As a mom, I often find myself caught in a challenging balance—I’m not quite the parent I aspire to be, yet I’m determined to be different from my own mother. My parenting style exists in a hazy middle ground, teetering between my ideal self and the reality of my daily interactions.
I occasionally lose my temper, let out a curse word in frustration, raise my voice, or simply feel too drained to engage fully with my child. But here’s the truth: my son is loved—without question.
My upbringing was marked by a sense of neglect. I was the overachieving nerd—mathlete, spelling champion, valedictorian—constantly seeking my mother’s approval. It wasn’t that she was intentionally unkind; she was a single parent juggling three jobs to support six kids, doing the best she could. Unfortunately, her “best” sometimes involved physical punishment.
While I may not embody my ideal vision of motherhood, I steadfastly oppose corporal punishment. Rather than inflicting pain, I celebrate my child’s achievements every day. He exudes a self-assurance I never had, and we express our love for each other frequently.
Yet, paradoxically, my son is afraid of me. As a parent, I can be quite strict. I find myself navigating two extremes: I indulge him in some areas while adopting a tough-love approach in others.
He enjoys my cooking and can invite friends over whenever he likes. I relish being silly and playful with him. However, I have zero tolerance for disrespect. If he talks back, he receives a warning; if he doesn’t heed it, consequences follow. He loses privileges, like his tablet, and gets grounded. He’s also required to do chores, more than many of his peers, but I believe in instilling responsibility.
I maintain high expectations for his academic and extracurricular commitments. While perfection isn’t the goal, I expect him to give his best effort. I’m not a tyrant—he has plenty of leisure time for video games and his favorite YouTube stars. I strive for balance, embodying both the nurturing and the strict parent roles.
However, as a single mother, I feel the need to impose some level of fear; it’s crucial for his future. And that brings me to a particularly harrowing experience—when I was arrested for disciplining him.
One evening, while driving, my son spoke to me with disrespect. I warned him, “Keep that tone up, and I will put you out of this car.” When he persisted, I followed through. I pulled over, opened his door, and gently removed him from the vehicle. It was not done in anger; I assessed the situation and deemed it safe.
To my surprise, my son began crying as I drove away, prompting a bystander to call the police. When the officers arrived, my instinct was to defend myself, which was not the best approach. Moments later, Child Protective Services arrived, and I realized the gravity of the situation.
I pleaded with the arresting officer not to cuff me in front of my child, and thankfully, he obliged. I had been in police custody before, but this time felt different. The sight of my distressed son shifted my focus entirely to reassuring him that everything would be okay.
After several hours of questioning, they decided not to press charges. I expressed my frustration to the officers, feeling that the resources could’ve been better spent addressing more serious issues in our community.
Then the social services investigation began. Their visit caught me off guard. The social worker arrived to find my home immaculate, adorned with my son’s academic achievements and healthy food in the fridge. When my son returned from school, he enthusiastically shared his life with her, putting her at ease.
The case was resolved swiftly, but my anger lingered. I recognized that the system is designed to protect children, and I am grateful for that. But I also believe that once it was clear my son was safe and simply being disciplined, they should have stepped back.
This entire ordeal was deeply stressful for both of us. It was a stark reminder of the irrational fears that permeate our society. I strive to avoid raising my son in a fear-based environment, yet the reality is daunting. As he approaches middle school, I worry about the influences he may encounter. The prevalence of drugs like heroin in our area is terrifying, and I often reflect on whether the police will be there to support us if he finds himself in trouble.
I need my son to respect me, to have a healthy fear that guides him toward making good choices. While I want him to learn from his mistakes, I also want to ensure that those mistakes don’t lead to life-altering consequences.
Reflecting on that day, I would still make the same decision. If that labels me a bad mother, then so be it. My child’s well-being is my priority, and I will discipline him within the bounds of love and safety. Unfortunately, the law may not see it that way, prioritizing immediate action over understanding.
Now, I find myself concerned about how this incident may have affected my son’s perception of me. We’ve talked about it, but I can’t help but feel that a shadow of doubt may linger in his mind. Only time will tell how he’ll view this event when he’s older.
Writing this has stirred up many emotions within me. I think I need a moment to gather my thoughts over a cup of tea before I dive into baking his favorite iced oatmeal raisin cookies, a comforting treat I want him to enjoy when he comes home.
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Summary:
This article recounts the author’s experience of being arrested for disciplining her child. It explores her struggles with parenting, the balance between love and discipline, and the societal fears surrounding child-rearing today. The narrative reflects on the challenges of being a single mother and the impact of her disciplinary actions on her relationship with her son.