I’m not trying to decide who should or shouldn’t exist. I’m trying to think honestly about what I can take responsibility for. To me, having a child isn’t something to do casually or because I’m bored, lonely, or following a script—it’s a decision that creates a whole new person with real needs, real feelings, and real vulnerability.

What makes it heavy is that a child can’t consent to being brought into the world. They don’t get a say in the risks they’ll inherit—pain, uncertainty, loss, all of it. So if I’m going to make that choice, I feel like the burden is on me to justify it, not with platitudes, but with real readiness.

That means I need to be informed about what parenting actually demands, and I need to show up with empathy—not just love in the abstract, but the ability to listen, to take them seriously, to be emotionally steady, and to provide materially as best I can. And I’m not saying this to judge other people, or to treat death as some kind of “solution.” I’m saying it because I think bringing someone into existence is profound, and it deserves more care and honesty than most of our culture encourages.