Stop Asking Queer People if They Want Kids

Actually, stop asking everyone that

For a long time, I thought I was just jealous of people having kids—that it was my turn. But the truth is, I love my silly little life. I can sleep in, spend my money however I want, and tap away on my ridiculous little Substack posts. A child would change all of that. The more I think about it, the more I realise—I don’t necessarily want a child right now. Maybe not ever.

I am at the age now where a lot of my straight friends and some of my queer friends are starting to expand their families. When I talk about it with them, I haven’t been able to nail down how my body reacts and what it reacts to. The night my sister had my nephew, I was elated on the call with her—but later, I cried, knowing I’d likely never experience what she and her fiancé were (though to be fair, I was also drunk).

After sobering up and getting over my hangover, I started poring over our options—how, if we decided to, we could have a baby. For a queer couple where neither of the parties can conceive, having a child is an insurmountable task, especially in Australia. You either have to convince someone to lend you their womb without financial compensation, adopt, or fight tooth and nail to find a surrogate overseas.

While I respect the parents who do adopt, I cannot see myself in a position where I am hoping for a parent to be unable to take care of a child. I don’t want to spend my days waiting by the phone for someone to go through the trauma of giving birth to a child and having to give it away. Likewise, I have a complex view on fostering, as resources to support the child are often directed towards the adoptive carers rather than the parents, who might have been better equipped to raise their child if the need for those resources had been identified earlier. This is especially true of disabled and blak parents.

It’s probably the best option we have, however adopting with the intent of building a family is not keeping the best interests of the child at the fore. These children, many of whom have experienced trauma or have complex needs, need to be at the forefront of the decision to adopt so being called to adopt purely by some physiological urge I have to raise a child is doing them a disservice.

“Opponents have argued that this practice is nothing more than cultural imperialism, which exploits developing world women and children and denies children their culture.”

Marlee Groening - The Complexities of Adoption Ethics

Since neither my fiancé nor I can carry a baby, we would need to find a surrogate if we wanted to have a biological child. As it currently stands in Australia, you cannot pay someone to carry a child for you. If we were to apply for surrogacy in a country where women are well compensated, it would probably cost us our house and financial security—not the ideal environment for bringing a baby into.

Many people are now opting for countries with “cheaper” surrogates. This poses a similar issue to adoption in that, unless you are from that country yourself, you are taking a baby away from their culture which many adoptees have spoken out against in recent years.

“Parents who believe they can raise their child color-blind are making a terrible mistake,”

- Mark Hagland quoted by Karen Vably in The Realities of Raising a Kid of a Different Race

Often, when stories of white adoptees of BIPOC children are being shared, the parents are the heroes in the story (I’m looking at you The Blind Side). I’m white, I don’t know how long it takes someone to unpack their white-saviour complex but I’m probably not all the way there and don’t know if I ever truly can be. Even if I did, that wouldn’t stop society’s perception of white parents “Doing a good thing” and telling the parents at every available opportunity.

Likewise, choosing surrogates from countries with poorer economic outcomes for women feels exploitative. I’ve gone back and forward on this but I don’t feel comfortable with surrogacy where a woman is coerced by capital into the position. This is not exclusively divided by countries, but the reality is many more women in some parts of the world act as surrogates as a form of survival. Sure, you would compensate a woman from any country where it’s legal; however, there’s a moral difference between doing it because you see it as one of your few options for a livable wage and those who have a wider range of options available.

Commercial surrogacy in countries where a surrogate can achieve upward mobility through the compensation they would get for carrying a child, don’t have the necessary legal frameworks to protect the surrogate from exploitation. A 2018 study concluded that commercial surrogates in India were left without decision-making power over their bodies because they had been paid to provide a service.

For parents who choose to adopt or use a surrogate, I understand why. This is not to suggest that you made the wrong decision or that you didn’t consider all the factors before deciding, I believe you have. These are my feelings these options and why I don’t think they would work for us. However, I would implore anyone making this selection to seek out the experiences of adults who were adopted as children and learn from them.

So until I make some announcement, I’d appreciate it if everyone backed the fuck off and stopped asking if we want kids—unless you’re ready for a full rant. It’s probably wise not to ask anyone if they want kids, as it’s a complicated issue even for many straight couples.

I’ve realised I’m not jealous of my friends and family having babies. I don’t even want one right now. What I envy isn’t the baby. It’s the choice to have one—because right now, I don’t feel like I have one.