wracking and awful- there were many times that I begged them to please just do it and get it over- I couldn’t stand the wait. (they never did- I always had to wait until later.) I didn’t even need to know that what I was doing was bad- if my parents deemed it to be bad, I was punished, in spite of my complete innocence.

The worst, though, was knowing that I would never be believed- ever. My parents believed that I was inherently evil, and always had malicious intent. People in the church loved complaining to my parents about me, but my side was never listened to- I was punished according to what those evil busybodies had said. When I tried to tell my side of the story, I was told that I was lying, and they knew my true intentions. (this has taken me years to get over- I have accepted people’s “truths” about me well into adulthood- if someone else says it, they obviously know better than me, and are right.)

One story that stands out in humiliating experiences is the one trip my family took with the cult leader of the new church we had joined. It was a brutally hot summer day in Arizona, and we stopped at a gas station. I saw a bubblegum machine, and really wanted one- they were only 25 cents! I asked my dad, and he said no. I reasoned with him, and came to the understanding that he had relented, and that I was allowed to go get one. I happily was chewing on my gum when dad came back to the van, and all hell broke loose- I had deliberately disobeyed- how dare I? I was devastated- I was sure he had agreed that I could get one, after all, and I tearfully pleaded my case. No- there was no budging- I had been evil and disobedient, and would get a spanking when we arrived at our destination- the home of another family in the church. Those hours of anticipation were some of the worst of my life- not only had I been humiliated in front of the church leader, but I would also be humiliated by getting a spanking in a stranger’s home. I begged to get the spanking now- in the van- I didn’t care anymore- I just wanted it over. Nope. It was going to wait.

I still remember walking into the house, and seeing a bunch of young men sleeping on the floor in the living room. I was 10, and was already acutely aware of boys, so knowing that I would be whipped within their hearing distance was unbearably humiliating. My stomach hurt- I felt sick as I followed my dad into another room. The belt was pulled out, and the lashes fell. I tried so hard to be brave and bite back any sound, but a few cries escaped. To say that I was humiliated beyond belief doesn’t even begin to touch it. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye the next day- I was so embarrassed that they had heard me get whipped.

The long-reaching effects of this type of childhood were devastating for me. I developed chronic anxiety and stress. From the age of 10 until a year or two ago, I had non-stop back pain. My muscles were like iron knots- nothing could release them. I'd pretty much say that I was wound as tight as I could go. It was only during and after therapy that the unbearable tightness and pain began to release.

Knowing what I do about PCOS and Hypothyroidism and hormones now, I very strongly suspect that my condition was triggered and worsened by the chronic stress and anxiety. It’s taken years of gentle therapy, a loving husband and friends, an excellent therapist and being surrounded by wonderful people to finally bring me to a point where I am not in excruciating physical pain every day.

I was a very sensitive child- there was nothing I wanted more than to please everyone and make everyone happy. When I got spanked, I got stubborn and rebellious- it was a matter of principle- I was being treated unfairly, and I needed to stand up for justice. I know that I eventually presented as a very willful, defiant child, but all that was was my way of protesting the unfairness. Inside, I bled every time, and felt unbearable guilt and remorse for what I had done- I just couldn't admit to it when I was being violently forced to repent. I may not have had much respect, privacy, etc., but I did have my pride.

I stayed with my grandparents for a month when I was 2, going on 3. My grandma has reminded me of the fun we had, and how well we got along. I was an extremely bright, precocious child, and I loved to talk! She realized that if she wanted something with me, she needed to discuss and explain it- I responded very well to the common sense approach. She has reminded me of how I was crying one night because I missed my mom, who was in Germany. She came alongside me, and asked if she should also cry with me, because her mom was also in Germany- her mom and my mom were together. So, after that, whenever I missed my mommy, I would go to Grandma and suggest that we both cry about missing our mommies. :) Who said that 2 year olds aren't incredibly perceptive and smart? :)

I didn't need spankings. I needed an adult to sit down with me, reason with me, and explain what needed to be done, or discuss what I had done wrong. I didn't need violence- the spankings destroyed me. It's devastating to look back and think how different things could have been if my parents had taken a non-physical approach to discipline. If my parents had taken time to listen to me, to hear my viewpoint, to actually *care* about my feelings, things would have been so different.

I think that's largely why I'm against physical punishment- it doesn't accomplish much besides pain and fear. I honestly don't think that most children mean to be evil- some are more defiant and bratty than others, but I think deep down, most really want to please. It's a lot more work to actually find their "language" and discipline accordingly, but there are ways to do so more empathetically and lovingly. I never want my children to fear me because of physical pain.

And in case anyone is wondering, my parents and I now have a great relationship. We’ve talked and worked through the past, and they feel horrific shame and regret for what they did to us. They would give anything to go back and re-do the past, and raise us more humanely and lovingly. It’s very difficult and painful for them to remember what they did to us- I don’t write this to bash them- I’m telling my story in the hope that even one child can be spared the pain, humiliation and subsequent years of illness that I have had to live through.

And seriously, people wonder why children get violent and stab or shoot their parents. It's long built up rage and resentment, and retaliation against the violence... It’s the age old principle of sowing and reaping.

(Please show your support and leave comments for the authors if you can. Remember, this is an open ended series! Please consider writing something yourself, or sharing the project with your friends and followers. The guidelines are listed here, but feel free to write in whatever format is easiest for you)

Would Michael Pearl Approve this Savage Beating?

Hillary Adams, the daughter of Judge William Adams, posted a video this week of her receiving a "spanking" back in 2004. She was 16 years old and being punished for downloading pirated material on the Internet. In the video, Hillary's father and mother force her to bend over her bed while they beat her repeatedly with belts. They hit her on whatever part of her body is exposed while she cowers on the floor screaming and begging them to stop. I was horrified, but mostly I was reminded of my own childhood. I can hear the righteous indignation in the parent's voices, and the fear and the guilt in Hillary's screams. For those of you familiar with the Pearl training method, it is easy to recognize what is going on here. Even if the Adams family is was not following the Pearl method, it is easy to justify everything the father does in this video (aside from the swearing)  by using passages from the Pearl's books.

1. Hillary has done wrong and her parents are dutifully punishing her. At the beginning of the video you can hear the father referring to the imminent beating as a "spanking."
2. She is told to bend over the bed and she refuses, so in true pearl form, she is forced. The Pearl books recommend forcibly moving a child to where he/she is to be punished. They suggest that you "use whatever means necessary" to bring about submission.
3.  There is "discussion" throughout the video of how Hillary "used to be such an obedient daughter" and she has now disappointed her parents. The Pearl books recommend that you pause in between bouts of spanking to remind the child why they are being punished. Good job Mr. Adams!
4. As I mentioned, Hillary is struck at least 17 times with leather belts. The Pearls suggest at least 10 swats for small children, so surely 17 strokes is not too much for a 16-yr old. Switches, rods, glue sticks, and belts are all mentioned as acceptable tools for punishment.

If Michael Pearl heard a description of this "spanking" I’m sure he would say that the Father's only mistake was that he showed a little too much anger. Watch the video and tell me what YOU think.

 

When asked about the released video, William Adams said that it all "looks worse than it is."

"In my mind, I haven't done anything other than discipline my child after she was caught stealing," Adams said. "And I did lose my temper, but I've since apologized." This all sounds soooooo familiar......

How I Failed My Little Brother

Dozens of unfinished blog posts sit idly in my computer’s storage. I don’t have the words to finish them. Lately I’ve just felt so creatively numb. I’d like to write somthing cute and clever, or hard hitting and serious, but it seems that all I can think about is my brother. My 17-year-old brother texted me at work 2 days ago and asked me when he would see me again. We don’t talk much these days, so it was a surprise to hear from him.

I replied:

“Are you coming to the birthday party next week?”

“I don’t know… I don’t really care. I really really hate my house, my parents, and my life.”

I remember thinking those exact words. I remember that depression. I remember hoping I would die every night when I fell asleep.

I got online right then and there and found him a cheap ticket to my town.

He’s on his way here right now. I’m going to pick him up at 11. As the time ticks on, I’m getting jittery. Being around him brings back so many memories. Up until around age 11, I shared a room with my just-older sister and we were best friends. But when mom and dad started letting her stay up an hour later than me, I started sneaking into my brother’s room after lights out to talk. He slept on the top bunk and one of my baby brothers was on the bottom. I would sit on the floor across the room and we would talk and talk. We cracked jokes and made fun of each other, I teased him about girls and he called me names. We geeked out about star wars ALL the time. I was (and am) an avid star wars fan and my brother and I have read all the books. About once a week, dad would catch me in the boy’s room after lights-out and we would both get spanked. My brother always got it worse than I did. I’d lay low for a couple days, but before long I was in his room again every night.

All the way through high school I found myself back on that familiar patch of carpet at night, talking to my brother about everything and nothing. He was the only one who knew where I was really going those weekends in the summer before college. I talked to him more than anyone else in my life, but when I left for college that August, I think I forgot to say goodbye. Just this week I’ve been realizing how badly I neglected our friendship. It makes my eyes sting and my stomach sick to think of him there at home, with suddenly no one who wanted to listen.

I asked my brother the other day if he and my dad have been talking at all lately. He said no. They never speak. My dad told me that he has “given up on him.” He rolled his eyes in disgust. “If he wants to be an idiot, he can. I give up.” I cringed when I heard him say that. Of course he doesn’t want to talk to you dad, you were a terrible father to him.  The only time my dad ever shouted was when he was correcting my brother. I remember him roaring “Good God Boy! When are you gonna GROW UP!” My brother got slapped, pushed, shoved, grabbed, pulled, restrained, and beat on a regular basis. I remember the look in my dad’s eyes whenever my brother did something wrong. He would fly into a rage. I was terrified that one day he would turn that glare on me; which, eventually, he did.

My brother was fun-loving, mischievous, and silly as a child. He loved to cook and play pirates and soldiers. As he grew older however, he developed a serious anger problem. Our parents never treated him with respect and he learned to defy them bravely. He disobeyed more than any of the rest of us. I remember him leaving the house and walking for hours in the dark and cold without a coat. My dad refused to go after him even though he was only 12 at the time. “He’ll come back when he gets hungry.” My brother has fallen into drugs and alcohol in the last couple years since I left. I’m pretty sure he is depressed as well. I don’t know what to do. I love him so much, but he is damaged to the point where he can’t even say he loves me too.

I am hoping I can use this weekend to reconnect with my brother. He was my best friend once. Sometimes I feel like I don’t even know him anymore, but I imagine that deep down under that shell of indifference and gloom, my fun-loving, silly brother is somehow still there. If I could go back in time, I would hug him a little harder on my way out that door. I would call him from college every week, tell him about my life and ask him about his. I would tell him first about the Boyfriend who would become my Husband. I would have sent him a card on his birthday, and I would have told him I love him a whole lot more.

I know I can’t take back those mistakes and missed opportunities. But I know I can at least start over, and that’s what I intend to do.

The Almightly Pearls. Part 1: Preacher, Doctor, Psychologist, and Exorcist

On the No Greater Joy website, there is a section called “answers” in which Michael Pearl shares his infinite wisdom with his avid followers. It’s set up “Dear Abby” style: people write in with questions and problems and Pearl attempts to answer them to the best of his ability. The advice he gives these poor, sheepish people is horrendous to say the least. I would go so far is to call it criminal. As I browsed through the question and answers, I came across one that made my heart stop.

(add www)nogreaterjoy.org/letters/questions-answered/archive/2007/december/21/babbling-in-the-night/

In this article, a mother writes in, concerned about the behavior of her 3 year old daughter. She believes that it must be something “spiritual.” She begins by saying that she has been following the Pearl method will her children and is pleased at how “REALLY well behaved” they now are. She says that she has slacked a little with the 3 year old and only very recently begun implementing the Pearl method with “consistency.”

She goes on to say:

“there are times she (the 3 year old) wakes up in the middle of the night just babbling - things we don't understand (and I get a sort of scared feeling just listening and being with her). This morning as I read the Word with her, she just started to stare into space and when I asked her a question about the passage, her eyes rolled back and she just said "I don't know." We have also noticed some intense rebellion (openly lying) and bad attitudes especially with her. There also seems to be a rift between her and her father and we don't know why. We both try to encourage the relationship but it is usually "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy." Anyway, anything you could offer us would be greatly appreciated - we would like to hear what you would have to say.”

Shortly after the implementation of a drastic and violent training method, this baby girl begins to show signs of severe emotional distress. The cause and effect here is glaringly obvious to all of us I’m sure. I did a little research on this girl’s symptoms and found them to be remarkably similar to that of PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD can occur at any age in any individual who has suffered through some kind of trauma (rape, war, domestic abuse, etc…). Symptoms include nightmares, flashbacks, emotional numbing and detachment, lack of interest in normal activities, exaggerated responses, difficulty concentrating, outbursts of anger, avoiding people or situations that remind one of the event, and trouble sleeping.

Maybe the babbling is a nightmare, she’s reliving the horrors of her every day while she sleeps.

Pearl’s response to the question is both ignorant and arrogant. He starts by agreeing that “the behavior of the 3-year-old does sound aberrant.” He also suggests that it could possibly be a health issue. “Without knowing your family I could not diagnose the problem” says Pearl. But then he immediately launches into a list of things the family should do in order to fix their little girl.

1. “The first thing is to heal the relationship with her father. She should spend time with him alone, looking to him to supply all her needs, feeding her, reading to her, playing with her.”

2. “It could be a physical issue. Get her checked for worms. Check all her vitals—sugar levels, blood pressure, oxygen levels, etc.”

3. “if there really is something supernatural about it. I would do a housecleaning spiritually.”

           A. “Make sure she has not been molested. Suspect everyone—male    and female…all ages.”

            B. ” Has she been exposed to any witchcraft? Harry Potter, etc.?”

           C. “Have you allowed her to watch inappropriate things on the TV?”

           

4. "Pray over her, sing spiritual songs around her, read the bible to her, surround her with the spirit of God and the “devil will have to leave her.”

When I was a kid, and even in my early teen years, I used to struggle to fall asleep at night. I imagined there were demons in my bedroom, just waiting for my heart to invite them in with rebellious thoughts. I woke during the night with loud angry voices in my head. They raged in a language I could not understand and often brought me to tears. I was never molested and we didn’t even have a TV, but Daddy told me they were demons anyway. He prayed over me and “surrounded me with the spirit,” but they always came back; louder and more terrifying than ever. Was I possessed by the devil? Or was I suffering from the trauma that was caused by too many beatings and too many prayers?

According to the US National Library of Medicine, symptoms like this little girl’s are evidence of a chemical imbalance. If she has PTSD, she is at high risk of depression, substance abuse, panic attacks, and suicide. She needs “early diagnosis, prompt treatment, and strong social support.” Michael Pearl fancies himself a Dr, Preacher, Psychologist, and Exorcist all rolled into one. He finishes his excellent bit of advice by assuring the mother that steady “authoritative training” will purge their baby of her “rebellion” in time. Oh and it will also purge her of the sinful habit of clinging to mother.

The Pearls posted this question/answer on their website. It is clear evidence of the negative effects of their training method. Are they really so blind that they can’t see what is so obvious to everyone else? 

The ONLY right way to spank? My way!

Inspired by Heather over at My Life, I have decided to re post a pro-spanking comment i received on my Childhood Memories post. I hear this type of thing a lot. People express outrage at how "abused" i was, and then launch into enumerating what they think is the "right way" to spank. News Flash people: my parents thought they were doing it right too. Sure, maybe they got a little out of hand sometimes, but it wasn't the exception that was the problem, it was the rule. Even if my parents had never once hit me, just making bend over their knee would have been too much.

Here is the anonymous comment and my response:

"Anonymous said...

I am so sorry that you guys have had to live through the horrific beatings. Those parents were abusive!!!
I'm not against spanking, but I'm against beating. My parents spanked us, but it was, at the most, 5 swats. It lasted about 5-10 seconds and then it was over.
I cannot comprehend spanking someone for any longer than 5-10 seconds...that's abuse and if I EVER saw a parent do that, I would turn them in!"

"Enigma said...

Anonymous, who decides what type of spanking is abusive? Is it you? Is it me? Is a spanking okay as long as it only lasts 10 seconds? Or is it 20? Should a parent use their hand? or an impartial object like a spoon? Or a switch? Maybe a pvc pipe? Is 5 swats okay but 6 swats is abusive? should you force your child to bend over your knee? or do you just swat at them when they run past? My parents are wonderful loving people who tried to do everything right. They said the same things you're saying now. That they're apposed to beating, im sure they would have turned somebody in for beating children in way they thought was inappropriate. In my opinion there is NO right way to spank. Even the mildest of spankings can lead to lasting emotional, mental and sexual repercussions. You may be one of the lucky ones who is not permanently damaged, but another kid who was just "swatted" for 5-10 seconds might end up with self esteem issues, warped sexuality, self destructive tendencies, or low self worth. Any kind of hitting is dangerous to a child and your relationship with that child. Are you really willing to risk that based solely on what YOU think is acceptable?"

Do you think there's a "right way" to spank? If so, how do you know? Can you be SURE? If not, what would YOU say to someone who thinks they know the "right way" to spank?

Teenage Identity Crisis

Every kid reaches that age where they struggle to discover who they really are. It is natural to the process of growing up. We stop defining ourselves by our family, and start defining ourselves by our friends. We naturally want to push the limits, push our bodies, and push the rules. During this time, our dreams and feelings are larger than life, and Oh-so-real. Parents often make the mistake of shrugging off the teenage years as a “faze” in which their kids are overcome by hormones. They often chuckle behind closed doors about the latest “teenage moment” and make their kids feel patronized and misunderstood. Parents long for the day that their teen’s hormone levels will normalize and they will have an adult on their hands instead of a large, moody child. Talking and listening to your teenager is the best thing you can do for them. As young adults, all we want is to be taken seriously, and to be heard. The teenage years are a beautiful, fragile time in which children become adults.

In a Fundamentalist Christian household, the teenage years can be a very different story. My parents didn’t want their daughters to grow up. Ever. We were trained to serve and submit from an early age. Pushing the limits was NEVER tolerated. Emotions were either irrelevant, or labeled as rebellion. As early as age 11, I remember having those “teenage moments” of huge emotion. Like every kid, I felt misunderstood and unjustly suppressed. Instead of being asked how I felt, or what was wrong, I was taught that my emotions were the manifestation of my sinful nature.

Tired and sore in all the wrong places? Laziness, Sloth.

Sad, depressed? = Bad Attitude, Selfishness.

Anger? = Rebellion.

Whenever I showed emotion, my mother would be disappointed. “this is isn’t the Sarah I know!” she would say. “who are you trying to imitate?” She wouldn’t let me see my friends anymore. Not even my cousins. Because I was “copying” them and not acting like the sweet happy daughter she knew. Instead of asking me what was wrong, or how I felt, she questioned my identity. As a teenager, I was already struggling to discover myself. She told me that she knew me better than anyone else. I tried so hard to be who she wanted me to be. How could she love someone who wasn’t her daughter anymore? I second guessed every word I said. I was paranoid that my motives were impure, that I was a copy cat, that I had no personality. I am still struggling to trust myself, all these years later.

 I remember at around age 13 I rolled my eyes at my dad. This was a BIG no-no. Sighing, stomping, folding my arms, and rolling my eyes were all deserving of a spanking. He grew angry and ordered me to come to him for a spanking. The injustice of it all welled up in my chest and I suddenly shouted out “No!” He was shocked. I was terrified. My legs took over and I took off running down the hall. I had never run from him before. He caught me, in what turned out to be one of my worst memories of my dad. He grabbed me by the arm and threw me into the bathroom. I tried to apologize, but he mashed my face into the corner. I screamed and I cried and I begged, and I hated myself for every “I’m sorry” and every “please stop.” I had hand prints on my arms and bruising on my face. The wooden spoon left bruises all over my newly developing body. And I hated myself. My mouth had betrayed me. If I hadn’t shouted that word this would never have happened. My body had betrayed me as well. If I hadn’t ran away, my punishment would not have been so severe.

 I hated myself for not having total control over my sin nature. I started cutting myself. I picked apart shavers with a pair of tweezers and saved the individual razor blades. It was freeing to exercise this type of control. It was like bleeding out all my emotions so they could not cause me problems throughout the day. It was freeing, it was addicting, it was frightening. My body learned to crave punishment, and I learned to oblige. When growth spurts made me so hungry it hurt, I agonize over every bite I ate. I would stare for hours in the mirror, begging for the courage to deny myself these gluttonous urges. I cut myself again and again. For every extra bite, for every surge of anger, for every misplaced tear.

My parents were happy with me. I was showing self control. I was being their sweet compliant daughter again. My mother was happy to have me back. She thought she knew me so well. Thought she had encouraged me right back into the girl I used to be. But every conversation was tailored to please. I had no idea who I was anymore. I was a bloody, torn mess, buried under a hard shell called Self Control.

 Parents, your children are going to change. Please let them. Don’t pretend to know them. Ask them questions, listen to them talk, and understand that their reality is just as important as your own. Don’t use the teenage identity crisis as an excuse to avoid meaningful conversation. You’re children will grow and change whether you want them to or not.

If you want to have any influence on the rest of their lives, embrace them for who they are.

Why am I not enough?

I don't remember how it came up. But somehow i got the courage to mention the research I'd done on spanking. Maybe i mis-judged her voice through the phone, but I thought my mom sounded receptive, almost interested.
I talked about the bible. And she even agreed that God never mandated spanking. I felt affirmed, hopeful that just maybe she would listen. Maybe i could save my baby sisters and brothers. Maybe they would just stop.
I shared my research in detail. Science suggests that ALL spanking is dangerous. There is no "right way" to spank. Even the bible is against it.
I told her about the sexual effects of spanking. About how even the gentlest of spankings can lead to permanent sexual damage and confusion. Children can  Subconsciously link sexual feelings with violence and degradation.

"That's not accurate. Children can link those things even if they're not spanked"
"how?"
"Because of our culture! The media!"

I pressed on. I risked it. I told her about me. About how even normal everyday spankings, the ones that never left a bruise, were terrible for me. My feelings of self hatred were birthed on the floor in the bathroom, waiting for mom to come with the spanking spoon. How my earliest experiences with my sexuality revolved around pain, around violence, around shame. It was hard for me to say, SO hard, but i just kept thinking of my sister: So much like me. Too much like me....

"The bible teaches us gentleness. And respect. It is a basic human right to NOT be hit."

She became immediately defensive.

"Oh so you think I'm a violent parent? You're saying i don't respect my kids?"

"I know you only did what you thought was right, but now I'm giving you new information. Every person in America has the right to not be hit except children. If children are people too, i think they should have the same rights"

She told me this was just a knee jerk reaction.

"Just because your dad messed up a few times your freaking out and going in the exact opposite direction. Everybody does this. You'll understand someday when you're a parent"

"Mom, I've done the research. That just doesn't make sense"

"Well you've obviously been brainwashed"

"NO MOM! YOU BRAINWASHED ME!"

My heart was sinking. Fast.
She rambled on, using all the old HSLDA rhetoric I've heard so many times. I know that argument backwards. I've changed my mind because now I've finally seen the rest of the facts. I've seen how i am affected. I only said something because i cant stand the thought of my siblings having to feel the way that i feel.

"You're obviously having issues, Sarah. I think you need to take this to God"

I was crying now. Desperate for her to hear me, begging her to not shut down on me.

"I have mom. I have! Listen to me please. I understand if you don't believe the research. Interpret the bible however you want to, but can you please just ignore all that  for a moment and HEAR me? I am your daughter and spanking HURT me. So why wont you just stop?!"

I was sobbing, shaking, pleading.

"Why is that not enough?"

In the silence that followed, I let my heart believe that she had heard me. That a 25-year-old mistake could not be stronger than my mother's love. I had bared my soul. I had begged her. She had no choice but to listen, right?

Wrong. She spoke again. Bitter. Angry. Sarcastic.

"Well I'm so sorry I ruined your life, Sarah. Obviously we just hate you right? is that what you wanted to hear me say?"

She continued, but i could no longer speak. Choked by tears, I whispered that i had to go and hung up the phone. My heart is still breaking at this fresh memory.

I am your daughter and you hurt me. Even if you never hit me, just making me stand, bent over your knee, would have been too much. Even if i didn't have any evidence, I am LIVING proof that your method didn't work. So why don't you just stop? Why is my word, my pain, my HEART, still not enough for you?

(By the way, this all took place just last night. I am still reeling from the shock. I am so disappointed, I don't even know what to say)