When I was born my parents were thrilled and determined to parent the right way. Well, I suppose they did the best they could with what knowledge they had. They wanted the perfect little nursery for their perfect little girl. So there I was, newly entered into the world, torn from my mama, and already I had my own room. You wake up panicking, often paralyzed, and absolutely terrified. As in, gun-to-your-head-watching-someone-you-know-being-killed terrified! No one would come to my aid. When I was very small my mom would rock me back to sleep if she was still awake when I starting screaming, but that did not last long.
When I was about 4 years old I was moved into a room on the opposite end of the house. I was given a nightlight to ward away the bad dreams. But my cries went unanswered. I had to learn early how to calm myself down, but usually exhaustion kicked in while I was still scared.
I did what many kids do and threw the blanket over my head. I was too scared to close my eyes, but eventually the exhaustion did win over. I slept restlessly and was very tired all day from the events of the past night. I stopped screaming, but cried in a dark room all alone. Imagine that, if you will. A small child all alone in a dark room having just woken up from horrible dreams that are just unimaginable even to a horror film junkie without a single person to comfort them. It left me scarred, jaded, and I developed learned complacency.
I was a very angry and scared child because of this.
For : spanking crying
I fought bedtime. I think, though, that more than that room, I was terrified of my mom. Many times I found myself thinking about how much I hated her. My parents were strict, which is a good thing!
does need some form of moral guidance, and that should come straight from his or her parents. My mom, however, spanked. When I was spanked, and not just a swat on the butt but a hard smack, it was usually with her hand but often with a flat, wooden spoon. Immediately I was swarmed with questions. I must have. What was it? I was finally let out after. It seemed like an eternity.
I was never given a reason or an explanation as to why what I had done was wrong. That just ended up with a longer spanking. My dad, however, never spanked. As a toddler I threw temper tantrums. As I cried sometimes.
I was always close to my dad. Though my dad distanced himself from us emotionally.
This just added to my feelings of neglect, and spanking me want to seek out attention from anyone who would give it to me. As time went on, I lost all trust in my mother. I knew crying down she was trying to help me, but more often than not any little thing would send her over the edge. I tried as hard as I could to stay out of trouble, but siblings fight I have two older sisters and that guaranteed a spanking. I learned from this that, if I was going to get spanked I may as well do something to deserve it. I began acting out as a preteen. My trust issues growing rapidly.
I started dating young; I was I faced sleepless night during sleepless night from the night terrors just fueled my anger and distrust for these people who were supposed to guard me from all of the bad things and monsters. As a teenager I acted out more. Nothing too crazy, but I definitely hung out with the wrong crowd.
I clung to anyone who would feed me any semblance of positive attention. Of course, this only got me hurt several times over from friends who walked all over me to abusive boyfriends.
Tears during a spanking
I got pregnant at 16 and was scared to DEATH to tell my mom, who was now divorced from my dad because he smacked my sister across the face. I ended up miscarrying and, instead of telling my mom and going to the ER to make sure everything passed, I hid it.
I very, very luckily did not get an infection, but I honestly, at the time, would rather have died from not going to the hospital than tell my mom.
I knew it would have resulted in at the very least a slap across my face, and I would never, ever hear the end of it. I had boyfriends, but I never really could find myself trusting anyone. Especially the nice, good people. I dated bad boyfriend after bad boyfriend all through high school.
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Or, at least, the ones who had little to no issues. I ended up being raped when I was still in high school. I told my dad and he helped me try to file charges. I was way too scared to tell my mom. I feared that I had done something wrong, that I did deserve it.
It just felt like another punishment at the time. Over time I became extremely co-dependent. Anxiety always took over from the years of, well, neglect.
An insider’s perspective on cry it out and spanking
I was always afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing and being made to look foolish or getting yelled at by whomever I was speaking to. It always caught me off-guard when someone addressed me, and I was freeze up and just respond without thinking. But I never let go of that fear that I would say something wrong and be chastised as soon as we were in private. My big break came when I was 20 and headed off to a university on the other side of the state.
I easily did everything myself. I made phone calls any time it was asked for, I was eager to make plans with good people who were good friends to me. I was, dare I say, happy. Far from the disapproving eyes of my mother. I started learning how to act like myself, and I was just learning how to be myself.
I did really well. Some things happened at the university that forced me to leave, though. Back to fear and anger. Not long after I moved back home I became really close to one of my university friends, Andrew.
That summer he moved in with us. He still had a year left at the university, but he came to visit every other weekend and on holidays. He even begs me to wake him up if I have a night terror, which I do. He comforts me and helps me calm down so I can fall asleep again.
I have them a lot less often now that I have someone to comfort me. I withhold many things from her. All would invoke skepticism and harsh words. She would reject me further. I will never force my children to cry it out.