Transgressions, confessions, and blogs

So, I need to confess.
In doing so I may lose some of you readers and writers (whom I admire for your talent and always appreciate your responses) who regularly visit my blog. But I ask,
What is a blog if not a chance to express feelings, even if others may not agree?
What is a blog if not a record of actions and reactions in one's life?
What is a blog if not a true picture of the real person within, who may not always be the kindest, sweetest, and make the best decisions?
Yes, this particular entry in my WebBlog journal is for me. A chance to feel vulnerable, to expose parts of myself so that they may be healed. For me to reflect upon later as a reminder of how certain human emotions can trigger reactions inside and actions outside that can surprise and horrify.
Because I made a decidedly inappropriate decision today that I wish to never repeat.

I do know that I could just keep this information to myself, and none of you would be the wiser. But I would know. Oh, I would know. If there is one thing I am trying to accomplish with my Blog besides improving my writing abilities, it is the chance to recognize within myself my own patterns of behavior by rereading my posts as time goes by, and addressing these patterns in an effort to eradicate any inappropriate responses I may be exhibiting. I also wish to present an accurate picture of myself and my little life over here in the Carolinas, as interesting or rather, uninteresting as it may be.

I am not a perfect Momma, have never proclaimed to be, would never want to be, but today I feel like one of those moms. The mothers I have always held in lower regard than I, the ones that hurt their children. A phrase from my childhood days in the Church echoes through my head with resounding realization 'Judge and ye shall be judged'. I have judged and now it is my turn.
This morning, after trying to break up yet another fight between my two boys, I hit my eldest son in a fit of rage and frustration. Immediately I recoiled in frightful realization of what just happened. I taught him a lesson alright, with my hands instead of my words or proper discipline. A lesson he will likely never forget.
In some frantic effort to save face or explain myself, let me say that I have always subscribed to the idea that hitting or spanking never teaches anything in the long run except violent tendencies. And beleive me when I say that as for discipline techniques and tactics, I have tried all of the alternatives to spanking--some of which work, most of which do not.

But alas, as if the physicality was not yet enough, I also committed another atrocity in these frightful moments that I had promised mylsef that I would never do. In this heated moment, I compared my son to his father (for those of you who aren't aware, my children's father is a deadbeat who has been out of the picture for years now). I could see the pain rush across his face.
What have I done? In this moment, I have never felt lower as a mother. More humiliated. More lost.
I caused my son physical pain as well as emotional pain, but it is the latter that most concerns me, makes me weep, for those scars run deeper and heal so very slowly.

I have apologized profusly to my little boy, of course promised that such an exchange will never take place again, and we cried together. Of course he says, "it is ok Mom". The pure innocence of children never ceases to amaze me. They are supreme beings in that when they say it is ok, they actually mean it. But I know better. It is not ok.
Indeed, it is not.
Forgive me, my son.