Why do we think yelling is the only way to raise disciplined children?
That question has been sitting heavy in my chest for a while now. I don’t mean it in a judgmental way, because I’ve yelled too. I’ve raised my voice, I’ve barked instructions, and I’ve stormed into rooms thinking that volume equals correction. But the more I slow down, the more I begin to ask myself... why?
Why do we discipline our children in ways we wouldn't tolerate ourselves?
As a grown woman, I can't imagine my husband yelling at me to correct me. I wouldn’t think, “Ah yes, I’ve learned my lesson now.” I’d be hurt, defensive, and distant. But strangely, when it comes to our children, we forget they are also humans with feelings, pride, dignity, and a deep desire to be understood.
And if I’m being honest, yelling doesn’t even make me feel better. Not truly. In the moment, it gives the illusion of control. But afterwards? Guilt and regret. And worst of all, the distance between me and the very people I love most.
I’ve started realising that yelling wasn’t something I chose. It was something I learned.
Somewhere buried in my subconscious, a narrative had formed: This is how you raise kids. This is how you correct them. Because that’s how I was raised. That’s what I saw. That’s what was modelled. So I accepted it as truth—until I started raising my own children.
The turning point for me was this simple thought: “If I can be upset with my husband and never raise my voice, why do I yell at my kids?”
That one hit differently.
The truth is, many of us are parenting from pain. We’re parenting from unhealed wounds, from patterns that felt normal because they were familiar. But familiar doesn’t mean healthy. And what’s common isn’t always right.
I’m slowly unlearning. Slowly choosing love over fear. Connection over control.
That doesn’t mean I don’t discipline. I do. But now I’m learning to discipline without damaging. To correct without crushing. To guide without guilt-tripping.
Because discipline that works is the one rooted in love, not in fear, not in shame, not in humiliation.
Discipline that works builds bridges, not walls. It draws a child closer, not pushes them away. It creates space for growth, not wounds that they'll carry into adulthood.
And before anyone comes into my comment section with “But the Bible says spare the rod…,” I hear you.
But what if… what if the rod wasn’t just about sticks and spankings?
What if the rod was the truth? Correction? Guidance? Boundaries laid down in love and followed through with consistency?
See, it’s easy to weaponise scripture to justify dysfunction. But what if we took the heart of that wisdom and applied it the way Jesus did, gently, firmly, without ever shaming the people He loved?
I’m not here to tell anyone how to raise their kids. I’m still learning too. Some days I get it right. Other days, I yell. Then I apologise. Then I try again.
But one thing I know for sure: Healing starts with awareness.
And I am aware now.
That the way we were raised isn’t always the way we must raise.
That the yelling I heard growing up isn’t the voice I want my children to remember.
That the rod of love and truth will always go farther than the rod of fear and force.
So, to every mother trying to break the cycle, to speak with gentleness, to discipline with dignity, I see you.
And if no one has told you today: You’re doing the brave work of healing a generation.
Keep going.