I have a constant inner struggle when I look at my children. I'm conflicted about so many things as a mother who still hasn't grown up in her heart. But discipline especially confuses me. I don't have a strong inner voice, and as Charlotte Mason has said, reason should not solely be relied upon because humans have the uncanny ability to make anything sound reasonable.
I can see in the evolution of my views on discipline and sleep-training a thread that runs through them both - really above and below and around them all.
I've come to realize that the god I have believed in, and am trying to rid myself of, is more of a Zeus-like god than the God of my Fathers. I'm terrified of him, because he is far-off, easily offended, and quick to put me in my place. He is concerned only with my good behavior and honor of him, but not very much at all with my well-being or feelings. I've learned through life to keep in step, try to stay under the radar, and hope and pray to him to please give me a bit of happiness.
The expectations I had of my children reflected this. It was a kind friend who finally pointed out the hopelessness of that set-up. "It seems like you're treating Joseph the way you think God treats you", she said. And that changed a lot for me.
I've watched as the way I treat my children reflects like a mirror image what I am believing about God. Is He on my side? Does He love me if I cannot stop sinning? Will He help me? Is He demanding something from me I feel helpless to overcome? Will He lash out at me or show me mercy? I ask these questions when I pray to God; and my children ask these questions when they look at me.
Over time, all other parenting goals have faded, and what's left is the singular goal of treating my children the way I hope that Jesus treats me. I try to believe each day that He does. Some days I can only believe for the sake of my kids. They are scared and alone when I am sitting on my throne, waiting to nag them or punish them for spiting me. They are free and honest and ready to love me when I am safe, constant and forgiving. I want God to be that for me, and I believe Jesus shows me that He is; and I want to be that for my children.
So these two conflicting instincts well up inside me when Joseph hits Emma, or Emma screams at Joseph, or no one comes to the table when I call. Do I dole out quick justice or show merciful kindness? I feel angry and bitter when they are not obedient, but yet feel so scared for them to feel unloved, because of my own history.
I'm hoping to find that tertium quid: boundaries enforced lovingly. I stumble upon it sometimes and it's beautiful. I find peace in my home and they get unconditional love. Sometimes it's not so wonderful and I end up letting them get away with treating me or each other the wrong way because I don't want them to feel "unloved" (not good); or I'm harsh and demanding, with no kindness in my heart or voice (worse, perhaps).
So many thoughts flit through my mind in the middle of a conflict, and I think I've come up with this criteria: all discipline should be carried out in a way that still convinces my children that I love them and am on their side.
I think that is mostly reflected in how I discipline and not in what I do, exactly. Joseph gets very angry when I tell him he can't play with his Legos anymore. But he knows that I'm not doing it out of anger because: 1) he knew it was coming (I told him my expectations and future consequences), 2) I spoke kindly and 3) I expressed sadness that he didn't get to play longer with his Legos and hoped he would make a better choice next time.
Usually, if I'm able to be sincere, he can tell. If I'm actually sort of celebrating at getting to make him suffer a little, at getting to revenge him for making my life harder that day, well, he sniffs that out quickly and my "kindness" becomes patronizing condescension. And we all hate that.
Someone told me before that disciplining our children is much less about method than about the posture of our heart, and I've come to think that is more true than I ever thought. And I'm on my way to believing the same thing about prayer.