I wished my mother would stop me
Once I learned how to talk, I developed a habit of talking back to my mother. It wasn’t that I simply disagreed with her sometimes, even as a small child. No, even when she might have been right, I wanted to defend myself from criticism and suffering and correction by getting back at her with words.
The problem was that she wouldn’t discipline me until I made her mad. I could continue talking back to her without any consequences until I reached that point. Even then, the consequences were only serious enough to convince me to stop doing it temporarily. They didn’t convince me to stop doing it in the future.
Yet I knew it was wrong. I felt terrible talking to my mother like that. But once I got started, I couldn’t stop. If I did, I would have to admit that I was wrong and she was right. Too high a price to pay. I couldn’t stop myself. I was only six years old
But still, I remember wishing, somehow, that she would stop me.
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