Screaming. I read somewhere that kids would adjust and adapt to it and you end up having kids that is so used to your usual shouting and they won’t budge unless they hear you raising your voice octaves higher. Or worse, they get too used to your habitual shouting that they develop deaf ears to your requests.
With that, I find myself always trying my best not to raise my voice. Not to shout, no matter how bad I feel. But let’s face it, there really are times when one is too frayed at the edges and unwittingly does that. Me, I mess up and do that at times. But it doesn't really excuse the act.
The first time I shouted at my son, I cried silent tears. No kidding. I cried because I saw fear and shock register on his face, not to mention the copious tears in his eyes. Fear is the last thing I want my son to feel towards me. I cried because I was frustrated at someone who should have known better and who should have let patience run a mile longer. Instead, I failed to control myself and allowed my emotions to run ahead of me. I felt so wretched at failing and letting someone pay for my unbridled emotions.
Plak! The door of a cabinet connected to my face, at the upper left side of my cheekbone, a millimeter away from my eyes. Caught by surprise at its impact, I recoiled and instinctively brought my hand to my face where a sting was beginning to spread. I was shocked. When I turned my head upward, I saw him - the culprit of this banging. Irritation, surprise, pain – I’m still not sure what but I screamed and shot my hand, grabbing his foot and giving it a spank.
I over-reacted and I was too flustered at my reaction I had to walk out of that door because I couldn't trust myself if I stayed with him a moment longer. Was it shock that registered in his face as he stared at me with tears streaming down his face? He looked so scared and was still crying “Mama, mama” when I walked out that door. Bad Mama, that I was. I felt horrible, and that's could be an understatement. But of course, who wouldn't? There's just no excuse that could justify what I did. No excuse, and I felt all the more awful knowing this.
I had apologized to my son (and he had given me his sorry) but I still haven’t forgiven myself for doing what I did.