Todays Parenting Lacks Boundaries and Discipline

What has happened to the parent–child relationship in today’s American family? I don’t know if any of you are as alarmed as I am, but I believe the lack of boundaries and discipline coupled by the ridiculously excessive electronic stimulation in today’s society is fueling an undeniably dangerous path for our children. This trajectory is producing a plethora of disrespectful, self-serving, and unyielding juveniles who will eventually be at the helm of our country’s leadership. The manner in which many of them are being groomed is enough to scare the bejeebers out of me.

In my opinion, an overwhelming number of today’s parents are entirely too concerned with being their children’s friends rather than their parents. That’s not to say you can’t have fun with your kids and enjoy time together, but kids need boundaries. They need discipline, structure, consistency, and a level of predictability. Children need to understand that their parents are the ones in control. Healthy boundaries, understood expectations, consistent consequences, and precise parent/child roles create a home environment where children feel safe and protected. Having these elements in place also promotes a household atmosphere that is reliable, calm, peaceful and orderly.

A friend of mine yells most of the time. It doesn’t matter if it’s a normal conversation or a heated argument with her husband; the volume level is consistently on the maximum level. The same characteristic has been groomed into their children. They all yell….all the time. It’s the noisiest, most chaotic environment I have ever been in. The word “no” in their house translates into “if you bug me enough, I’ll eventually give in and you can have what you want.” The manner in which their oldest daughter speaks to them just makes me cringe. She is disrespectful, mean-spirited at times, and whiny beyond what I am able to convey. It never ceases to amaze me how they can complain about their daughter; however they are not willing to establish and stand firm in appropriate boundaries, expectations, and consequences for her behavior. Rather, they merely shoulder the abuse or snap back at her in an elevated tone which merely fuels the dysfunction. What I see is an adult daughter who is failing to develop the necessary skills she requires to succeed in the real world. She is being taught that if you want to be heard, you must yell or whine and that “no” is negotiable.

While it is not for me to run their household or tell them how to raise their kids, it is for me to establish my personal boundaries when it comes to how their children treat me. I can say with complete honesty that NONE of my friends’ children treat me in the same manner in which they treat their parents. Why? Because they understand my boundaries and expectations and that level of behavior is not acceptable.

My husband and I were recently attending a family-friendly dinner gathering at the home of another couple. The kids were running around yelling, screaming, whining, and doing the opposite of what they were being told to do. As their behavior continued to escalate, the response from their parents was to reinforce instruction in a very calm and friendly manner. “….If you don’t stop, I’m going to…,” was continually being offered; however none of the so-called consequences ever came to fruition. At no time throughout the evening did the violators pay any price for their disregard to parental instruction. What kid would do as their parents told them to if they understood that the penalties were without merit? If you could drive as fast as you wanted with no regard to the speed limits knowing that police officers would merely administer a verbal warning for every offence, wouldn’t you continue to break the law? More than likely since there would be no consequence of any significant nature. Oh, you may be slightly inconvenienced as the officer verbally chastised you, but in the scheme of things it would be relatively painless. In other words, laws would merely take on the form of suggestions and you are free to do as you please because there is no real consequence for violating the boundaries set forth.

If you struggle with boundaries in your own life, know that this is precisely what you are modeling for your children. Without boundaries your children’s ability to learn is severely compromised and will generally derive at a much greater cost down the road. Children that lack respect for authority often times become adults who experience enormous challenges in the workplace, school, and relationships as a whole.

A friend of mine has an 11 year old son whose is completely out of control at home; however she continues to excuse his rambunctious behavior by telling me how well-mannered he is in the classroom. Ummm….Hello?! Of course he’s good in school! The teacher has boundaries and expectations in place with decisive consequences for said offences to behavioral outbursts and/or rule violations. If you would implement similar expectations at home and consistently hold him accountable when/if he violates those boundaries, your home life would be dramatically altered to the benefit of all involved.

How many times have you been in a restaurant and witnessed a child throwing a fit at the dinner table disrupting all those in the near vicinity? I’m not talking about a little outburst; I’m referring to those that go on and on and on. In my experience it happens all too often. I find myself wanting to lean over and ask the parents to please remove their child from the dining area and address their unacceptable behavior in a non-public arena rather than continuing to erode the other patrons desired experience around them. Generally speaking, I tend to witness parents consoling the child by diverting their attention with some sort of electronic device that will curb their outburst, or worse yet….they ignore it! What ever happened to teaching your children appropriate behavior and expectations through self-control, boundaries, and consequences without electronic diversions taking on the form of parenting? It’s not as if either of my boys acted up in a public place when they were young, but when they did, we immediately took a trip to the bathroom where I informed them that their behavior would not be tolerated. If it continued, I would go to the car with my child until such time as they garnered a level of self-control, understanding their behavior was not acceptable before returning. Nowadays it floors me to see the number of kids who have their head buried in portable devices rather than engaging in a family event. If your intent is to submerge your child into a world of battery-operated stimuli, then why not hire a babysitter and leave them at home saving us all the frustration?

Do any of you ever miss the “Because I said so” mentality? It worked for me as a kid and continues to work for me as a parent. It’s like the word “no” has been deleted from the parental vocabulary. I don’t feel the need to justify my reasons to my child for every decision I make; after all I am the parent. In the adult workplace if you’re told to do something, you do it; otherwise you will find yourself jobless. Wouldn’t this be equivalent of an adult on-the-job example of because my supervisor said so? Those same principles begin at home. Children are taught to respect authority. By not implementing authoritative respect in your children’s lives, you are in essence teaching them to not respect authority in adulthood. As a parent, you then find yourself wondering why your adult children are ill-equipped to navigate real life circumstances.

When my oldest son was 17, he came home one day with a group of new friends in tow. Walking into the kitchen, he takes a look at me and in a thug-like voice says, “Wasssssup, Mahhhhhh?” I know he was trying to be cool in front of his friends, but the manner in which he spoke to me was unacceptable. With a slight chuckle coming from the motionless lips of his friends, my immediate, yet calm response to him was, “Pardon me? You must have mistaken me for one of your buddies.” I had instantaneously established a boundary line by informing him and his friends that he will address me with the respect I am due. In addition to this exchange, I made it a point to introduce myself to his new friends as Miss Michelle as I strongly believe that children have no business calling an adult by their first name; that, in and of itself, skews boundaries for children by putting adults on the same level as them. I require the use of “Ma’am and Sir” in our home when addressing or answering all adults as a show of respect. Some may disagree, but it works for us.

You see, our home is not a democracy. That’s not to say we require our children to be quiet and do as you’re told with no regard to their feelings or opinions, but ultimately my husband and I are in control, and the laws of our home start and end with us. I am not my sons’ friend, I am their mother, and my role is to raise them in a manner that will provide them with the social, authority, respect, and life skills they will need to survive in the adult world. In addition, it is my job to teach them how to establish their own boundaries when it comes to how others treat them, a level of self-discipline and strong work ethic, and moral compass with a sense of compassion and respect for humankind. Sounds like a tall order, doesn’t it? Well it is…and the disciplines begin at home. My kids are free-willed, free-spirited, yet respectful individuals who can think for themselves yet still have boundaries in place. They are offered opportunities to speak into household decisions, but they also understand the final decisions reside within the parental unit. I value and want to hear what they have to say, but I require that they do so in a healthy and respectful manner. There is no yelling or name calling that goes on in our home. Rather, communicating amongst ourselves in a way that is conducive to respect for everyone involved produces a healthy, calm, and orderly home life.

I know I’m ranting, but I am incredibly alarmed with the notion that today’s youth are being railroaded by parental disengagement through the use of electronic devices and lack of authoritative, parental responsibility. Rather than teaching basic life-skills, boundaries, social interaction, self-discipline, and respect for authority, children are provided with electronic distractions which do nothing but enable them to emotionally and intellectually extricate themselves from reality. Life is about relationships and the experiences derived from them. The first relationship our children experience is that of the parent/child relationship. I consider this to be the most critical of all as it sets us on a life path that determines how well we succeed with those that follow, including self-relationship.

I can’t begin to tell you how many times over the year’s parents, teachers and extended family members have gone out of their way to share with me what respectable, well-mannered, young men my boys are. My response to them has always been, “Thank you so much! It’s a learned behavior that required a tremendous amount of discipline on my part as a parent to instill those expectations in them.” In the back of my mind I’m thinking, “You too can experience this if you’re willing to put forth the required and consistent effort!”

It is our job as parents to engage with our kids in a loving, nurturing, yet authoritative role that promotes the development of healthy boundaries, implementing and fulfilling consequences appropriately, and to provide them with the necessary life-skills that are essential to succeed in today’s society.

Though you may not completely agree with my opinions, I would be interested to hear from you regarding what seems to me to be a negative shift in the American parental roles and the effects it is having on today’s youth.

Just venting…

 

Survivors Journey Part 4 – Enema Anyone?

Enema. Even the word makes your cringe, doesn’t it? Regardless of knowing the positive outcome, no one in their right mind holds a bottle of enema solution and says, “Yeah! I get to do an enema! Won’t this be fun?” Not likely. If you’ve ever had the privilege to experience such a delightful event, you no doubt know the level of discomfort that goes along with the process.

You start out in a state of misery because you’re full of crap. After all, that is the purpose of performing such a task, to rid yourself of all your crap, right? So you insert the comfort tip and proceed to gently squeeeeeze nearly two quarts of the mild solution into your intestinal tract. Soon, you’re met with the delightful feelings of severe bloating and cramping, wondering if you’ll be able to successfully clamp your butt cheeks together for the suggested 10 – 15 minutes as the solution takes effect.

As you lay on your left side, relaxing in bed, cheerful thoughts dance in your head with great anticipation for the ejection process to commence. That’s when the real fun begins, right? Uh, no. At some point you find yourself shuffling toward the toilet just in time for the initial “mega-blast” followed by several short, yet decisive “mini-blasts.” Just when you think the process is complete and you’ve taken the necessary steps to cleanse your ignited backside, your body says, “Ooops! Not so fast Cowboy!” So you sit back down and wait for the swan song to conclude. At this point your legs are beginning to go to sleep from being in the seated position for too long as you enjoy the delightful sounds of your intestinal orchestra gurgling with such voracity. Wishing you had remembered to bring along your iPhone as a distraction, you begin to wonder if it will ever end. The good news is, yes! …but there’s no turning back. Once you squeeze that bottle, you’re committed. If you want to rid yourself of all your crap, you have to see it through, even if it takes more than one application.

By now, you’re probably wondering what on Earth an enema has to do with the Survivors Journey, right? The way I look at it, true life transformation is like having a giant enema or several of them if necessary. The process itself is anything but comfortable, but when it’s complete, the emotional freedom will be like nothing experienced before. Am I willing to commit to the process knowing there is no turning back? Yes.

This afternoon I am diving into my emotionally flawed origin, the time in my life when the safety net was ripped out from under me and everything began to fall apart. I was 11 years old when my father left. I’m 44 now. I have 33 years of crap that has been backing up in my emotional memory bank. Hurt, confusion, pain, rejection, insecurity, isolation, just to name a few. I have been stuffing these emotions for so long that they are now manifesting themselves in a physical form. On October 4, 2010 I began experiencing motor seizures in which the entire left side of my body, face, and neck became violently distorted and in a locked position. Unable to control these episodes has landed me in the emergency room via ambulance on five occasions. During my fourth trip to the hospital in March 2011, extensive testing determined that the seizures are not originating from my brain; rather, they are an involuntary, physical manifestation of an internal trauma, aka Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures (PNES). I’ve tried to hide, mask, and/or deny my emotions for so long that my body is literally rejecting that notion. I realize that if I don’t commit to the enema process, I will forever be imprisoned by 33 years of emotional constipation.

Ready. Set. Squeeze. Let the enema begin…

Survivors Journey Part 3 – Proceed with Caution

Yesterday, I decided to spend a couple hours doing some yard work in our north Texas, suburbia home. Second to writing, gardening is extremely therapeutic for me. It was a beautiful, overcast morning with a just enough breeze to tickle my senses and keep my brow from abundantly sweating. I love those kinds of days. After completing the mowing, edging, and blowing, I took a few minutes to water the rose bushes and tomato plants nestled against the back porch as a sense of accomplishment, and order swept over me. With hose in hand, I looked down at my grass covered shoes, took two steps into the yard to rinse them off before calling it done, when out from behind a landscape stone near the recently watered rose bush, I spotted the head of a large snake. I stopped dead in my tracks, frozen in fear, and waited as the five foot reptile slithered three feet away from me. Once out of striking distance, I took three giant leaps backward and began screaming for my husband. I never knew I had the capability to produce such a loud shrill. Unbeknownst to him of my situation, my cries for help went unanswered as he was on a conference call in his office.

When the snake reached a safe distance on the opposite end of the porch, I leaped over the rose bush, cracked open the back door as to not let Dutch, our chocolate lab, outside and made my cries for help undeniably evident. “Claaaayton! CLAYTON! There’s a five foot snake on out here!” He rose to his feet and quickly proceeded to the back porch. Not wanting to take my eyes off the snake for fear of his escape, Clayton (with his blue-tooth headset in place and conference call still going in his left ear) retrieved a long handled, flat head shovel and began his plight to save his damsel in distress. He shifted a rock to block the snake’s escape and began jabbing, as the snake’s head peeked out the other end. With five or six forceful thrusts amid the hissing snake in self-defense, Clayton was finally able to sever the head, and the battle was won. My HERO! Even though the war was over and the snake was dead, it took me over an hour to stop trembling with fear from what had just taken place.

While all this may give many of you the “heebie jeebies,” what I find interesting was realizing that for the remainder of the day, I was peering with a sense of great hesitation every time I went outside. Even though the danger had passed, fear, trepidation, and the message,“proceed with caution”, was the common thread racing through my head. I knew I had to take time to dive in and see what it was all about, as it was no longer about the snake. No, this was much deeper in its root than that of a slain reptile.

I just realized, and when I say “just” I mean just now, that I am living my life with the mindset of proceed with caution. I hate that about myself. When I was in my 20’s, I jumped into life with no regard to possible consequence or outcome. Some might call that free-spirited; some might refer to it as irresponsible. Truth be told, it was probably a little bit of both. So what happened? Where did that sense of reckless abandonment go? Even this morning as I sit here on the back porch tapping away at my laptop keys, my feet are perched atop a short stool and my eyes occasionally glance toward the landscape stones as if he’s going to rise from the dead and continue his reign of terror. The danger has passed Michelle, let’s move on.

I don’t want to live a life based on fear of what happened in the past. To that, I also don’t want to relive the twenty-something life of reckless abandonment. No, I want to live a life of intentional abandonment, or as some may call it,  faith. But what is it that prevents me from doing so? Why am I holding on to the past as if it were still a present day danger? Why do I allow those in my now to pay the price for those of my yesteryear? Why wasn’t it enough to witness the death of the snake and see its lifeless body to relinquish the fear that the danger has truly passed? Literally and metaphorically speaking, why do I still fear the snake?

My “snake” is pain. I fear pain. Not physical pain, but emotional pain. I fear being hurt. Not just a little, but a lot. I fear it to the point that it prevents me from living a life of intentional abandonment and faith. I am living my today based on events of my yesterday. That’s not living – that’s reliving.

What’s your “snake?”

Survivors Journey Part 2 – Creating Diversions in Fear of Fear

My heart has been heavy since my last post in which I committed to opening up and dissecting my life for any and all to see. There were a few (well, more than a few) moments when I thought to myself, “Are you nuts?” It’s possible and completely subjective. Honestly, I’m scared. Being vulnerable is, by far, not one of my strengths. There are some incredibly painful experiences in my past which I’m not too eager to revisit, but I’m committed to the road for which I’m being lead, and this is part of the journey.

When I initially sat down at the computer this morning, I began with the title, “Freeze, Flight, or Fight.” As soon as those words hit the screen, I felt an overwhelming sense of fear take hold. Immediately, I removed myself from the situation. I went inside and began preparing the spaghetti sauce for tonight’s lasagna, checked to see if I had any “Words with Friends” to play on my iPhone, texted a few folks, checked the laundry in the dryer that’s been sitting there for two days (as if another two or three hours is going to matter), and then I headed toward the back porch and began stocking the recently purchased Diet Pepsi’s into the outdoor mini-fridge. About half way through the Pepsi pile, I realized what I was doing. I had taken flight. I didn’t want to dive into today’s thoughts; so instead, I opted to create a diversion…admittedly, several of them.

I immediately stopped what I was doing, went into my husband’s home office and proceeded to get down on my knees in front of him and ask for a big honey hug. You might be asking yourself, “On your knees?” Well, I’ve learned in the past year that when I physically get down on my knees assuming a position of vulnerability and submission and allow him to wrap his arms around me, I succumb to a sense of overwhelming peace. I am allowing him to comfort and reassure me. I’m not talking about submission in the sense of superiority; rather I am reaching out to the Earthly man who loves me more than anyone and allowing him to exercise his role as protector, provider, comforter, and encourager. Not only does it feed me, it nourishes him by allowing him to serve in a manner for which he was designed to by God.

I was now ready to face me.

Based on what I know today, I exhibit two major behavioral flaws; fear of vulnerability and stuffing and/or masking my emotions. Trust me when I say there are many more flaws than that, but we have to start somewhere.

I have always viewed vulnerability as a weakness and weakness resulted in being a victim; therefore, I must not allow vulnerability in my life. Am I hitting a nerve yet? Maybe so, but what I have come to understand is by being vulnerable you not only open yourself up to hurt, you also open yourself up to love. Somewhat of an oxymoron if you ask me. But in order to heal, you must allow yourself to feel – that’s where stuffing my emotions comes into play. I cannot heal from the wounds of my life unless I am willing to feel the pain resulting from those injuries. It’s a vicious cycle.

I just caught myself checking “Words with Friends” again. “Don’t run, Michelle. Stay in the moment!”

April 2011, I began working with a phenomenal therapist named Diane. There’s been more “ah-ha” moments in the past several weeks than I can begin to explain. In one of our sessions, Diane asked me to recall my first memory when I experienced fear and vulnerability. I had to think about it for a moment…

“I must have been around four, maybe five years old. My parents had taken my brother and me to some friends of theirs’ home in the Indiana farmlands and left us in the care of an older child while the adults went out for dinner. This was not uncommon practice in the late 60’s. I don’t recall who these people were, but it was not an uncomfortable environment as there were other kids there to play with. As the sun set and the dark of night fell upon the house, a very loud knock coming from the front door rattled the small house. I could hear a man yelling on the other side of the door at us to let him in. I now recognize that he was intoxicated, but up to that point in my life, I had never witnessed anyone in a drunken state. My parents were never much to partake in alcoholic beverages, even to this day, so intoxication was not a state of being I was familiar with. We gathered together and crouched down behind a large chair as to not be seen through the window. I can remember shaking with fear just wishing he would stop. As his patience grew thinner, the banging grew fiercer, and the yelling escalated. It seemed to go on forever. In my little girl voice I can remember thinking, “Daddy where are you? Please come back. I’m scared. Daddy? Oh, please Daddy…I need you.” My thoughts went unanswered and  little Michelle remained frozen in fear.

Eventually, the man exhausted all of his attempts at entry and decidedly left. While the incident may have been over, the fear remained at the forefront of my mind. To this day, I can still feel the fear of that fateful night. Who was he and what did he want? That remains unknown. But what I do know is that my first memory of fear and vulnerability was met with having to self-protect, self-comfort, and swallow the fearful tears that so desperately wanted to flow. Inside was a little girl who wanted to scream, “Go away and leave us alone!” but the undeniable terror that he could possibly unearth our miniscule hiding place was more than enough power to shatter the innate desire to fight. Instead, I internalized my fear and remained frozen.

It was at that moment the critical, fear of vulnerability, behavioral flaw set itself in stone and continues to plague me to this day.

As Diane and I processed through this event, it became clear to me how a single moment in one’s life can set in motion an emotional and physical response to life’s tragic events, no matter their significance. I challenge readers who are struggling with the fear of vulnerability or stuffing emotions to examine their first memory of such experience. You may be surprised at what you find.

As for today, it has taken me four hours, two loads of laundry, five stirrings of the spaghetti sauce pot, four glances at my iPhone, three trips to the bathroom to address the over consumption of Diet Pepsi, and eight cigarettes to get through this first look back…but I did it. And for that, I am proud.

The journey continues…and I am not alone.

Love vs. Boundaries

My thoughts are heavy this morning of my oldest son, Brad. Brad is such an incredibly intellectual, articulate, and a handsome man who is nearly 24 and has thus far, wasted his adult life. Jumping from job to job, usually resulting from being fired for what , in my opinion, is lack of respect for authority and his inability to take criticism. He has no control over his emotions and continually lashes out at those who love him most. I believe this to be an act of desperation for us to continue to “prove” our love for him.

I used to struggle with boundaries in our relationship as a whole, but this morning I question how I should go forth with yesterday’s latest attack. Brad has been given time and again opportunities to go to community college on our dime, but first he must prove to us that he will commit and follow through with one semester. Once completed, we would reimburse him based on performance so that the following semester would be paid for. But this is not what HE wants. Recently, Brad approached his father and I with a desire to attend “Full Sail University” in Orlando, FL to the tune of $75,000. Uh…no. I investigated this “university” and believe it to be a waste of money that will inevitably result in his inability to attain today’s new found dream. After I expressed my feelings about the school and offered alternatives to him for consideration, I then expressed to him that when he calls, the conversations are solely about  him – never inquiring how I (we) are and what is going on in our lives. He immediately lashed out and spoke to me in ways I have never experienced – from anyone on this earth, ever. I understand we have a separate set of boundaries with various relationships in our lives, but at what point do we disconnect from our children (to a degree) and allow them to feel ostracized? Aside from all the “f-bombs” and “s-bombs” he lobbed over the fence at me, his request was to leave him alone and to forget he was ever was born. He stated he would never again consider himself to be part of this family and would no longer accept my calls, texts, or otherwise.

Mind you, this is not the first time Brad has done this, but what I struggle with at this point is how to establish appropriate and healthy boundaries for the latest assault. He has never apologized or taken accountability for previous assaults on me or this family. At what point do I blockade the verbal violence and no longer allow him to treat me this way? Should I continue to show him my love, or do I merely give him the distance he says he wants and wait for the call to come when he finally grows up enough to recover from his “cranial rectum” disease?

Many years ago, I sought and received forgiveness from Brad for my sins of the past – not being there for him for six years and his feelings of abandonment that resulted from extenuating circumstances (another blog, another time). Yes, believe it or not I was not a perfect mother (who is?) but I also never raised him to talk to me in the manner in which he has. I question the plight of today’s society that appears to have taught the youth that it is acceptable to speak to others in this manner. Where is respect for your elders and where did all the “f-bombs” come from? What on earth did I do to deserve this? Who does he think he is to continue to trample my feelings and expect that I will just continue to forgive him without his submission and admission of wrongdoing? Is that really what a mother is supposed to do? ….my heart says no. If I do, then there will never be an end to the verbal violence.

I’m just so pissed off about this, yet my heart breaks for his lost soul. There is a part of me that just wants to say, “Fine, <bleep> you too…,” but I know that would just be more ammunition for him in the future. He fails to see his role in how screwed up his life is and constantly views himself as a victim of everyone else’s shortcomings. No, he is never to blame. Victim, victim, victim. How I can relate to that so well, yet when will he finally realize that his destiny is within his own disciplines or lack thereof.

Where do I draw the line?

Would I allow others’ to treat me this way? No. So why should I allow him to and what is a healthy way to communicate that?

If I draw those lines in the sand, will they come back to haunt me later, and if they do should that even be a consideration of mine at this time?

Is “tough love” really what he needs?

Is excommunication the position I should take? Maybe more for my sake than for his?

Dilemmas to the nth degree as the plight of being the mother he needs escapes me.

How can a heart break time and again, yet love always seems to prevail?