One of Ernest Becker’s core insights is that the roles we play in life need to cover our creatureliness and consequent mortality with the veneer of a symbolic identity and sense of significance in a world of meaning. The film Tully (2018), a dramatic comedy directed by Jason Reitman and written by Diablo Cody, delivers a simultaneously harrowing and humorous account of how pregnancy and motherhood make creatureliness salient, and how this onslaught of threatening reminders can arouse anxiety and despair if a woman cannot sustain her symbolic identity and significance while meeting the demands of reproduction and motherhood.

The film centers on Marlo (Charlize Theron), a married mother of three, who is being crushed by the demands of domestic life after the birth of her third child. Marlo receives minimal support from her husband, Drew (Ron Livingston), leaving her to take care of her family’s needs. Meanwhile, Jonah (Asher Miles Fallica), Marlo’s eldest child, requires supervision focused on steadfast routine, with even a slight disruption of procedure causing him to spiral into panic. Marlo’s wealthy brother, Craig (Mark Duplass), recognizes Marlo’s exhaustion and offers to pay for a night nanny to assist with the burden of childcare. Thus, Marlo connects with Tully (Mackenzie Davis), who becomes a wellspring of comfort, but also ignites in Marlo a longing for the carefree single days of her youth. Prior to Tully’s arrival, Marlo faced numerous existential threats. For one, mothering a newborn constantly reminds her that she is, at base, a mere animal. “I hold a baby all day…and it’s primal. We’re like two gorillas at the zoo,” she confides to Tully. When Marlo takes off her shirt, her daughter Sarah (Lia Frankland) remarks “Mom, what’s wrong with your body?” Even basic bodily functions like urination are scrutinized.

One of Ernest Becker’s core insights is that the roles we play in life need to cover our creatureliness and consequent mortality with the veneer of a symbolic identity and sense of significance in a world of meaning.

After the birth of her infant, Marlo finds herself trapped in an oppressive routine of creaturely activities like changing dirty diapers and breastfeeding, along with other household duties. Quick-cut montages illustrate the repetitive, creaturely activities of motherhood, which lead her to question whether her life has any value beyond as a physical vessel for producing, breastfeeding, and caring for offspring. Meanwhile, Drew fails to provide care or much gratitude. When he’s not at work, he plugs into online games and detaches from domestic life.

Marlo’s self-esteem suffers further when she compares herself to women with seemingly more transcendent lifestyles, such as her pseudo-enlightened sister-in-law, Elyse (Elaine Tan). These comparisons remind her she is falling short of cultural expectations for being, at the same time, a sexually desirable wife, an energetic mother, and a successful businessperson. Thus, she is lacking the symbolic bases of significance that normally buffer people from their creatureliness and mortality.

Marlo’s crisis is one of being inundated with threats of creatureliness and mortal limits without a sense of significance and autonomy.

As these existential threats mount in intensity, Marlo seeks solace in nostalgia—a sentimental longing for what seems like a past in which she was valued and admired by others. During a conversation with Tully, Marlo reveals the now faded dreams of her past: She was an English Literature major and was once care-free, charismatic, and optimistic. She sees reflected in the 26-year old Tully the qualities she used to embody but that got lost somewhere along the road: breezy confidence mixed with compassion and ambition, quirkiness combined with a lust for life. Allusions to mermaids symbolize the dreams of her youth.

Marlo’s reliance on nostalgia comes to a head when, at Tully’s urging, she escapes to her old stomping grounds in Brooklyn. They attempt to re-enact the activities of Marlo’s younger days—flirting with men at bars, moshing at concerts, and stalking ex-lovers—but when Marlo’s efforts to revive her past self turn desperate, Tully recognizes that their excursion is an unhealthy denial of reality. When Marlo carps, “Why the fuck did you bring me out here?” Tully says, “We just came too far out.” Tully decides that, for Marlo’s sake, she must move on.

Marlo’s crisis is one of being inundated with threats of creatureliness and mortal limits without a sense of significance and autonomy. As Otto Rank and other scholars noted, humans strive to satisfy two fundamental motives: for psychological security and for personal growth. Marlo has neither, as she lacks the sense of significance that provides security, and lacks a way to feel autonomous and like she is growing because of the monotonous routines of motherhood and little time to pursue career aspirations. Her foray into her more optimism- and freedom-filled past feels good for a while, as nostalgia often does, but it is not a sustainable solution because of the realities of her current life.

As she takes her escape into the past too far, a near-fatal car crash makes mortality particularly salient and awakens her to the need to make changes in both her outlook and her circumstances to regain a sense of her worth and autonomy. Tully gives her a clue how: “That sameness that you despise. That’s your gift to them. Waking up every day and doing the same things for them over and over… That’s the big dream, to grow up and be dull and constant and then raise your kids in that circle of safety.” Here, Tully recommends that Marlo recognize the value of all that she does. In this view, the domestic routine becomes a gift, as childrearing is both selfless and a method of self-preservation. After all, parenthood can allay existential anxiety when children are seen as one way to feel that one’s identity and accomplishments will live on after death. The accident also makes the possible loss of Marlo salient to her husband, Drew, who resolves to become a better partner and appears to follow through; when a romantic relationship works well it helps a person feel valued and so is also a major contributor to minimizing existential anxiety.

After Tully materializes a final time in the hospital room after the crash, Marlo concludes that she cannot live out the memories of her former self, but she can preserve them as a source of nostalgia. This is possible because she achieves a psychological breakthrough in her understanding that although her past self had value, her present self has that much more. In fact, the very commitments of parenthood that felt animalistic and confining before Tully arrived, when finally embraced as her chosen path, afford her rewarding bases of identity and significance.