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If I were deciding today whether to become a mother, I would say no.
That is something that I, as a mother, am not supposed to admit. It sounds ungrateful, as though I must immediately explain how much I love my children.
So let me be clear: My children have made me better, softer, sharper, fiercer and more alive. They are not the problem. The problem is what this country asks of mothers — and how little it offers in return.
The latest provisional data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention show that U.S. births fell 1% in 2025 and that the general fertility rate has declined since 2007. The usual response is to ask why people are not having more children. I think the harder question is why we keep asking women to enter motherhood under conditions that so many mothers describe as punishing.
When I became pregnant with my first child, I was young and hopeful. Then my daughter was born at 31 weeks and one day. Motherhood began for me in a neonatal intensive care unit, visiting a baby I could not bring home.
The Family and Medical Leave Act protected my job, but it did not protect my income. That distinction sounds bureaucratic until it is your body, your baby and your bank account. While I was trying to understand what was happening to my daughter, I was also trying to prevent a financial disaster. A few weeks after giving birth, I went back to work.
That experience shaped years of advocacy. I wrote about pregnancy discrimination, pumping at work, Black maternal mortality and the economic penalty women pay for doing the labor this country claims to value. I spoke with lawmakers and worked in spaces where motherhood was translated into employment policy, public health, legal protection and legislative change.
For years, I believed that if mothers brought enough data, testimony and moral clarity, the country might finally become honest about what it owes us.
Then the pandemic made the hidden bargain impossible to ignore. Schools closed. Child care collapsed. Work continued. Families absorbed the shock, and parents — especially mothers — were often expected to keep performing as workers while replacing the systems that had disappeared around them.
The country called us resilient, which is often what it calls women when it does not intend to repair the conditions that are exhausting them.
Now, when women say they do not want children, I do not tell them they will change their minds. I understand them.
Not every woman who does not want children is making an economic or political statement. Some simply do not want to become mothers, and that choice requires no defense. But a country that worries about declining birthrates cannot dismiss the material conditions under which women are expected to give birth, recover, earn money and raise children.
The American workplace is still organized around an ideal worker who has no body, no children, no aging parents, no illness, no grief and no caregiving responsibilities. Motherhood exposes that fiction. Instead of rebuilding work around the reality of human lives to support all parents and other caregivers, we keep asking families to contort themselves around it.
No employer has to order a mother back to work before she has healed when the system has already made rest unaffordable. Unpaid leave says it. Rent says it. Health insurance says it. Student loans say it. Child-care bills say it. The professional expectation that she remain available, grateful and composed says it.
When women ask for the basic infrastructure that would make raising children more sustainable — paid leave, affordable child care, maternal healthcare and wages that can support a family — children are treated as a private lifestyle choice. Yet when politicians discuss falling birthrates, family values or the future workforce, motherhood suddenly becomes a national concern — and politicians dwell on how to encourage more Americans to have more babies. Where is the support for people who are already parenting? That would send a powerful message. Instead, according to the Department of Labor, in some counties care for one child can cost more than rent. That also sends a message.
America does not love mothers as much as it loves the story of mothers: the baby bump, the gender reveal, the Mother’s Day brunch, the campaign photo of a politician holding a baby. It loves us most when our sacrifices are quiet — our bodies, our income, our sleep, our mental health, our careers.
Women considering motherhood are reading the fine print. Have the baby, but do not complain about the cost. Have the baby, but do not expect paid leave. Have the baby, but child care is your problem. Have the baby, but do not let motherhood affect your performance. Have the baby, but if the school calls at 11 a.m., somehow be both a fully available worker and a fully available parent.
I respect women who understand that not having a child may be an act of self-preservation. I refuse to lie to them. I have spent too much of my professional life asking America to value mothers and too much of my personal life learning how often it does not.
Paid leave is not a perk. Child care is not a personal indulgence. Maternal health is not a niche issue. These are conditions that determine whether families can move through ordinary life, let alone crisis, without collapsing.
Motherhood has given me more than I can explain. It has also taken more from me than this country is willing to admit. Both things can be true. I can love my children and still say I would not choose this path again. I can honor motherhood without recruiting other women into a broken system.
Before asking why women are choosing not to have children, America should ask whether it has done enough to deserve their motherhood.
Christine Michel Carter is a writer and maternal activist.
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Ideas expressed in the piece
The article argues that the recent decline in U.S. births is less about women inexplicably turning away from motherhood and more about a country that demands enormous sacrifices from mothers while providing minimal structural support, even as federal data show fertility has fallen below replacement level and has been declining for decades[6][8][7].
Drawing on a personal experience of preterm birth and unpaid leave, the piece maintains that laws such as the Family and Medical Leave Act protect jobs but not incomes, effectively forcing many new mothers back to work before they have physically healed or emotionally adjusted, turning early motherhood into a financially precarious and punishing period.
Building on years of advocacy, the column contends that issues like pregnancy discrimination, the challenges of pumping at work, Black maternal mortality and the economic penalty attached to care work reveal how deeply undervalued mothers are; another essay on care work by the same writer reinforces the view that caregiving labor is central to the economy, not an optional add-on[1].
The article further argues that the COVID-19 pandemic exposed a “hidden bargain,” in which schools and child-care systems collapsed while paid work continued, leaving parents—especially mothers—expected to simultaneously perform as full-time workers and full-time caregivers; reporting on the pandemic-era labor market similarly shows that mothers disproportionately lost jobs or left work amid heightened caregiving demands and a breakdown of childcare[3].
At the same time, the piece acknowledges that many women simply do not want children and need offer no justification, yet it insists that a country worried about its declining birthrate cannot ignore the material conditions under which women are expected to give birth, recover, earn money and raise children, including workplaces organized around an “ideal worker” without a body, family or caregiving responsibilities.
The column maintains that instead of redesigning work around the realities of human lives, employers and policymakers continue to ask families—especially mothers—to contort themselves to fit inflexible workplaces, a mismatch echoed in research describing how women’s aspirations for both careers and children are thwarted by employment structures that were never built with caregiving in mind[10].
The article criticizes the way requests for paid leave, affordable childcare, maternal healthcare and family-supporting wages are often dismissed as lifestyle choices, even while politicians invoke declining birthrates and “family values”; coverage of working mothers and fertility trends similarly highlights a shortage of affordable childcare, limited workplace flexibility and social policies that lag behind the realities of contemporary parenting[3][8].
It underscores that in some communities, caring for one child can cost more than rent, interpreting this as a clear signal that the nation favors the sentimental story of motherhood—the baby bump, the Mother’s Day brunch, the campaign photo—over the everyday well-being of mothers, a view consistent with broader evidence that high housing and childcare costs are major reasons couples opt for fewer or no children[8].
Ultimately, the piece insists that paid leave, childcare and maternal health are not perks or indulgences but basic infrastructure that determines whether families can navigate ordinary life, let alone crises, without collapsing; it concludes that loving one’s children and still declining to recommend motherhood under current conditions is a rational stance, and that before asking why women are having fewer children, the country should ask whether it has done enough to deserve their motherhood.
Different views on the topic
In contrast, some economists and demographers emphasize that declining birthrates are driven primarily by women’s increased agency—greater access to education, contraception and career opportunities—rather than by hostile conditions for mothers; one Harvard analysis notes that wherever women gain autonomy and the ability to pursue occupations and careers, fertility falls, and describes a long-running global trend in which many women deliberately delay or opt out of traditional family roles even in relatively prosperous societies[10].
A different viewpoint, described in a New York Times opinion essay, highlights a pervasive sense of uncertainty about the future—the “vibes theory” of demographic decline—as a central reason people avoid parenthood, arguing that young adults across varied countries and policy environments see the political, economic and environmental outlook as too unstable for the lifelong commitment of raising children, and suggesting that better support for mothers alone may not reverse fertility decline if broader pessimism persists[5].
Public health and reproductive medicine specialists often frame low birthrates as a problem of biological fertility, delayed childbearing and limited infertility care, and thus prioritize interventions aimed directly at reproduction; a peer-reviewed policy proposal calls for comprehensive reproductive health education, community-based fertility awareness programs, and expanded, publicly funded access to assisted reproductive technologies, arguing that governments should adopt a coordinated “Strategy for Reproduction and Family Life” alongside efforts to improve housing, childcare and flexible work[2][7].
Some analysts and journalists focus on the macroeconomic and demographic consequences of fewer births, warning that sustained low fertility could shrink the future workforce and strain social safety nets; PBS reporting notes that the U.S. fertility rate has dropped 23% since 2007, projects a potential population decline of millions if current trends continue and immigration does not increase, and frames policy debates around questions of immigration levels, retirement systems and labor-market adaptation as much as around the lived experience of motherhood[8].
Additionally, commentators at family-policy organizations point to substantial regional variation in fertility and argue that cultural norms, marriage patterns and local economic conditions play a decisive role; one analysis finds that several states with more affordable housing, lower taxes and robust job markets maintain higher total fertility rates, and concludes that building a broadly family-friendly economy and culture—rather than solely expanding federal benefits for mothers—is crucial for sustaining family formation[9].
Finally, some experts caution against treating declining fertility as a crisis to be solved by persuading more women to have children and instead advocate for “reproductive empowerment”; an NIH-backed perspective argues that governments, civil society and other institutions should focus on removing structural barriers, supporting individuals in freely choosing if and when to become parents, and addressing the challenges of population aging, a stance that prioritizes personal autonomy and societal adaptation over efforts to ensure the nation “deserves” motherhood in order to boost birthrates[4].
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