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Discussion Am I wrong for doing this as a kid?

Lazyandtalentless

Lazyandtalentless

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When I was maybe 6 years old, I lived in a group home that was like an orphanage. One day, I said something to a worker. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I remember what happened next. The worker slapped me hard across the face.

The slap was loud, and it stung. My cheek burned, and my eyes immediately filled with tears. I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t stop. The tears came anyway.

Instead of showing any care, the worker started shaming me for crying. She called me a crybaby and told me to "stop acting like a baby." The other kids were there, watching. I felt humiliated. Some of them looked away because they knew what it was like, but others laughed a little, probably just glad it wasn’t happening to them.

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to say something back, but I was scared she would hit me again. So I just sat there, trying to stop the tears, pretending like it didn’t hurt. This is one of my first memories.
 
How would we know if you're wrong if we don't know what you said?
 
Don't worry about shit you did as a kid.

Repent about it and move on.
 
When I was maybe 6 years old, I lived in a group home that was like an orphanage. One day, I said something to a worker. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I remember what happened next. The worker slapped me hard across the face.
There's pretty much no good reason to slap a 6 year old orphan, especially if you're a child care professional.
If it were me? I'd wonder how tough that worker is against an adult. But that's just me.
 
the only man she and all other women can defeat is the one who is 6 years old
 
Most happy incel memory
 
When I was maybe 6 years old, I lived in a group home that was like an orphanage. One day, I said something to a worker. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I remember what happened next. The worker slapped me hard across the face.

The slap was loud, and it stung. My cheek burned, and my eyes immediately filled with tears. I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t stop. The tears came anyway.

Instead of showing any care, the worker started shaming me for crying. She called me a crybaby and told me to "stop acting like a baby." The other kids were there, watching. I felt humiliated. Some of them looked away because they knew what it was like, but others laughed a little, probably just glad it wasn’t happening to them.

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to say something back, but I was scared she would hit me again. So I just sat there, trying to stop the tears, pretending like it didn’t hurt. This is one of my first memories.
Yes
 

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