An Old Friend and New Mom Told Me Not to Give Birth. How Could I Possibly Respond?

I recently had an old friend and coworker reach out to me about one of my more heated climate posts on Facebook. The following conversation ensued. (I’ve altered the text only to withhold her name and her husband’s name.)

Friend: “Thanks for your climate message. It is really hard to think about these things day after day. We struggled for a long time about whether to have a child or not. We thought about adoption, and even attended some adoption meetings, but it is just so expensive. So we had a kid. I love her more than anything, but I dunno, we probably shouldn't have had her. I guess I didn't appreciate how quickly things will go downhill climate wise. The guilt that I carry on my shoulders about what she is going to face is extreme, and it will only get worse over time. And it horrifies me thinking that no matter how bad things are at the end of my life, I will know that they will be so much worse for her after I am gone. I just love her so much... but I would be able to make peace with the coming future so much easier if we hadn't had her. I don't even know if I would want to adopt a second child, at this point, because it is too heartbreaking to be so tied to the next generation, knowing what they will suffer. I know its a bummer of a conversation, but I hope you don't mind. Thanks for talking about it with me. You would think everyone, everywhere would be having these conversations, but most folks just want to sweep it under the rug. Anyway, just wanted to give you my perspective if you are agonizing about having a baby...she is my favorite thing ever. I love her more than anything... but the guilt I feel is so, so intense and will never go away. Anyway, I hope you are living somewhere beautiful and enjoying life. We miss your smiling face.”

Me: “It’s so good to hear from you. I am so glad you and your partner procreated. I know you must stress and worry constantly, but you’re one of the good ones fighting the good fight for sustainability, for life. Don’t feel guilty. We will need smart, kind people in the next generation. The best thing we can do now is prepare; learn to forage, farm, hunt, I would say “fish” but the salmon hit 100% mortality in the Sacramento River. I cry nearly every day because I found a wonderful man who is beyond my ideal partner, who is so far above and beyond what I could have envisioned. I want to have his child, grow life, fight like hell to keep it. But I also know that Jack and I will be struggling to live probably within the next 5-10 years, at least if we stay in CA. It’s aridifying so quickly. And even if we go back to the wet, humid northeast, the wet bulb temperatures might still be too hot to survive. Idk. I’m scared. I’d already be pregnant if the climate weren’t collapsing. I’m right on the precipice. I know which way my heart wants me to fall, and I know which way my brain should make me fall. I’m glad you messaged me, because I only ever talk about this with Jack. But it weighs on my mind all day every day. Anyway, I’m glad you two are parents. I know it’s agony, the information, the lack of action. Just don’t give up. It’s not over.”

Friend: “Oh Megan. I feel your pain. It is so hard to want kids so bad but feel like you shouldn't pursue it. We didn't have kids till I was 37 because for the longest time I said I wasn't going to because of climate change. But then the reality of how expensive and challenging adoption is really started to sink in. And it is such a magical and beautiful thing to have a baby grow inside you. And is a natural , hard to quell desire, especially with someone you love so much. I probably wouldn't have gone through with it, except I know how much it meant to my husband. He never pressured me into it, but I could see how hard it was for him to let that dream go. And it feels so unfair that there are Americans out there having 4 or 5 kids and not even thinking about population, and here we were agonizing about one. I wish you the best in this difficult struggle. I am so glad to talk about it with you. My husband is certainly not a climate change denier, but he just doesn't want to talk about it, because it is too sad. But I think we have to talk about it, or else we won't act on it. Anyway, I wish you and Jack so much joy and hapiness in your marriage. I'm so glad you found each other! Much love.”

I haven’t responded but for the simple fact that I don’t know what to say. My friend makes a lot of valid points, particularly that the guilt is undoubtedly soul-crushing and ever-present. And yet I chafe at being told “not to pursue” parenthood. Surely prospective parents who are emotionally, mentally, financially, and physically prime to give rise to new life deserve the chance to at least try, right?

Perhaps I am barren. Perhaps I cannot have children. Perhaps even if Jack and I were to try, we would be unsuccessful for any number of reasons.

But haven’t we at least demonstrated our capabilities, our strengths as teammates in the world? Haven’t we earned the right to start a family all our own? Teenagers do it all the time by accident. Why should I, someone responsible, tender-hearted, and future-thinking, be blatantly told not to propagate my DNA into the world in the form of a son or daughter? I won’t save the planet or save the human race or save a single species by not having children. I just feel so deeply cut, so spiritually wounded by the advice, even though I know it was made wholly with good intent and a soft, empathetic heart.

But still…

Am I really so unworthy of motherhood that I should be told by a mother I’m incapable of tolerating the guilt and sorrow that will accompany the decision? Shouldn’t I be the judge of how much guilt and sorrow I can stomach?

Children used to die of disease all the time. Then modern medicine advanced, vaccines were produced, and child mortality plummeted. Surely I can’t be solely to blame if my child were to, God forbid, tragically die prematurely of a climate-related cause (starvation, dehydration, heat stroke). No parent has complete control over external forces at work once their child enters the world.

(**Grim side note: Long-term, like 4 or 5 decades from now . . . yeah, whatever offspring Jack and I have (IF we have any) will probably be fighting for dear life in a brutally, blisteringly hot planet.)

Surely I can’t solely shoulder the blame if technology were to fail to catch up and address the climate crisis. I would battle with every ounce of wit, cunning, resourcefulness, and strength I possess to keep my child fed and happy, come hell and high water, and I mean that literally. The sea is literally rising and the American West is literally hell for 3-4 months each year now.

All the same, it hurts to be told to just not even try to raise viable offspring to adulthood.

I feel like Jack and I would at least have a fighting chance of providing stability and prosperity for our children. Folks are going bananas breeding without any regard for what we collectively face as a human race, and I feel trapped between my desire for parenthood with Jack, my knowledge of anthropogenic global warming and its consequences, and my deep longing for family. If we brought children into the world, could they ever forgive us for the crime of bringing life to a planet that will soon be unwelcoming and inhospitable to all of us?

We were adapted to the climate we enjoyed for 2 million years. Now it is completely unraveling.

Is that a justifiable reason to forgo having a baby: to avoid the wrath and condemnation from the life we will into being?

More importantly, how would I justify myself to my children? How would I justify my decision to become pregnant? I have plenty of points to make, but who can say whether all of them taken together could be powerful enough to soothe such a wound as perpetual existential crises? I certainly can’t say.

And so that’s why I haven’t replied to my friend.

I Have Baby Fever, but this Earth Fever Can’t Sustain Human Life

Perhaps the most painful grief plaguing my heart is mourning the loss of motherhood before I’d ever experienced it. I want to be a mother more and more as each day passes, carry Jack’s child, grow life, raise a human to adulthood. Perhaps two. But knowing what I know, it feels . . . morally reprehensible to knowingly bring life into a dying planet, a planet that cannot feed nor water our sons and daughters.

If you’d like to learn about the technical aspects of climate change, you can read Megan’s Climate Corner, linked on the homepage. I drop a lot of links to sources, so that you can learn beyond my simplistic text. In fact, I recommend you do: I’m out of storage on my computer and can’t currently upload graphics into my articles. If you click the source link, you can see some great images, graphs, tables, etc.

But this blog is for the feelings, the person behind the science.

I feel the pressure, the desire, and the drive to procreate. My heart is so invested and yet my brain knows better. Well, actually, my brain knows the worst. And that is precisely the problem.

I had waited until I lined everything up: met and married the most wonderful man I could ever have hoped to meet, found a stable job that I absolutely love and pays well, and bought a house that we could afford. I long wondered if I would ever meet a partner with whom I could realistically imagine navigating the exciting waters of parenthood. It seemed highly unlikely, if not outright hopeless. I’m picky. I have high standards, goalposts that I myself struggle to meet on a daily basis. But alas, fate, good fortune, whatever you like to call it, brought me and Jack together and I knew I desperately wanted to meet the child that would be us, our own flesh and blood, our living, breathing embodiment of devoted, romantic love.

I want Jack’s genes. Hard. Yes, there are dirtier things I could write.

But more than that, I trust Jack with my life without question or hesitation. He has come to my medical rescue on numerous accounts for third degree burns, fainting spells, and a dislocated shoulder. He juggles a job that wakes him at 4:30 each morning with errands, house and yard work. He makes the household hum and function smoothly, all while improving it daily so that it feels cozier. He sprawls out on the floor with Milo when they play, or throws the ball far into the back yard for chasing. He looks real cute when he reads in his reclining chair, and even cuter when he falls asleep in it. How can I not imagine a tiny infant nestled under his neck, held against his chest?

It’s enough to make my heart burst. I cry every day with the want and the constant restraint. I consider Jack and I to be responsible, helpful humans who would make enthusiastic, dedicated parents. I also believe we would raise some lovely human beings, as well: a kind son or daughter striving to serve and solve in a messy, chaotic world.

But it’s not just a messy world. It’s a world in which we’re on track to lose upwards of 90% of life on Earth. Birds are dying by the million, insects by the hundreds of millions. A massive die off of more than a billion sea creatures during British Columbia’s June 2021 heat wave caused me deep psychological trauma. I’m still grappling with it. If there’s one thing I gathered from my Geoscience degree (and let’s be honest: I gathered a great deal of knowledge from those four years) it’s that the mass extinction events always, always, ALWAYS start with the ocean. The ocean goes, and all terrestrial life follows.

How can I possibly consider myself a moral person for bringing a person into this world, this planet that literally cannot support his or her life force? The time truly is ticking down. It’s not dramatization. It’s reality. The IPCC report from August 10th, 2021 was dire. Grim. The scientific, conservative consensus of 195 countries. We are, and for sensitive readers I apologize for the cursing, FUCKED. And although we could solve this with existing technology and tapering of consumption, I don’t believe we will ever muster the political will and the cooperation needed. It can’t be done. Humans ruin everything for everyone, even their own children and grandchildren.

And of course, the time is ripe to be procreating. It’s the age window. Although this is mathematically untrue, it feel as though every lady my age, plus or minus seven years, is pregnant or already a mother and beaming with utter joy. I’m happy for them, happy their families are growing, happy they experienced the magic of growing life in their wombs. Humans should look forward to rearing the next generation, to feel hope and awe when they share the magic of our blue planet. I envy these new parents, desire entry into the world myself. I strove to be as prepared for the responsibility of motherhood as I could possibly be.

And yet I hesitate, I vacillate, I weep at the drop of the hat, tear up at depictions and descriptions of pregnancy and motherhood, at the delight, trials, and tribulations of raising a wondrous human to adulthood.

So I just circle my own mind endlessly, observe my friends’ joy from a distance, meet their cute kiddos when opportunities arise. And I am acutely, painfully aware of my personal biological clock ticking down along with that of all life on Earth. My own tell-tale heart in purgatory. Tick… tick… tick.

There doesn’t seem to be a right answer, and I can’t reasonably hope that I will be wise enough to make the best choice when the clock winds down.