Deep Dive ~ Please Don't Talk About Motherhood

What Harrison Butker got wrong in his speech (tldr; everything)

Yesterday, I wrote that no one is angrier about Harrison Butker’s speech than stay-at-home-moms.

We have no way of knowing if that’s true, since stay-at-home moms are the least-heard people in our society, but I’m going with it.

Mr. Butker’s speech didn’t make me mad because of how religious, conservative, or poorly edited it was.

It outraged me because of the calloused, egocentric way he talked about motherhood. For the life of me, I cannot figure out how this man found a way to make motherhood and homemaking entirely about himself.

(He also, by the way, managed to talk down to Benedictine College’s entire graduating class, his teammates, Taylor Swift, people with uteruses, LGBTQ+ individuals, their supporters, his wife, victims of violent crimes, the president, and the entire Catholic Church. In twenty minutes.)

We’ve heard a lot of misogynists give a lot of speeches. There’s nothing new here: a rich, highly decorated, successful man stands before a group of people he has never met and attempts to bless them with his profundity.

But I can’t let this one go. There are too many moms silently fuming at his superiority and utter lack of respect for women.

Did Mr. Butker express an ounce of love, praise, or heartfelt gratitude for any of the moms in his life? Only long enough to praise himself for how much better of a man he is because his wife became a homemaker. No comment about his own mother (or, lol, her distinguished career), nothing about the joy of raising kids with the love of his life, nothing.

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In his 4,000 word speech, Mr. Butker used the word “love” four times: the first two were quoting scripture in reference to a Catholic leader’s service, the second two referenced Traditional Latin Mass. 

No “I love football,” “I love my wife and kids,” or even, “I love Jesus.”

Yet, he was delusional enough to try to tackle a topic that is rooted in, centered on, and synonymous with love.

If you try to talk about motherhood without talking about love, we’re all going to hate your speech. Sorry!

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In his signature clunky, passive aggressive, and noncommittal style, Mr. Butker implied that all of Benedictine’s female graduates should become stay-at-home moms, except then he COMPLETELY forgot why he brought it up. (Maybe no one told him?) (Maybe he’s so in love with himself he has genuinely never noticed?) (Maybe he’s actually a robot?)

Um, excuse me, Mr. Butker — quick tip from a real live mom here:

If you leave love out of motherhood, you have completely lost it.

If you leave love out of motherhood, you contort our deepest sacrifices into a silent, lifeless heap of stickered chore charts.

If you leave love out of motherhood, you possess zero wisdom, zero compassion, zero authority.

You have nothing to say if you write love out of the speech.

Cut his mic. Get him off the stage.

If you leave love out of motherhood, you don’t deserve a voice.

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Harrison Butker has no business speaking for wives and mothers.

Because mothers, stay-at-home or otherwise, know all too well how unhelpful it is when someone speaks for us.

Mothers understand with every cell of our bodies how incredibly private and sacred motherhood is.

The silent prayers, the late-night googling, the aching abdomen and breasts and back, the overflowing camera roll, the four separate grocery lists, the podcasts and books and scriptures and talks and therapy because you never stop trying to get this right because you love them more than makes sense.

Motherhood is hundreds of thousands of moments spun into thread and quietly woven into a tapestry that lines a woman’s soul.

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I wonder, Mr. Butker, would you ever in a million years discuss the details of your sex life in a graduation speech? Would you speak into a microphone about your worst nightmare? Your current bank account balance? Your recent genetic test results? Your child’s first breaths? Your home address?

Motherhood is more personal than ALL OF THAT.

Women don’t need to you tell them they’ve been lied to.

They don’t need the opinion of a random football player.

They don’t need him to pompously, judgmentally predict what’s going to bring them the most happiness.

They don’t need anyone to critique their dreams and ambitions.

What they need is personal space to make a real choice that resonates clearly with their values; they need partners who are brave enough to stand beside them, ready to help; they need a Higher Power and a community.

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I wrote this because most stay-at-home moms never get heard from, and you happen to have opted in to hear what I have to say. So I’ll end with this about my own personal, private choice to be a stay-at-home mom:

Like I’ve said dozens of times in this newsletter, I’m a happily married stay-at-home mom for four kids, I’m a devout Mormon (Latter-day Saint), and I’m a feminist.

I didn’t accidentally end up here.

The stay-at-home variety of motherhood wasn’t forced on me by my husband, my parents, or even my extremely traditional religious culture. It’s my choice: I made it thirteen years ago when I married Nate, I made it again the day Eleanor was born, and I’ve kept making it every day since then.

Just like every other mother, I’m following my path for one reason:

Love. 

Not compulsion, or fear, or tradition.

I love being Eleanor, Lucy, Charlie, and Mick’s mother, and I love being Nate’s wife. I picked this sometimes impossible yet beautiful path because I love them, and love is my entire reason for being.

And that is something that, obviously, Harrison Butker knows nothing about.

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P.S. To the commencement committee at Benedictine College: if you’re looking for a speaker to address to next year’s graduates about the joys, challenges, heartbreak, empowerment, and incredible adventure of motherhood, I know a BUNCH of mothers who are capable of covering it in under twenty minutes, no extra time for twisted, egocentric mansplaining required.

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P.P.S. I am not going to write an essay on why I choose to be a stay-at-home mom, because it’s such a sacred topic that it deserves a one-on-one conversation. If you’d like to hear my story, happy to chat. Email me and we’ll set up a call.