My mother's second husband (not my father), was an abusive bastard, who believed in over-the-top, often violent, punishment. His response to my 15-year-old self, saying I wished we'd had a dishwasher because I hated washing dishes, was to throw me against a wall and try to strangle me. She was a victim of his violence as well. She was also damaged from her own upbringing, and violent in her own way.
I learned at a young age that not all people are meant to be parents. Nor should they be.

My siblings and I lived almost like those 13 kids that they recently found tied up and emaciated. We got picked on at school, because of our weirdness. Then we'd come back home to the continuing nightmare. My parents had no affection, no bond, no communication with me. I have no idea what it's like to have actual parents. They're dead now, but I wish they had lived long enough to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

I had the 'no' mom...she said yes so rarely it would surprise me when she did...and generally only when she was distracted by other people...my dad was a lazy bones...literally...he died 3 months before I was born, so he was chill....see what I did there?...hehe

Very strict mother. So strict I never invited anyone to play at my home because I never knew what might set her off. As a result I became very independent and self suffient. While growing up I repaired my own clothes on the sewing machine,ironed my own clothes and of course washed them. All this was very helpful in the Marines where it seemed no one could do anything. I made more money per month helping these guys out than I got in pay. It made for a very nice engagement ring for my wife.

They were strict about boundaries, and the boundaries were fairly wide. I had great latitude to try pretty much anything I wanted to do. Early on they had let me figure out that crossing the boundaries was usually humiliating and uncomfortable. I got wet, got cold, hurt myself, lost friends, lost a treasured item, or was laughed at. So I chose not to drink or do drugs, not to embarrass others, destroy property, or incite trouble. I still live with those boundaries.,

My Mother was controlling and abusive and I have forgiven her as I can not live with bitterness that eats away at you..I wish my Father was a stronger person but he wasn't he also was controlled by her. I bought my kids up differently I learnt early on that what my Mother did was very wrong, I feel proud that I did not turn out the same way.

I think my parents started out being strict but, as each successive child becoming a teenager they seemed to become more lax. At the time I thought the 6 of us just wore them down but, as I got older I realized that what was really happening is that they trusted us and themselves for raising us to be decent people.

Mom was mellow, dad was the enforcer.

My father was a WWII veteran who seemed to think his family could be a disciplined military squad. My mother was in denial as to how bad it was, she didn't invite a social worker to our house who wanted to see first hand the family dynamics. She had to admit after her husband's death (yes, I'm in denial about him being my father) that is was a relief that he had passed away.

Mine were strict but not militantly so. My father was the one with an iron fist and discipline that I see now as abusive.

As a parent, myself, I see how those boundaries made a difference in my life and I am glad that my parents cared enough to enforce them.

My Mom wasn't very strict with me. Looking back I guess I could have used more structure as a kid because then I wouldn't be having to work on it as an adult. I wasted my freedom which kind of sucks but at least I've been learning a lot about having freedom in the past few years

My mother was really strict in ways that were just stupid, I didn't get kids books. We could only have "literature" at home. She was very strict about the toys we could have. Basically if it was the huge popular toy I didn't get it. She was very restrictive about what I could wear and how old I had to be before I could wear make up. And while you might think some of this would be a good thing, the lack of common toys and the odd dress made me a target. I never could get her to understand that you don't have to be one of the popular kids but at least fitting in makes school a ton easier.

my father was the choleric, abusive chieftain of the family, with my mother the subservient & prudish mouse. sorry if it sounds harsh, but you asked.

Both my parents were extremely abusive.

My dad was a 20 year Navy man and the disciplinarian and there were a few times that I was spanked in such a fashion that today would probably be considered child abuse but it taught me to have a healthy respect for authority and a bit of a non-violent streak in me so generally, I turned out okay.

But as a growing teen, I was given a lot of autonomy to go wondering about as long as I was home for dinner. It was suburbia in the early 70s and there was plenty to explore.

My dad was on call for work, so perpetually exhausted. My mother was at home with six monsters, so was completely exhausted. They were very strict about us getting outside and playing in the woods.

Too relax and drunk. I did learn self reliance and how to think creatively. Then came back and retrained them to be better people

They were better parents the second half of my life.

Mom was the brains. Dad was the muscle. Together they were an unstoppable force that would have me home by 9 pm on a school night.

Well, not quite sure. I mean, they always forced me to go to church, and while they not quite forced me to make my first communion and confirmation, they gave me social pressure to do so. They always talked about "respect" whenever I defied their authority, so in the end, maybe they were either strict, or power obsessed, don't know, really

My parents didn't let me get away with just anything, but they were fairly relaxed and loving. In high scool, I had to go to bed around 11:00 p.m., but they didn't have any weird rules or requirements for my behavior. They set some boundaries, but still gave me a fair amount of freedom. But I was well-behaved to the point of being too good, I guess, so they never had to punish me. I was always afraid of getting in trouble and very reserved.

My father would scrutinize every motion I made at the table to make sure I kept abiding by each of his long list of table manners, and there was severe punishment for any infraction - even if I couldn't help it. I can't possibly guess how many times I got my elbow thumped when I'd grown just tall enough that my elbow would accidentally brush or bump on the armrest of the dining room chair.I had to put up with that most of the time I was growing up, until one night as a teenager, my mother distracted me from what I was doing by grilling me about something, that I accidentally took three bites of vegetables in a row (the rule was only one or two bites of each type of food before moving on to the next, and measure the bites in such a way that even with the last bites on my plate, everything would be finishedd at about the same time, so that only one or two bites of each kind of food remained at the last round around the plate - and no, I didn't get to serve myself, so I had to work with whatever portions were provided). My punishment for 3 bites in a row was that he stuck his fingernail into the back of my throat until I was counging up blood. At least my mother said I didn't have to eat with him anymore after that.

There were innumerable rules, and often I would only find out about them when I broke one. She wasn't an angel either, and once broke my right ankle for calling her "ma'am." She said it made her sound old. My father was always "sir" and when we moved to the south, I heard the word ma'am a lot, and understood it as a term of respect, and had never been told differently, so the next time I felt the need to show extra deference to her, I said "Yes ma'am." I didn't find out that my ankle was actually broken though until I was 18 and the bone chip shifted after a jump, causing me to not be able to walk on it awhile. They did an x-ray, told me that it had been broken years before, and that it should have been operated on back then, but at that point other bones had grown around it, so it was too late to operate, and eventually I'd have problems with my knee, hip, and back because of it. They also firmly told me that they were sure that I didn't remember how it happened. I did remember the incident, and remembered that for two weeks after, my father gave me spankings for limping in front of my mother because it made her feel guilty. I told the doctor that actually I did remember, and he slightly angrily and insistently said "No, you don't."

I had to make sure that the Venetian blinds were at a 15 degree angle during the day. I could not visit a friend on any night or evening before school the next day. If there wasn't school the next day, I could visit the friend if there was going to be a parent there (even when I was a teenager), my mother had met the friend and at least one of the friend's parents, and there was sufficient notice before the visit. How long "sufficient" was varied, sometimes hardly any time as a little kid so long as my parents didn't have to drive me anywhere, but as I got older, it would usually be at least a week, though one birthday party the entire class was going to and talking aboout, I was not allowed to attend because my mother said there had to be over 2 week's notice, and the invitations didn't get sent out that soon. When putting away the utensils in the dishwasher, there were specific sections of the utensil tray that each type of silverware had to go in. I forget now which way it went, but one day my father decided either that the butter knives went in the upper left hand corner rather than the upper right, or if it was the other way around, but I found out about it around 5 a.m. when I was being dragged out of bed by the scruff of my neck, dragged across the house, and shown with my face inches above the tray where the knives were supposed to go. I could go on, but you get the idea.

Dad was completely passive, almost never having anything to do with disciplining us. Mom was THE law in the household. She was semi strict at best. We had an insane amount of freedom, but such was typical of most house holds back in the 1970s.

The neat thing was that we were a VERY conversant family. We talked through everything and anything. We keep the communication channels wide open to this day. My children and I do likewise.

My parents weren't strict, but very judgemental. So I got a lot of mixed messages: you can do whatever you want, but second-guess everything. Didn't instill a whole lot of confidence.

My mother would burn my thumb on the stove to try to get me to stop sucking my thumb. So, yeah.

My mom didn't have time to discipline me. She was a single parent putting herself through college & then working full time. When I was very young our neighbor would watch me & a bunch of other neighborhood kids. We'd just run up & down the block all day. We moved during the summer between 2nd & 3rd grade & I can't remember having a babysitter after that. From 3rd grade on I'd walk home from school, let myself in, eat something, ride my bike around the neighborhood or play in the woods. Then when I got older I'd have friends over & we'd smoke pot in the garage.
I did get in a lot of trouble during my late teens/early 20s. But I think that was inevitable for me no matter how my mom disciplined me.