When I was a young child I was already acutely aware that two common life paths many adults take weren’t obligatory—or even desirable—for me. These paths are marriage and parenthood. I saw these as permanent—or in the case of marriage, potentially permanent—life decisions, and I never believed I would develop a desire for either. My intuition told me that both of these choices could lead to very negative consequences and interfere with my ability to experience life as I saw fit. Despite remaining open-minded and welcoming to new opinions, attitudes, and perspectives, there has never been a single moment that has changed my wish to remain unmarried and childfree. Freedom, independence, peace, solitude, change, avoiding drama, stress management, and harm prevention are some of my most cherished values—yet marriage and parenthood clash with how I perceive these values. We are conditioned to believe there are certain milestones we must all reach; some see these milestones as inevitable, but I view them as optional paths that deserve deep thought and reflection. As a college dropout, I haven't followed many of the traditional milestones expected of adults, but I don't believe that makes me inferior or unfulfilled, regardless of how others might judge me.

Marriage, in most cases, is a consensual decision between adults, while children are brought into relationships they did not choose. I mention marriage because it is often seen as the prerequisite for having children—another life milestone that people mistakenly view as essential for a meaningful existence. It’s unfortunate that so many are conditioned to believe they cannot be fulfilled without marrying and raising children. Often, people don’t marry or have children because they truly desire them, but because of societal pressures or expectations, or, in some cases, because they are literally forced into it.

I wish I could remember the exact moment when I realized that having a child wouldn’t be part of my personal agenda. Maybe I’m mistaken, but I believe it happened when I was very young, sitting in a living room with some parents and a baby. The baby was getting their nauseatingly stinky diaper changed—not directly beside me, but that didn’t stop the smell from assaulting my nostrils. Nothing about that scene—or the bigger picture of raising a human at any stage—seemed appealing or necessary. I wasn’t interested in dealing with diaper changes or any of the other increasing, unglamorous tasks that come with parenting. I knew it would be unfair to parent a child and not participate in those duties. Even if I had a partner who was perfectly willing to handle it all, I still had no desire to produce and raise another human. Now, whenever I browse parenting podcasts and see the episode titles, I can’t help but think, “Whew, thank goodness I didn’t damn myself—or anyone else—to this life.”

I’ve made it clear that being a husband and a father were never roles I wanted to take on, but I can’t say I always made the best choices to avoid the possibility of having children. It’s one thing to not want children; it’s another thing to make sure it doesn’t accidentally happen. I was completely sexless throughout my schooling years, and in college, I didn’t fare much better when it came to sexual activity. I never had a partner during my formal education, and even in college, finding someone to connect with romantically proved difficult. My self-sabotaging performance anxiety from being so inexperienced—along with a naive self-consciousness about my early balding—made me assume I wouldn’t be desirable to anyone. I also struggled to find someone who met my personality standards, which further hindered my chances of forming a meaningful intimate connection. During my two years in college and the extra year I stayed around, I only had sex with a few girls, and it wasn’t often. In hindsight, this limited sexual activity may have been a blessing, as I wasn’t always careful enough to protect myself from STDs or accidental pregnancies.

As someone who wasn’t educated about condom usage and wasn’t motivated to learn due to my reckless attitude at the time, I relied on pulling out in the rare instances I had a sexual experience. I didn’t fully grasp how risky and short-sighted this approach was for myself, the girl, and any potential child if a pregnancy were to occur. On top of this, I was often making these decisions while under the influence of alcohol, further clouding my judgment. Fortunately, I never caused a pregnancy, but for all I know, any of the girls I was with could have been on birth control and just not informed me.

As the years passed, my standards evolved. I finally overcame my anxieties and fears around intimacy and sex, becoming a more confident and responsible person in many areas of my life. This included getting a vasectomy shortly after I started a relationship with my first partner, with whom I ended up staying with for over four years. I was in my mid-twenties, and with a partner I could finally be sexually active with regularly, it seemed like the perfect time for the snip. The process of scheduling the procedure was straightforward, with my health insurance covering the entire cost and my doctor being completely supportive of my decision to become permanently childfree. Everything was simple and stress-free—just how it should be for everyone, regardless of gender.

The only pushback I encountered came from some coworkers when I shared what I considered to be happy news. They seemed to think I was making a huge mistake by rejecting the experience of parenthood. For those who weren’t already aware of my stance, I had to explain that I’ve always had a deep, unwavering certainty that I didn’t want children—and that for a long time, I’ve felt that humanity, in general, should not be procreating.

The vasectomy operation, for me, symbolized the final step in solidifying my lifelong stance against procreation. It was a momentous day and the beginning of a much more fulfilling, anxiety-free sex life. I now had the freedom to be fully present with someone I had a deep connection with, without the stress and dissatisfaction of pulling out or worrying about unintended consequences.

Yet, I still can’t help but wonder: Why did so many people want me to reconsider my sterilization? Were they speaking from a place of regret or dissatisfaction with their own experiences as parents? Did they want me to experience the same challenges or loss of quality of life they felt? I can’t say for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

Although I’ve explained that my desire to refrain from procreation has been with me almost all my life, I can confidently say that as I’ve grown older, my aversion to having children—and my relief in not having one—has only deepened. As an adult, I’ve come to see how tribal, easily manipulated, divisive, and sick humans can be. When I was growing up, I had no awareness of the prevalence of sexual assault, pedophilia, or even bestiality, nor did I grasp the scale of violence and depravity humans inflict onto nonhuman animals for food, clothing, entertainment, and many other exploitative purposes. Over time, I’ve realized that the idea that “most humans are good” is simply a myth—a comforting illusion or coping mechanism for those who choose to to believe it.

Even as a kid much of the world—which I knew so little of—was confusing to me. Why did these random kids try to drown me in the swimming pool at summer camp? Why did I have a sibling I could never get along with? Why was I never allowed to watch R-rated movies and why did my mother put her hand over my eyes when a woman’s breasts were exposed in a movie? Why were there all these different religious beliefs and why was I forced against my will to go along with the one my parents adhered to? Why did little boys like myself get the tips of our penises mutilated? Why were there people living on sidewalks? Why was I being slapped and having soap and water forced into my mouth when I did something my parents didn’t like? Why was I forced to play competitive sports games that I had no interest in and why did others take these games so damn seriously? Why did I have to swallow these little white pills called Ritalin?

Parents often tell their kids, "Life isn’t fair." And while that’s undeniably true, I wouldn’t want to impose unnecessary unfairness onto anyone, especially if it’s not essential. I want to be fair to myself in this life I didn’t ask for. I prefer prevention over procreation, and I choose to live unencumbered by the burdens, stresses, guilt, worry, and sacrifices that come with having a child. Life is already overwhelming enough as it is. I can’t even begin to understand what makes me—or most other people—qualified to be a parent in the first place. What qualifies anyone to take on the immense responsibility of raising someone who has no choice but to depend on, be influenced by, and live with them? Having the biological ability to reproduce (or the ability to do so with modern technology) doesn’t automatically qualify someone to be a decent caregiver, supporter, nurturer, or life guide.

I’ve heard people with highly traumatic histories say they want to have a child so they can have someone to protect. To me, this sentiment is absolutely misguided. If you truly want to protect someone from bad things, harmful people, and becoming a broken mess themselves, then you simply don’t create them in the first place. Once you bring a child into this world, you subject them to all the dangers, accidents, cruelties, disorders, and harms it has to offer. And no matter how well you raise them, they could still grow up to become a dangerous person who wreaks havoc on others’ lives. If your goal is to protect, there are already plenty of lives here in desperate need of safety, security, stability, and protection.

I love that my sanity, psychological wellness, energy, stability, sleep, relaxation, life goals, spontaneity, opportunities to travel, finances, and the cleanliness of my living environment are not under threat by someone I could have brought into the world. Having a child would have been the worst decision I could have made for my mental health and overall quality of life. I love not having to worry about a child—not just what could happen to them, but also what they could do to others and what they could become. I love not feeling guilty, shameful, or sorry every day for bringing someone into what I—and many others—consider a hell realm. I love not being responsible for more pollution, garbage, and waste than what I’ve already contributed myself. I love being able to focus on self-growth and constantly striving to improve as a person without the interference of someone else, adding to the obstacles I already face. Self-growth becomes infinitely more difficult when you’re forced to focus on someone else’s development. All in all, I prefer the pursuit of happiness over the obliteration of happiness—and for me, that 100% involves not having a child.

Ultimately, my choice to be childfree is one of liberation, not only for myself but for the future I want to build: one where I’m free to explore, grow, and thrive in my own way, without the brutality and weight of responsibility that parenthood would impose.