Discipline isn’t about control—it’s about connection. It’s about laying down roots so our children can grow with confidence, direction, and peace. In our home, discipline is deeply shaped by the belief that every correction should also reflect our love and respect for the child in front of us.
Before I was a mom, I was a teacher, a dog trainer, and a wildlife rehabilitator. In all of those roles, I learned something invaluable: behavior is communication. Correction isn’t about shame or punishment—it’s about clarity, calm, and consistency. And that became the foundation of how we approach discipline in our family.
I’ve always believed that discipline must match the level of intensity in a situation—but never with aggression. When Lucy is heated, I meet her with firmness, not fury. When she’s testing the limits, I answer with unwavering clarity, not confusion. There’s a power in assertiveness when it’s anchored in love.
We have a saying in our home: We separate the emotion from the correction. That means we don’t punish in the heat of the moment or unload our adult stress into their little hearts. Instead, we speak truth plainly, we name the behavior without labeling the child, and we follow up with connection. This is how a child learns to feel both safe and guided.
The Bible verse that anchors this whole approach is one I treasure:
“No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.” —Hebrews 12:11
That verse reminds me that even when discipline feels uncomfortable—for both of us—it is producing something good and lasting. Righteousness. Peace. The kind of character that grows roots deep enough to withstand storms.
When I see Lucy stumble, make mistakes, or push boundaries, I remind myself that this is the moment of growth. This is not when we throw in the towel. This is when we breathe deeply and lead her forward. One calm correction at a time.
And perhaps the most important thing of all? Lucy knows she is loved in our discipline. Not after it. Not only when it’s over. But in it.
Raising Light 