Why I Hesitate to Have a Child: Eco-Anxiety and Reproduction Concerns

My Internal Dialogue as a Thirty-Something Woman

Get married. Have children. Growing up this is what I thought my 30-year-old life would look like. However, facing a climate collapse, the choice of trying to have biological children has become emotionally much more complicated. To clarify, in an ideal world, I would want to mother my biological child; however, I keep on questioning the impact of a new human being on the climate crisis, how they might exacerbate it. There are currently almost eight billion people on earth, and the prediction is that we will be ten billion by 2057. We are using the resources of almost two earths. Not getting children might be a way to keep space for other animals and allow them their resources. I also worry about how socio-ecological crises will affect a child’s life and whether it is fair to put them in a collapsing system. We do not know what the future may hold, but it is very likely that the quality of life will be lower for children born today. The seas will most likely be full of plastic and empty of fish, the air will be deprived of oxygen and polluted, energy may be something only a few can afford, and forests may only exist in fairy tales.

Then again, not having a child because of the climate collapse feels like an act of defiance. Trying to have a child despite the collapsing environmental systems may be an act of optimism. Optimism that things will change for the better and that there is hope for our species. Having a child signals that I believe the world is a good place to raise a child. If we talk about sustainable development as a responsibility toward future generations, there is an assumption that there will be future generations. It also allows me to educate them. To show them how to live a sustainable life, and that their being does not necessarily put too much stress on our ecological systems. To guide them toward good citizenship by taking appropriate action and giving them the tools to change the course of history. This also touches upon a deeper spiritual and philosophical question: who am I to decide what a good life means? Their life might not be like mine; they may not know the luxury of unlimited energy or the beauty of untainted forests, but this does not mean that they will not know happy moments.

I feel a strong responsibility toward any future child and future generations to, at the bare minimum, rationalize and justify why I decide to put another child on this earth. I think about it every day, going over the arguments in my head, all while I feel my biological window of opportunity closing. The anticipated impact of my decision also weighs heavily on my sense of purpose: it decides how I will give shape and meaning to my unlived life.

Way Forward: Creating Safe Spaces

Given the deteriorating world, people need to get comfortable in the uncomfortable: doubt is not a “monster to be overcome” (Hawkins & Edwards, 2015) but an unknown guest that should be welcomed and embraced. We, as an academic community and members of society, therefore, need to allow room to explore and share these doubts. Particularly, there is a need to (actively) create spaces for emotions of fear, regrets, grief, guilt, and so on that stem from an uncertain world (and future). One example of how such a space might look like is Conceivable Future, ¹ a network bringing awareness to the threat climate change poses to our reproductive lives. They organize events for people to meet, talk, and act (via testimonies), in an inclusive and welcoming environment. Only in spaces that are safe and driven by curiosity, compassion, and non-judgmental conversations, will people like me feel comfortable enough to start exploring feelings of doubt and uncertainty.

What can (and should) business and society studies (and its scholars) do? Journals and conferences should offer spaces to explore these types of topics and foster open and inclusive debates. This can be in the format of essays, agoras, perspectives, and commentaries, like this one, but also in more abductive forms of research in which “doubt is the engine” (Locke et al., 2008, p. 908). Topics may range from the stigmas around, and the organization of, childfree living (from an intersectional perspective) to exploring feelings of intergenerational regret regarding parenthood due to eco-anxiety. Allowing room for these conversations will shape research debates and spark new lines of inquiry. Schools and universities should contribute to community-building to overcome feelings of isolation and emotional overburdening by those concerned by (future, present, and past) reproduction. This can be by providing opportunities to organize workshops, talks, open-spaces, and other formats that explore this, and ensuring that these spaces are free from judgment. At an individual level, we, as business and society scholars, can lead by example by honestly and openly sharing our journeys of trying to balance our private and professional lives in a deteriorating world (e.g., Gill, 2020, on flying as a sustainability scholars). By sharing our stories, we can start normalizing emotions caused by eco-anxiety and feel less isolated.