Is all this focus on physical abuse missing the point?
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In the wake of the Adrian Peterson child abuse allegations, a number of individuals on social media proclaimed that although they experienced whippings as children, they “turned out just fine.” As the survivor of 12 years of corporal punishment, it took me years to realize that I was not “just fine.” In fact, I didn’t completely understand the depth of the scars until I had children and found myself hitting my 4 year old son.
I have researched and experienced how violence against boys wrings empathy out of them and traps them in an “emotional funnel” that leads to anger and aggression. It didn’t surprise me one bit that Adrian Peterson refused to use an extension cord on his son because he had been beaten with an extension cord as a child and he knew how painful it was.
But I’d like to shift perspectives because with all the focus on physical abuse, something more sinister is festering unseen. Let me summarize it this way: there are a lot of men and women who were never physically abused as children who are NOT ok right now. This tells me that something lies beyond corporal punishment.
Except for a few minor physical problems, most of the wounds from the physical abuse I experienced as a child have healed. The pain of a beating didn’t usually last more than a few days. What haunts me to this day, however, is the emotional trauma I experienced.
I remember after an excessive thrashing when I was 13, I put a switch blade to my wrist. I just wanted the suffering to stop. I felt like such a failure, not just because I was frequently disciplined, but also because I screamed like “a little girl” when I got the whippings.
Looking down at my quivering flesh, I knew that if I shoved this rusty jagged knife into my wrists it would tear up my veins and end my life, but I didn’t “have the balls” to do it. Having been raised on a steady diet of samurai films, I worshiped the honorable ronin who committed hara-kiri or seppuku—ritual suicide, yet I was the cowardly poser who buckled in the face of death.
I started to sob as I thought about how I wasn’t even “man enough” to end my own life. Curled in the fetal position, my whole body shook with each moan as tears gushed down my face. It actually felt good to embrace my misery.
Suddenly, my step-father pounded my bedroom wall. “Shut up, before I come in there and give you something to really cry about,” he screamed.
In hindsight, I understand how the shock and volume of my step-father’s demand sent me into fight-flight-freeze mode. My amygdala fired and flooded my body with adrenaline and cortisol. I gripped my fist, stifled my tears, and vowed to never let anyone hurt my like this again. This was the beginning of my journey to heartlessness.
For me the physical abuse had very little to do with how empathy and compassion were wrung out of me. The beatings hurt, but what scarred me most was not having someone put an arm around me after the beatings and explain to me why I was hit or how I was still loved.
In contrast, my Hawaiian grandfather once slapped me around when I gave him too much attitude as a teenager, but after a few minutes he returned and sat down next to me on my bed. “Hey, Makala (my Hawaiian name), sorry I had to do dat, but you bettah learn how to cool your jets, udda wise, you goin’ wreck yourself,” he explained in pidgin English. I felt like I had been taught a lesson—be it a painful one—and I actually felt love and gratitude for my grandfather in that moment.
As parents, we all make mistakes. We might yell things at our children that we wouldn’t say to our worst enemies. We might even spank them out of desperation. I don’t believe that these events scar our children for life, especially if we use these mis-takes as opportunities to apology, re-connect, and empathize with our children. We might even unknowingly teach them lessons about forgiveness and unconditional love because of these slipups.
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You might be surprised to hear that the Dalai Lama once said in a conversation with Paul Ekman that if he saw someone with a gun by a school yard preparing to shoot the children, he would pick up the biggest rock he could find and smash it over the head of the shooter. The Dalai Lama explained that his actions would come from compassion–compassion for the children and teachers at the school, but also compassion for the shooter who would suffer lifetimes of bad karma if he were allowed to shoot the children.
Stopping all forms of corporal punishment might solve some problems, but the deeper issue is how can we cultivate compassion in ourselves and our children to make the world a more peaceful and safe place. On the flip side, I don’t think I would have been able to stop physically abusing my son if I had not found compassion for myself, my step-father, and my children.
I repeat this Dalai Lama quotation a lot, but it always seems to fit: “If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.”
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Photo–Enrique Saldivar/Flickr