Faculty Spotlight, Peggy O’Donnell Heffington

I had the pleasure of interviewing Peggy O’Donnell Heffington for the Autumn 2023 Faculty Spotlight. She is a Senior Instructional Professor in the Department of History, and her role consists of both instructional and administrative components. I asked her about her position at the university and about her first book, Without Children: The Long History of Not Being a Mother. In the book, she explores the complexity of women’s relationships with motherhood in American history, revealing how culture, politics, and the environment contribute to the decisions women make. She argues that not having children has long been a normal part of the lives of women and that it is vital that we understand this longer history to draw women—whether mothers or not—together and improve society for all of us. 

Why did you choose to write this book and how has the process of writing shaped your perspective on the topic?

I came to the book and the topic in a bit of an unusual way. It has nothing to do with my dissertation, or with any of my training in graduate school. (Berkeley, ah, didn’t have a gender or women’s historian when I was there.) It grew out of my personal experience of moving from the San Francisco Bay Area, where everyone I knew was either too broke or too busy to even think about having children, to the United States Military Academy at West Point, where I had a post-doc in the History Department—and where nearly all of my peers (in age as well as socioeconomic background and number of degrees) had multiple children. There was a cultural difference, of course, but I wasn’t satisfied with that as the full explanation. I started thinking about the social, cultural, and economic conditions that facilitate people having large families, and conversely, about how the lack of those things might make not having children seem increasingly appealing. And then, being a historian, I started to wonder how we built a society where parenting is so hard and where young people are increasingly opting out or feeling like they have no choice to opt out. (I didn’t have a lot of friends that year, so I had a lot of time on my hands…) And that eventually became a book.

The process of writing the book fundamentally changed the story I ended up telling. I started out thinking I would write a book about the cool and interesting things women without children did and the lives they lived. But as I researched and wrote—and especially as I did both of those things during the COVID-19 pandemic—I realized that the bigger, more interesting story was one about the way the American family has transformed over the past two centuries—and, as I argue, how it transformed in ways that have made being a mother more difficult and isolated and (further) stigmatized women without children. At the beginning of the book, I took for granted that there was some fundamental difference between mothers and women without children, but by the end I came to understand that we’re all products of the same history and of the same pressures and expectations society places on women. So, what could have been a book focused on the divide between non-mothers and mothers ended up being a book that challenges us all to think harder about how we make family and care for each other.

What are some books that you would recommend to readers who find your work valuable?

For readers interested in questions of reproduction, motherhood, and connections between past and present, I’d recommend Jennifer Wright’s new book Madame Restell, which is a deeper dive into a story I tell in the book about one of the most (in)famous abortion providers of the American nineteenth century. Sara Pedersen’s new book Momfluenced, about the rise of moms-as-influencers, is a take on modern motherhood that is very much complimentary to the story I tell in Without Children. Also: Wendy Kline’s Coming Home, a history of 1970s homebirth movement; Mary Ziegler’s Roe: The History of a National Obsession (actually, anything by Mary Ziegler); and Deirdre Cooper Owens’ incredible book Medical Bondage: Race, Gender, and the Origins of American Gynecology.

For readers interested in works by historians that incorporate personal experience, great writing, and narrative storytelling (as I tried to do, but better), I’d recommend Tiya Miles’ All That She Carried, Bathsheba Demuth’s Floating Coast, and Sadiyah Hartman’s Lose Your Mother.

Finally, for readers interested in other books by academics that don’t sound like they’re by academics, Alexis Coe’s You’ll Never Forget Your First: A Biography of George Washington really inspired me to consider how humor and a conversational tone can work in—how they can even benefit—serious historical scholarship.  

At the University of Chicago, you play a pivotal role in the undergraduate studies for the Department of History. You were recently promoted from Assistant Instructional Professor to Senior Instructional Professor. 

What are you most looking forward to in the new position? 

I’m looking forward to continuing to work with students, Social Sciences Teaching Fellows, the DUS, and the Undergraduate Studies Committee on the undergraduate curriculum, Major experience, and the Thesis and Capstone tracks. In particular, I’m excited for our new AIP in History, Prof. Madeline Williams, to join the program, because she will provide stability and continuity in the Thesis and Capstone tracks from year to year and has incredible ideas about how to innovate the way we structure the process and how to improve the experience for the students. It’s a really exciting time for History’s Undergraduate Program.

Your work with the undergraduate program in the Department of History is extensive. Working as instructor, advisor, and program coordinator, you contribute a lot to the undergraduate program. 

How do you manage to distribute your work? 

I … don’t have children? I’m kidding, but there is some truth to it. Balancing being the primary History advisor to more than 200 History students (I joke that my #1 hobby is replying to student emails), planning departmental events and overseeing the thesis and capstone process, working with the DUS on all things undergrad, holding 8 hours of office hours each week, teaching, and working on research and writing projects that aren’t as prioritized in my job description as they are for research faculty, but are really important to me—it’s a lot. That’s not unique to me or my job, though. UChicago is a place where it’s pretty normal to have to schedule lunch with a colleague 4 weeks in advance. We’re all maxed out. My job just involves more party planning (cupcake buying?) and student email than average, I imagine (and, of course, less of other things). I wear a lot of hats, but I also don’t work well when I feel scattered. What seems to work for me is to divide my days and weeks into the biggest blocks I can: blocks for prep and teaching, blocks for office hours and meetings, and trying to protect at least part of one day each week when I can focus on writing. And I tend to save emails for the evenings when I’m tired anyway and have bad tv shows playing in the background. This is my toxic trait. I’m working on it.

What do you find to be the most rewarding aspect of your position? 

Technically, a big part of my job is to advise students on how to complete the history major, track their progress through it, and help them connect with the department in various ways. But in practice it’s not just about meeting the administrative needs of 200+ majors and minors. It’s also about trying to know and care for them as people: where they’re from, what they’re worried about or dealing with outside of school, what they do for fun, what they want from the future, and being there for them whether they have a question or concern or just want to chat with a friendly face. I find it’s different from relationships with students in my classes, because in my advisor role I don’t have grading authority over them, which I think lowers the stakes a bit and lets our interactions be more relaxed. I don’t always succeed in building these relationships, of course, and I drop balls. But the opportunity to talk with students and get to know them a bit gives me so much joy. The idea that a busy 20-year-old student would want to drop by my office to say hi or ask for advice or trust me with something hard—it’s hard to express how much that means to me. It’s an honor.

And a final “just for fun” question.

You sometimes bring an adorable co-worker to campus with you. Can you tell us more about Ellie?

Ellie is my five-year-old pug and the official/unofficial mascot of History’s undergrad program. I started sneaking Ellie in with me when she was a puppy because she couldn’t be left alone all day. Then students discovered I had a pug in my office, and, well … the rest is history. The funny thing is, I think bringing Ellie to campus has helped me do my job better. You can’t be particularly intimidating if you have a pug in a bright pink harness sitting next to you. And UChicago students are stressed, and they’re away from home and missing their pets. Students regularly make office hours appointments with me only to show up and say, “I don’t have any questions, I’m just here to pet the dog.” Then they’ll sit on the floor of my office playing with her and we’ll get to chat about their life—their classes, their thesis, their non-history interests, whatever show everyone’s watching—in a relaxed way. For some students, I think Ellie being there helps them feel more at home in the History Department. And really, that’s my whole goal.

*Note: Unfortunately, Ellie will no longer be joining Peggy in the office as there is a new University policy prohibiting pets in campus buildings. Still, we wanted to share just how wonderful an addition she was to the Undergraduate Offices :) We'll miss having her around!