The phenomenon known as Ballerina Farm on Instagram is one of the most popular moms in America. With her eight children, a gaggle of hogs, endless Instagram videos of baking from scratch, and her 10 million followers, Hannah Neeleman is a mom to be reckoned with. Oh, and she also wins beauty pageants like a boss. And is a Julliard-trained ballerina.  

A recent article on Hannah and her husband, Daniel, threw the digital world into hysterics. A main source of outrage is that Hannah gave up her dreams of being a ballerina to be a wife and a mother. Many are also horrified that Hannah has little time to herself and sometimes works to the point of exhaustion.  

Newsflash: All mothers of young children have little time to themselves and work to the point of exhaustion frequently. 

Giving up dreams 

But let’s get back to the ballerina thing. When Hannah put on her first pair of ballerina slippers, did her parents think, “Hallelujah! No motherhood for her! No wifehood for her! We want our daughter to remain a single, solitary soul dancing into old age wearing tutus and toe shoes forever!” Not likely.

Here’s the thing. Hannah is not alone in “giving up her dreams” to raise a family. Almost everyone does this. And it is not a shame, a tragedy, or a sign of oppression. It’s called growing up. And women are not the only ones who regularly “give up their dreams” for the sake of their families. Most men give up their boyhood dreams of becoming professional athletes to do something far less glamorous.  

My dad is such a man. He was a great football player in high school. In fact, some might say he was phenomenal. The local newspapers ran stories about him, football was his life, and he seemed destined for greatness.

Then he met my mom. They got married and soon there was a baby on the way. My dad was practicing with the college football team of his dreams at the time. My dad realised there wasn’t time in the day for him to go to school, go to work, and go to practice, and nurture his marriage. So, he gave up football.  

He gave up football.  

He poured himself into work and school and caring for my mother, who was throwing up multiple times a day. He eventually graduated from college. My mother eventually had the baby and then had three more. One of them was me.  

My parents both worked like crazy keeping our family afloat, and it floated. Barely. I had an absolutely stellar childhood full of camping trips and backyard swings and never enough money. But that last part isn’t what mattered the most. What mattered the most is that I knew my parents loved me. I knew they’d make any sacrifice for me.

My parents when they were dating, 1966

Sacred sacrifice 

Parenthood is a position of sacrifice. Author and psychoanalyst Erica Komisar says parenthood comes with “the sacred obligation of nurturing.” To nurture others requires sacrifices of self. This does not mean we fail to care for ourselves or that we never pursue hobbies or do anything for fun ever again, but it does mean we offer humongous amounts of time, energy, resources, sleep, and emotional investment in the name of our children’s wellbeing.  

All decent parents do this. All decent parents make sacrifices so that their children can eat, sleep in a bed, and possibly even take dance lessons or join a basketball club. Only a tiny sliver of the population will dance or play ball professionally, and even that won’t last forever. But family relationships will last — if we’re wise enough to forge them. And somehow, amid all the sacrifice, we end up the better for it.