Parenthood: It Builds Character

There was a time when I thought I would never have kids.

For about three years in high school and early college, I didn’t have any menstrual cycles—a side effect of anorexia. My eating disorder developed because I wanted to become a model so that I could afford rent in Manhattan and attend NYU as a film student. Previously, I had wanted to be a wife and mother first and foremost. My own mother had stayed home with me and my brothers the whole time we were growing up and I understood the value of that. But when I became enraptured with the art of visual storytelling, my desires were bifurcated. So when I lost my fertility, I took that as a sign that the hard choice had been taken out of my hands and made for me. That didn’t keep me from crying whenever a stranger asked me for supplies in the ladies room, though.

Shortly after that period of barrenness was over, I went on a date with a man who had intrigued me for months. Sitting against a wall in a funky coffee shop, we talked for hours. Our conversation was so delightful and satisfying that I suddenly gave a different answer to the question, “What do you hope to do after college?” I paused, looked at him closely, and said, “I want to be a stay-at-home mom.” He was shocked. So was I.

Now I can see clearly why I said that. The division within me was healed because I had found a person who nourished my intellect and creativity just by talking to me. The bond I felt between us as we sat and sipped coffee was so palpable that I really thought, “This is where babies come from.”

Since the Atlantic piece focuses on the word “selfish,” I will, too. When I was anorexic, I was the most selfish I’ve ever been. I mostly thought about what I was eating and not eating so that I could make it to New York and leave all of my disappointing peers in the dust. I’ve heard it said that anorexia is an incurable disease, mostly because the sufferer will always have to deal with food in life. But I believe I’ve come as close as possible to real recovery thanks to my first pregnancy. For the first time, I saw nourishment as a real responsibility. I had to eat normally in order to take care of my child. I had to deny my compulsion to count calories and scrutinize every bite that passed my lips. I was learning to put another person’s needs before my own.

We shouldn’t say that women who choose not to have children are selfish. Instead, we should acknowledge that most (if not all) people are selfish. It’s just the way we tend to be, until we have someone to care for in a radical way—someone who is not ourselves. The most common means of that kind of transforming activity is parenthood. It is certainly possible to achieve real personal growth through nursing or teaching or other heroic vocations; but I think the difference is the conviction that seizes the mind of a mother holding her infant: “I would die for you.”

And then you do die for that person—every day, in little ways. You sacrifice sleep, quiet, tidiness, mental clarity (“Nursing Brain” is a real thing), and more. But many of those particular inconveniences are temporary, and you get better at handling challenging situations because you have so much practice. You gain new skills. You’re better at prioritizing because rescuing a baby who has flipped himself out of a papasan and is now face-down on the wood floor is more urgent than posting that adorable photo of said baby on Instagram. You should see those little deaths as a cleansing, a sharpening, a building of character. Though I saw it all the time in Calvin and Hobbes, I never really understood that phrase—“it builds character”—until I became a mom.

I love great characters. That’s why I wanted to make movies and why I fell head-over-heels for my husband. It’s why I socialize so often and why I’m a huge fan of Mad Men. I identify with Peggy Olson when she says her highest aspiration is to create something of lasting value. Right now, motherhood is my daily opportunity to do just that. Human souls have inherent value and last forever. As I struggle to cultivate the unique characters of my sons, I know that they are doing the same for me. And whatever else I create in my spare time—measured in hours now while they’re young but in years later, after they’ve grown up—may be better for it.