Ruthie Ackerman on choosing motherhood after “Hell No,” the fertility wealth gap, and writing her own mother code
Ruthie Ackerman spent most of her life convinced she would never—and could never—become a mother. Between a family history she believed was defined by women who abandoned their children and a culture that seemed to offer only two models of motherhood—selfless domestic saint or cautionary tale—she couldn’t see a version of the story that included her. Then she started digging into her own family’s past, unraveling the myths she’d built her identity around, and everything changed. What followed was a winding path through egg freezing, IVF, donor eggs, divorce, remarriage, and a complete rethinking of what it means to be a mom.
In her memoir The Mother Code, Ackerman traces that journey from “hell no” to the messy, joyful reality of raising her five-year-old daughter, Clementine—and makes the case that every one of us gets to write our own motherhood story. In a candid conversation on The Motherly Podcast, she opens up about the fertility wealth gap, the surprising liberation she found in motherhood, and why curiosity is her parenting superpower.
Meet the expert: Ruthie Ackerman is a writer, memoirist, and book coach. Her debut memoir, The Mother Code, explores her journey from ambivalence to motherhood through the lens of family mythology, fertility, and the cultural narratives that shape how women think about becoming mothers. Ackerman studied feminism and women’s studies in college and has spent years researching the intersection of motherhood, identity, and creativity. She now works with clients who are writing their own books and stepping into their creative lives. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband Rob and their daughter, Clementine.
Liz Tenety: You thought about and wrestled with becoming a mom for so many years. Was there anything surprising about motherhood once you finally did become one?
Ruthie Ackerman: There were many things, but the thing that’s coming to mind is how joyful it was. I don’t want to say easy, because that’s not exactly the right word, but I spent so long worrying that I wouldn’t be able to bond with my child and she ultimately wouldn’t be able to bond with me. That’s because I didn’t have a lot of good role models for motherhood. And also because we ultimately ended up using donor eggs to have our child. So I thought, I don’t share DNA with my child, so we’re going to have all this trouble attaching. Once my daughter Clementine was born and I began taking care of her and doing all the things you do as a new mom, over time that bond grew and it felt very natural and seamless in a way. It was something I almost couldn’t help but feel.
Liz Tenety: For those who haven’t read the book, what do you want them to know about the vision of mothers in your family, and the ones you absorbed through our culture?
Ruthie Ackerman: I opened the book with the line, “I come from a long line of women who abandon their children.” I had always grown up with this image that my great-grandmother, my grandmother, and even my mother had all abandoned their kids. I thought there was some sort of flaw in my DNA that would make me abandon my child if I was to have one. And then I compared that to the images I saw on TV and in media—the sort of Brady Bunch mom, what we’d now call the tradwife mom. I thought, I don’t want to be that kind of selfless, saccharin type of mom, but I also don’t want to be the type of mom that would abandon my child. And there didn’t seem to be anything in between. So I just figured I wouldn’t have a kid because I didn’t have a model for that.
Liz Tenety: This idea that women can’t be great at their craft because of motherhood—that we give up something essential in our work. Can you talk about that and the ambivalence you had as you were wavering with these parts of your identity?
Ruthie Ackerman: We’re shown these images as women that we have to choose between being self-actualized humans, being able to follow our dreams, or becoming moms. It’s an either-or, not a both-and. I’m a writer, so a lot of the artists and writers I had admired my whole life—the Anne Sextons and the Sylvia Plaths—when they did become mothers, things didn’t end well for them. Or there were the women who gave up their craft. There weren’t a lot of models that showed this idea of following your dreams and becoming a mom. Later, through my research, I found this whole other group of women—the Toni Morrisons and the Barbara Ehrenreichs—who were dubbed revolutionary mothers or outlaw mothers. And I thought, oh my God, why hadn’t I known about these models my whole life? Why aren’t these the models we’re shown as young women? I was someone who studied feminism and women’s studies in college, and I didn’t know about these models.
Liz Tenety: The unfinished work of feminism and motherhood has come up quite a bit on this podcast. What comes up for you when you hear that?
Ruthie Ackerman: I recently saw the play Liberation on Broadway. There’s another play called Suffs that I saw last year. They’re both about the unfinished work of feminism. What we’re seeing now in our larger society is really a backlash for all the progress we’ve made. We still don’t have the Equal Rights Amendment. We’ve gone backwards in terms of Roe. I don’t have all the answers—this isn’t my sweet spot—but I know healthcare for women, maternity leave, there’s a lot of places where we need to do better. And I think we’re so divided in this country that we don’t even have time to think about what the next wave of feminism should look like.
Liz Tenety: Tell our listeners about your journey to motherhood.
Ruthie Ackerman: For most of my life, I was in the “hell no” camp. I also have a half-brother who has a triple whammy of rare genetic disorders, and I felt like I had no way of knowing whether that was something I would pass on. In my early 30s, I married someone who absolutely did not want a child under any circumstances. Then I started researching for this book and talking to people in my family. One of the myths I unraveled was that my great-grandmother had been married 25 times—which is insane. I found out she was actually married 14 times, which is still pretty insane. But my point is that in doing this research, I figured out that my great-grandmother and grandmother didn’t abandon their kids, or at least not in the way I define abandonment. That was a pivot point. If the myths were based on lies, then maybe I could become a mom. And once I realized that, my marriage to the man who didn’t want kids didn’t really make sense anymore.
Liz Tenety: Once you realized you had this desire, how did you move through the decision to take ownership of that?
Ruthie Ackerman: At the time I told myself, OK, I want the option to have a child. But what was that going to look like? Was I going to have a child on my own? This was 10 years ago—now I have so many friends doing that, plus all these communities on social media. But at the time, I felt so alone. And then: if I want to have a child with a partner, how do I find that partner quickly? I was 38 when I got separated. Eventually I met my now-husband, Rob. But things weren’t easy when I met him either—we were both recently out of marriages, I was on this very fast track timeline, he probably wanted a kid but wasn’t sure and was in no rush.
Liz Tenety: You write beautifully about looking across the street at the metaphorical version of yourself who didn’t have a child. Can you talk about that?
Ruthie Ackerman: I was talking to someone at a party and she asked if I thought I made the right decision to have a kid. I said that sometimes I see the other me across the street—the metaphorical me, the one who didn’t have a child. I try to squint my eyes and look at her and say, what’s her life like? And I think she probably has had a really good life. And I also have a really good life. I try to look at it from a place of abundance—that both choices were great choices. That’s a privilege. Not everyone has that. But neither is right or wrong, because I think as women we’re told we have to be really careful not to make the wrong choice.
Liz Tenety: Let’s talk about egg freezing. What was your experience, and what’s your perspective on the industry?
Ruthie Ackerman: I decided to freeze my eggs in 2013, when it was still very new—the first year it was no longer considered experimental. I didn’t understand how low the probability was that my eggs would actually work. We have this cultural message that if you freeze your eggs, they’re an insurance policy, you can take your time. I was swept up in this idea that I could have a family on my own timeline. With my 14 frozen eggs, an online calculator said I had an 80% chance. Being a normal person who does not understand statistics at all, I thought, 80%—that sounds pretty good. But I was in the 20%. By the time I learned those eggs weren’t viable, I was already 41. I was absolutely crushed.
Liz Tenety: You talk about what you call the “fertility wealth gap.” What does that mean?
Ruthie Ackerman: Once my eggs weren’t viable, I started thinking about how unfair it is that the cost of egg freezing—emotional and financial—falls on the shoulders of young women. Unless your employer or insurance pays for it, you’re on your own for $10,000 to $15,000. And we know young women start off getting paid less than young men. They don’t ask for raises as often. They don’t save for retirement as much. Now we’re expecting this huge financial burden to fall on them. What made me even angrier is that the research shows when parents have children later in life, those children tend to do better. Those parents are more educated, have more money, have more time. And most of those women are having children with men. So why is this falling on women? How are we going to fix this so it feels more fair, since men are benefiting from having children later too?
Liz Tenety: How did you navigate the different timelines with Rob—you being ready now, him not being in a rush?
Ruthie Ackerman: It was extremely difficult. By the time I met Rob, I was 39. I’d been in a marriage where I contorted and pretzeled myself to the point that I was willing to give up having children to make it work. So when I met Rob, I told myself I have to do everything the opposite. I was almost reactive, which pushed him away in the beginning. But I also remember thinking, if I push him and he walks away, I’m back to square one at 40. I felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. I had to figure out how to have this conversation very gently, even though I didn’t feel gentle. I didn’t want to make one of the most important decisions you’re going to make—whether and who to have a child with—under some sort of ultimatum.
Liz Tenety: Can you talk about the decision to use donor eggs, and what that taught you about what a mother really is?
Ruthie Ackerman: After the frozen eggs didn’t work, we tried two rounds of IVF with my own eggs. Neither worked. These were $25,000 a round with no insurance coverage. Our doctor said we could try one more round with my eggs at less than a 10% chance, or use donor eggs at 65%. We decided to go with donor eggs. That set off a whole other set of dominoes—how do you choose the young woman whose DNA is going to make up half of your child’s building blocks? Rob and I had different ideas of what that should look like. It opened up this whole can of worms about what’s important when it comes to becoming a mother and how much DNA really matters when it comes to love.
Liz Tenety: Now that Clementine is here, how has the donor egg piece shaped your experience of motherhood?
Ruthie Ackerman: She’s five now, sassy as hell, and in kindergarten. Now I feel like her coming from a donor egg almost never crosses my mind. She’s very aware of her story—what she understands is that a nice lady gave us eggs so she could be born, and a doctor and all these people came together because everyone wanted her to be here. But when she was first born, every little thing felt like a clue. She was laughing when Rob tickled her and I thought, she can tell she’s from his DNA. I worried people at the playground would see she didn’t look like me. Now, more often than not, people say, “Oh my God, she’s your mini me.” And it doesn’t bother me either way.
Liz Tenety: You write about “outlaw motherhood” and the idea that motherhood can be a radical act. Can you talk about that?
Ruthie Ackerman: Chapter 10 became my favorite chapter and a real turning point. I started reading the anthology Revolutionary Mothering, and the idea was: can motherhood be a radical act in a society that tells us moms and mothering are weak and degrading? Motherhood can be a radical act? No one ever told me that before. Toni Morrison wrote about how nothing she ever wrote was written without a child’s screams and cries running through it. Barbara Ehrenreich took her children with her to protests and wrote while they were at school. Suddenly the models I’d been looking at veered in a new direction. The Mother Code came to mean for me the fact that all of us get to choose our own narratives for motherhood, whether or not we’re even mothers. We live in a world of binaries—tradwife and childless cat ladies. But there are as many mother code stories as there are humans.
It feels like motherhood helped liberate you from some ideas you had of who you were supposed to be. What does that mean to you?
Ruthie Ackerman: It really did. I’m still nodding my head because I still can’t believe it. Motherhood liberated me from the idea that my family of origin would determine the way I mothered, that what we inherit is what we pass on. I know now that’s absolutely not the case. We have agency. We can take control of our own stories. Motherhood has also been extremely healing for me. My daughter and I love each other unconditionally, and it doesn’t matter what I look like or what I do for a living. It’s been very healing to see myself outside of the patriarchal gaze and see myself through her eyes.
Liz Tenety: What do you want listeners to know who are in the midst of some big struggle in motherhood? What does it take to feel that sense of ownership and freedom?
Ruthie Ackerman: It really comes down to each individual person. I don’t want to come across as saying every day is hunky-dory. One of the things I’ve grappled with is whether or not to have another child. Rob and I made the decision that for us to be the people we want to be in the world, we didn’t think we could do that with more than one kid. That comes with grief and it comes with a sense of freedom. Each of us has our own version of whatever that challenge or big question is. Understanding our limitations and understanding what brings us joy—being clear about that has been helpful for me. The answer isn’t always easy, but trying to have clarity is how I get through.
Liz Tenety: What brings you joy in your day-to-day life now?
Ruthie Ackerman: Outside of Clementine, I work with clients who are writing their own books and stepping into the creative waters. I love seeing them give themselves permission to explore their own writing. I’m also working on another book that’s in the beginning stages, so I’m in that uncomfortable place of “what is this going to be?” As Clementine’s mom, I think the big thing is trying to be present. She said, “Pick me up early from school so we can play in the snow.” Playing in the snow is not something I’d done in a really long time. Being able to be present with her in that way—just having fun—there’s something to that.
Liz Tenety: At Motherly, we believe that motherhood brings out our superpowers. What do you see as yours?
Ruthie Ackerman: Curiosity. Curiosity about why certain questions come up in my own life helps me be a good writer, because it allows me to be open to what’s coming from my head onto the page. Curiosity for other people’s stories allows me to be a good thought partner for people working on their own stuff. And curiosity helps me be a good mom, because it allows me to try to be a little more childlike—which helps me in mothering Clementine.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity. Listen to the full conversation on the Motherly Podcast.
source https://www.mother.ly/podcasts/the-motherly-podcast/ruthie-ackerman-the-motherly-podcast/
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