Reflection on Discipline: A Painful Yet Good Memory
Seeing the image of a young boy being disciplined by his father brings back memories I’ve tried hard to forget. The stern expression on the father’s face, the fear in the child’s eyes, the tension in the air—it’s all too familiar. I was once that boy, standing helplessly as my father’s hand came down, not just to correct my behavior, but to instill fear, obedience, and, in his mind, respect.
Discipline is necessary—children need guidance, boundaries, and consequences. But there’s a fine line between discipline and punishment, between teaching and terrorizing. What many parents call "correction" can sometimes be an outlet for frustration, a way to exert control rather than to nurture growth. In my case, discipline was rarely about understanding my mistakes. It was about power. The sting of the belt, the sharp words, the humiliation—those moments didn’t make me better. They made me resentful. They made me afraid.
I remember shrinking into myself, believing that love and pain were intertwined. If my father hit me, it was because he cared—or so I was told. But deep down, I wondered: If this is love, why does it hurt so much? The confusion stayed with me long after the bruises faded. It shaped how I viewed authority, relationships, and even my own self-worth. I spent years unlearning the idea that fear equals respect, that obedience is the same as love.
Now, looking at that picture, I don’t just see discipline—I see a child’s spirit being weighed down. I see the way harsh punishment can fracture trust between parent and child. Studies show that while corporal punishment may force short-term compliance, it often leads to long-term emotional harm: anxiety, aggression, and a weakened parent-child bond. I can attest to that. The moments I needed my father most were the moments I feared him instead.
I don’t judge every parent who uses physical discipline—cultural norms, upbringing, and lack of alternatives play a role. But I do challenge the belief that pain is the best teacher. Discipline should build, not break. It should come from patience, not anger. A child who is guided with firmness and compassion learns not just to avoid mistakes, but to understand them.
If I could speak to that boy in the picture, I’d tell him: You don’t deserve to be afraid. Your mistakes don’t define you, and love shouldn’t hurt. And if I could speak to my younger self, I’d say the same. Healing from those experiences has been a journey—one that’s taught me that true discipline isn’t about control, but about connection.
To any parent reading this: discipline your child, but never let them doubt your love in the process. The marks you leave shouldn’t be on their skin, but on their heart—in the form of trust, not fear.
