Tough Love or Trauma? The Way We Were Raised

Amara

Alright, hello, and welcome back to another episode of Respectfully... Nah. I’m Amara, and over in Brooklyn we’ve got the incomparable Mina. Mina, you ready to get a lil’ spicy with this one?

Mina

You already know. Today’s topic? Oh, it’s deep. “Spare the rod, spoil the child” — that old-school saying that just refuses to die. When did discipline stop being love and start turning into low-key trauma?

Amara

Honestly, every time I hear “spare the rod,” I’m like... who came up with this, and did anyone question them? Because it’s not just in British culture — you see this saying everywhere. My dad would say something similar in Portuguese, and my nan always had a look ready that did most of the talking anyway.

Mina

Girl, in my house? It was the belt. My grandma’s belt had its own... reputation, you feel me? I think there were legends about it. It was both the threat and the punchline. If you acted up, she’d just hold it up and—no words needed.

Amara

Was it even about the belt, or just the fear behind it? That’s the part I struggle with. Like, did the fear really make you 'RESPECT' her, or just make you stay quiet?

Mina

I mean, honestly, sometimes I was stone silent out of respect, sure. But mostly? It was survival mode. Like, let me just not get hit today. The whole world saw that with Adrian Peterson back in 2014, right? Dude’s a whole NFL star, and when he got caught up with the switch—people were divided. Some said that’s just how Black families discipline; others called it abuse, full stop.

Amara

And suddenly it’s—oh, is this culture, is it backward, is it something we just inherited? I mean, parents tell themselves “I turned out fine,” but sometimes, I’m like... did we, though? Like, are we okay?

Mina

Honestly, sometimes I think the folklore around discipline was scarier than the punishment itself. Like the stories about that belt? They traveled. Whole school yards talking about it. So was that respect or just plain-old fear in a vintage outfit? I’m not sure.

Amara

You know what gets me? The way the line between discipline and abuse moves depending on who you ask. The law’s changed so much, especially in the UK. Growing up, I knew people who got smacked and nobody blinked. Now, you smack a child in public—it’s social services within minutes.

Mina

Yeah, the legal stuff keeps shifting here, too. Like, even among parents—some still defend smacking as like, this act of love. They say, “If I didn’t smack you, you’d be wild.” But where do you draw the line? There’s emotional stuff too. Not everything leaves a bruise. Sometimes it’s the words that hurt the most.

Amara

That’s so real. My mum—she wasn’t big on hitting. But she could go on these, like, epic lectures. I mean, marathon sessions where your spirit just... withered. She’d hit you with disappointment—'so heavy'—you felt it for days. Made you reconsider your whole life decisions at ten years old.

Mina

See, I always wondered: are those lectures really “gentler,” or does that just cut a different way? Some people would rather take a quick whoopin’ over an hour-long sermon. Sometimes, what gets called “making you strong” just messes with your head for good.

Amara

And families get creative with excuses, don’t they? “It’s just tough love, it builds character,” or “That’s how my parents did it, so it must be fine.” But legally? There’s this big push now on children’s rights and protection. Psychology backs it up too—chronic stress from harsh discipline, even the non-physical kind, does real damage. But at home, those lines are so blurry. Who’s actually the judge?

Mina

That’s why it gets messy. If I say something felt like abuse and my grandma calls it love—who gets to be right? Nobody gives you a handbook, and every generation tries to reinvent the rules. Sometimes it just makes more confusion, y’know?

Mina

I feel like, at some point, culture becomes the reason and the excuse. Caribbean families love to drop, “Who don’t hear—must feel.” Translation: if you don’t listen, you’ll get disciplined. But that doesn’t make it less harsh for a little kid, you know?

Amara

Oh, absolutely. In Angolan circles, it’s the same—stories about how discipline saves you from the real world. Or that if you question the method, you’re disrespecting your elders. Even here in the UK, there’s this old-school British “stiff upper lip” thing—don’t make a fuss, just get on with it.

Mina

My grandma was big on keeping family business private, too. No talking out of turn, even if you were hurt. It’s wild how much that shapes you. Some of these sayings, proverbs—they sound poetic, but the impact? Kinda heavy.

Amara

And yet, removing all of it feels like you’re cutting off a piece of who you are, right? Like those traditions are tangled up with pride, identity, and love—even as they sometimes do harm. I can’t always tell if letting go means healing, or if it means losing connection to where we come from.

Mina

That’s the real debate, isn’t it? Are we protecting our culture or just wrapping trauma up in batik and calling it “heritage”? I don’t know. I see the value, but I also see the harm. Maybe the answer’s not so cut-and-dry.

Amara

It can’t be. I think the best we can do is ask questions—like this—about what we want to carry forward and what needs to, you know, finally get retired. Two things can be true: our parents did what they knew, and we can want better now. And that’s, like, actually fine.

Mina

If nothing else, I hope our kids have new proverbs. Soft ones. Ones that don’t need a belt story behind them.

Amara

Amen to that. This convo could go on forever, but let’s leave it here and pick up next time. Mina, as always—thank you for being real with me.

Mina

Always, Amara. Y’all listening, take care of yourselves—and question those so-called “old ways.” Catch you next episode!

Amara

Bye everyone! Don’t forget to subscribe—Respectfully… Nah—is just getting started. See you soon!