‘A stranger on a train told me my son needed a darned good smack’

One cold evening, long before Covid, my son Sam and I were returning home after another long day, running to catch the 16:58. Sam, then aged eight, was stressed, exhausted, hungry and overwhelmed. We were lucky enough to grab a couple of seats before everyone else piled onto the train.

Soon the carriage became a solid mass of bodies pressed up against each other, everyone tired and tetchy and wanting to get home. Sam started kicking one of the passengers standing beside him. I asked him to stop, but he continued. Suddenly I started to feel overwhelmed too. I was in a crowded carriage and it was obvious I could not control my little boy. He was clearly aggressive and dysfunctional and I was unable to stop him. I reprimanded him. I threatened him. I nagged him, and begged him, but his behaviour got worse.

Understandably, the lady who was under attack from Sam was getting increasingly upset, her tuts and huffs getting louder and more hostile until suddenly she announced at full volume: “What your boy needs is discipline – a darned good smack will sort him out.”

I felt hopeless, embarrassed and completely out of control. I didn’t know what to do and then out of nowhere, on this packed London train (where so much as engaging eye contact with other passengers is frowned upon), I heard myself making a speech: “My child is autistic. I need your support, not judgement, as I am dealing with a disabled child.”

I went on: “He is not being a problem, but having a problem. As you can see, I am not coping well, but the last thing in the world I am going to do is to smack my child for having a problem. Will you all please stop judging me and will someone help me to leave the train at the next station.”

The silence was excruciating. Then another passenger spoke out. “Yeah, leave that poor lady alone – she’s doing the best job she can.”

In an instant, the whole carriage descended into a heated argument about how to discipline a child, whether I was doing it right or wrong and whether or not smacking is an effective form of discipline. Sam sat wide-eyed and silent as he observed all the adults around him behave like they were having a playground slanging match.

We got off the train at the next station. I realised we were still miles from home. I sat on a bench on the platform and I wept. Sam was quiet, meek as a lamb, and comforted me as he realised the impact of his own behaviour on others around him. This was my lowest parenting moment.

But it also marked somewhat of a turnaround.

By the age of seven, Sam had been excluded from three schools and was later labelled as having a whole host of conditions, ranging from autistic spectrum disorder (ASD) to pathological demand avoidance (PDA) to severe dyslexia. He had become “the alphabet kid”.

However, despite these low moments, my husband and I never gave up on him.

We tried various strategies, but the one which made the most difference was positive parenting – finding that sweet spot of authoritative parenting, so neither permissive, nor punitive, but discovering a way to be in charge without being overly controlling. Positive, firm and also consistent.

Gradually by giving positive encouragement we built up his confidence and self esteem. By helping him understand that his feelings of difference, anxieties and frustrations were all valid, he became more emotionally intelligent and by giving him new responsibilities and greater independence, he became hugely self reliant.

It turns out that, despite what I believed on that day, Sam was not autistic, but struggled in education and everyday life due to his ADHD and severe dyslexia.

By understanding that all behaviour has a cause, and by accepting he had an intense, sensitive and impulsive temperament, we were then able to parent him differently.

We built up his self worth through descriptive praise, noticing any effort, improvement and attitude, rather than focusing on the end result and we learnt a more positive form of discipline; when he made a mistake, instead of punishment, we were able to deliver a relevant and more meaningful consequence.

I think that low parenting moment on the train made me realise not only that I would never smack my child, but also that I needed to block out the judgement of strangers and find a good solution for my son and my family.

Ten years later, I’m pleased to say that he finished his schooling on a high and is now living a happy and fulfilled life as an entrepreneur and explorer.

Our young Sam was a pebble, covered in mud, but underneath it all, I sensed there was a brilliant, sparkling diamond and our job was to wipe back the mud to find the diamond. I’m so pleased we did.

Elaine Halligan is director of The Parent Practice London and author of My Child's Different (RRP £12.99). Buy now for £10.99 at books.telegraph.co.uk or call 0844 871 1514