Is yelling at your kids child abuse? Source: Supplied

But yesterday I got a hand-addressed envelope that clearly screamed invitation. I tore it open with much anticipation.

Inside, a brochure to a free lecture called Proactive Parenting — Positive Ways of Disciplining Your Child, with a Post-it note attached from a friend. “Thought this might interest you. I went. It was brilliant!” By brilliant, does she mean they serve French champagne and will wash my car for free?

Wishing I’d never opened the letter (see, pointy and judgmental) I put the date in my calendar. We’re not perfect parents, but we think we do OK.

I mean, we’re by no means the worst you see in a shopping centre on Christmas Eve. But I’m ashamed to admit, when we’re tired or running late or overworked or impatient or had a bad day or just can’t stand saying the same thing 16 times before we’re heard — we yell at our daughter.

I always feel like I’ve failed when I do. I hate myself and wonder am I inflicting permanent damage on my kid? Is it child abuse? Suddenly, in an undisciplined moment, we become the worst parents since Michael Jackson hung Blanket over that balcony.

Jo Stanley admits she has occasionally been known to yell at her daughter. Source: News Limited

I grew up in a house full of women. We were and are loud. We’re not communicating unless we’ve reached 100 decibels and there’s at least two people speaking at once. So expressing myself can often lean towards raising my voice. I wouldn’t say I yell. I’d say I share my opinion in a very clear and projecting manner. But I know there’s a big difference between the sort of harmless shouting that has people stare at you in the street like you’re a bit tipsy, and the shouting at your kids because you can’t stand the whingeing any more.

No doubt raising your voice to your children isn’t ideal. We’d all love to be calm negotiators guiding our cherubs through the lessons of life like Mary Poppins. But I don’t have a carpetbag of magic. I have six minutes to get my kid to school, and she’s still standing in the lounge room singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow in her undies. It feels like, after half an hour of repeated polite requests and negotiation that belongs in the Middle East, yelling is the only thing that is going to get her dressed and out the door.

It’s so conflicting though. If shouting is verbal abuse, it must be as damaging as any other physical mistreatment, which utterly horrifies me. But on the flip side, what kind of fragile little creature am I raising if she gets out into the big wide world, and no one’s ever raised their voice at her? She wouldn’t make it through a spin class without an emotional breakdown. People yell in life, and she needs to be resilient to that, knowing that it’s not a reflection of their feelings for her, or her own self-worth.

I don’t know what the answer is, but I do know some things. I know that every parent yells at some point because we’re human and tired and our house is a pigsty and now we have to put the dinner on. I know that as long as our message isn’t nasty or name-calling or threatening or belittling, then throwing out a “STOP STRANGLING THE CAT, SHE DOESN’T LIKE IT” isn’t the worst thing to subject your kid to.

And I know that a calm and humble apology, without blame, is also a really valuable life lesson — for both you and your child. If you’re lucky, she might even lift her head from the iPad to register it.