Part 1
I have to confess, I struggled with the idea of writing this because of my parental ego—yet my growing awareness as a parent urged me to free myself from it.
But, my parenting, my choice, right?
“How I discipline my children is my business. I know them better. People just don’t understand this generation…yes, they just don’t get it…”
Parental ego, unless we’re compassionate with ourselves, can be such a barrier to healthy parenting.
So, today, let me introduce myself as Mama Kael and Ella.
Most children and friends call me Mama Elena—they use my daughter’s second name. And I fondly, endearingly refer to her as Elena.
Disciplining my children has been the hardest part of my parenting journey. Initially, it didn’t disturb me much because I was married, and raising the kids felt like a shared responsibility. It wasn’t as heavy; I’d often look the other way whenever I sensed a “misbehavior,” silently signaling to the other parent, “deal with it…”
Then, when life’s twists led me to parent alone, I lost my voice, my skills, and the discipline approach I thought I had. And in that silence, there was little training, less connection, minimal conversation, and very little ability to withstand the pushback from my kids. I lost the confidence to handle this new reality.
My upbringing had a familiar discipline set: Spanking, followed by lectures, jabs, and more slaps. Besides my parents, my uncles could spank me, as could strangers who felt I misbehaved. I grew up in fear, avoiding conflict…and always eager to please adults to stay in their good books. Shame and threats were also a part of it. When I did something wrong, my aunt would embarrass me in front of my peers, or call my mum, who didn’t live with us, to list all my wrongs.
We all know that what’s familiar often becomes our truth. Yes, even in parenting.
You know I’m Mama Elena, right? Come along with me…A time came when I had to step up, put on my “parenting apron,” and discipline my children on my own terms and with the skills I’d learnt.
But my daughter kept testing me, pushing me to the wall and spilling my coffee—often! If she wasn’t crying over something small, she wouldn’t eat or didn’t like her school bag or shoes. Recently, she’s been crying because I switched her toothpaste to a fluoride-free one that she says tastes bad. She’d rather not brush at all.
Oh, and last week, she lost her shoes on the school playground but didn’t mention it until yesterday! She simply said she didn’t see them after she was done playing. But I’ll save that story for part 2.
One morning, as I rejoiced in the day the Lord had made, I got a knock at the door…and there she was, my beautiful daughter, with tears brimming in her eyes. “The school van left without me,” she cried.
Earlier that morning, she had flatly refused to brush her teeth or eat breakfast because, in her words, homeschooling is better than going to school every day. She’s “tired of waking up each morning for things she could study at home.” It was a tough morning for us—she was crying, I was forcing clothes onto her, practically begging her to eat “or else!”
At the door, I didn’t open for her right away. Instead, I let out a firm instruction: “Elena, go to school. I don’t want to see you here.” I closed the door and continued getting ready for work.
Only when I stepped out, locking the door behind me, did I hear a familiar voice: “Mummy, I’m here…” She was hiding behind the flowers, still at home. She hadn’t gone to school! And I hadn’t called the driver to ask why he left her; I was too preoccupied with her homeschooling "desires" and my financial reality.
One look, and she went quiet but followed me. Outside the gate, I threatened that she’d have to walk to school because I was late and hadn’t informed my seniors of any delays. I was gritting my teeth, called a bike guy, and off we went to her school.
I wasn’t speaking to her, walking so fast she had to run to keep up. Anger was plastered on my face as we arrived at the assembly, where children’s eyes were glued on us. My daughter was scared, but I focused on “teaching her a lesson.” I asked the teacher to give her a few spanks—three strokes, specifically. My daughter tried to stay calm, while I was the one throwing a tantrum.
I was deep into disciplining with shame, threats, and spanking to get her to behave. I was using my childhood discipline script on my children…three decades later.
I didn’t mention that, once, I even sent her outside to cry. When I later called her back, she said, “But mummy, you told me to cry outside.” I was throwing tantrums, demanding she keeps quiet and please me by suppressing her distress.
Now, do you see why my parental ego resisted letting me write this? Even you might not like me now! But maybe you’ll come to love me in part 2 of this story.
And what about my son, Kael? Did I discipline him the same way?
With my daughter, I didn’t often spank her; she’s petite, and I see so much of myself in her. I only spanked her a few times. But my son? The rod remained my go-to until he was 10. He’s a boy, I kept telling myself, convincing myself it was right. Even earlier this year, when my talks seemed to have no effect, I turned to spanking again.
One Saturday, I came home from work to find he hadn’t cleaned his school socks, hadn’t done his homework, and hadn’t washed the dishes from the day. To top it off, he’d gone off to play football with his sister, and it was already 4 p.m.
I glanced around the house, at the routine poster on the fridge, and thought, “This is the day…just not for rejoicing.”
So, I didn’t spare the rod. And it landed…everywhere. It was the last time I did it—and the last time I used that discipline script.
When Dr. Carol introduced the Conscious Discipline Masterclass to us, I quickly messaged her to join. I knew I needed help.
And yes, I found it.
So, won’t you stay tuned for part 2? The journey from crude discipline to conscious discipline…
You can access resources on Conscious Discipline by Signing up through this link today!
Yours, Mama Elena: A learning parent.