Why I had a vasectomy at 30

By Daniel Finlay

I’ve known for a long time that I don’t want to have children, but still the decision to undergo surgery has been met with disappointment, confusion and disbelief from well-meaning family and friends.

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At the end of a recent family visit, while trying to wrangle my crying niece and nephew out the door, my cousin’s husband joked, “Daniel’s gonna go home and get the snip after this!” All I could do was laugh and say, “Actually, I am.”

I’ve known for as long as I can remember that I don’t want to have children. Obviously, as a teenager, this kind of sentiment is barely acknowledged, let alone taken seriously. On the rare occasions that it came up, I was told over and over again that I’d feel differently when I was older, that I didn’t understand the magical feeling that ostensibly had most adults in a chokehold. I simply couldn’t understand the gravity of making such a claim, but I’d surely come round to it when I grew up.

However, those years came and went, and my feelings and the resulting comments remained. Even now, at 30, people still seem to think that if I just grow up a little bit more, I might feel different.

And they’re right – I might have a life-altering experience that changes my perspective at some point. I might also decide tomorrow that I should dress like a clown for the rest of my life. I might even get out of bed next week and walk in front of a car, rendering all my previous choices meaningless.

My point here is that I’m not in the habit of basing life choices on increasingly improbable outcomes that have little to no bearing on my previous experiences or motivations.

That is why I decided to have a vasectomy.

Surgical intervention

A vasectomy is a minor surgical procedure where the tubes that carry sperm are cut, preventing sperm from reaching the semen. It’s currently the only available long-term male contraceptive – the only other being short-term, in the form of condoms.

The decision to undergo surgery hasn’t been a light one. I’ve been contemplating a vasectomy for the better half of a decade, but to me it seems entirely reasonable. At some point, a more permanent and effective kind of contraception was always going to be the logical and preferred next step.

Women consistently take on the risk, expense and discomfort in the name of contraception. Comparatively, men rarely need to consider it, and equivalent male contraceptives have been “just a few years away” for decades – constantly shut down over side effects that pale in comparison to those of female contraception. I can advocate for male contraception research as much as I like, but that isn’t going to change the options I have in the next 10 years.

So, for now, we’re left with vasectomies, which are less expensive (around $500 out-of-pocket), permanent, more effective (99.95%), and have no common side effects. So, if I can relieve even just one of my future romantic and sexual partners of the burden of unwanted pregnancy or abortion, while also alleviating some of my own psychological stress about those things, why would I not?

The answer is, of course, “because you might change your mind!”

The social paternalism of parenthood

The worry that I’m unsure about my decision, or that I’m sure now but could change my mind in a few more years, seems kind on the surface. I do think, for example, that my mum is genuinely concerned about my wellbeing and that her anxiety is warranted (to a degree) as someone who has cared for me my whole life.

However, in many cases (sorry, mum, this includes you), I think this concern belies paternalism and a double standard between those with and without children.

It’s been common over the last few years, especially by well-meaning middle-aged people, for me to be met with a look of horror, disappointment, confusion or disbelief at the mention of my intentions. Even after multiple conversations over long periods of time, many people seem unable to accept that it’s possible for a vasectomy to be a rational decision for anyone other than a 50-year-old with three kids.

This response seems mostly due to social conditioning. Children, pregnancy and parenting are, in general, viewed as positive, life-affirming, and mostly inevitable. To stray from this norm is to invite interrogation, disdain, pity, and sometimes, I suspect, envy. So, while parenthood remains a mostly unquestioned certainty, the childfree choice is a spectacle.

Let me demonstrate with a scenario: A friend has just confided in you and a few others that they’re aiming to have a child in the next year or two. There are some gasps and some squeals, some smiles and excited nods, and then someone says, “Woah. Are you sure? What if you regret it? Kids are a lot of work... They’ll flip your life upside down – you won’t know sleep for the next decade. My friend had a kid and she regretted it. Why don’t you just get a dog?”

This would undoubtedly cause a lot of discomfort for everyone present. You would probably, and rightly, be pulled up for being so blunt and rude. But that courtesy is often completely overlooked when you are childfree – variations of each of these questions are a common response to anyone deciding to remain without children, especially when more permanent things like vasectomy are mentioned.

But there are plenty of valid reasons a person may choose against bringing a child into the world - and the very simple justification of ‘I don’t want to’ should be enough. Though for me, there was more to it.

A definitive list of why I don’t want kids

1. I just don’t!

I am, first and foremost, a consequentialist. I care about doing things within my psychological and physical ability to reduce suffering. Pretty much all my thinking stems from this general framework.

The first of these is that I simply don’t want to change my life in the ways it needs to change to have children. Parenting is difficult. I’ve known this for a long time, and having friends and family with children has only cemented this knowledge. I have no desire to revolve my life around another person and their needs, deal with years of excruciatingly little sleep, or sacrifice my admittedly few resources, motivations and plans.

I am a firm believer that if you aren’t aching to have a child, you probably shouldn’t. You might be overcome with a love that completely overpowers everything if you do. But you might not! And to me, gambling with ambivalence or apathy when it concerns the life of another being is not ethical. You need much more than that to raise someone in a loving, supportive home.

The caveat to this is that, of course, some parents do provide loving homes while regretting their decision. This still seems to me to be a net negative outcome, as the child would not have suffered for never having been born, while the parent/s have suffered potentially decades of otherwise avoidable harm.

And I truly do mean harm. Even the most loving, kind, supportive, enthusiastic parents I know have struggled through pregnancy and early childhood. And I respect them for it, but it’s not for me.

2. Vasectomies are reversible; children are not

When it comes to regretting decisions, things that affect others will always be worse.

I don’t deny that I might change my mind about the vasectomy in 5 years – that is technically a possibility. But even at that point, I will still have options. Vasectomies have a very high reversal success rate, and in the scenario where the procedure doesn’t work, I can try IVF instead. While both these procedures are expensive, I would argue that if I cannot afford them, then I also cannot comfortably afford to raise a child.

The statistics also don’t bear out the disproportionate amount of concern about vasectomy regret. Even in studies that isolate men without children, less than 7% experienced regret five years post-surgery, with 3-6% opting to reverse the procedure. The rates are higher for under-30s, but so are the safeguards (mandatory evaluations prior to surgery, with most clinics refusing people under 25).

Comparatively, parents have consistently similar or higher rates of regret. In the UK, approximately 8% of parents regret having children – this increases to 13% if you isolate for 25–34-year-old parents. In the US, about 7% of parents said they’d have none if they could do it all over again. A Polish study showed up to 13% regret, and in Germany, a large 2016 survey showed as high as 20%. Yet having a child in your late 20s is still a highly encouraged, celebrated and common practice.

I see this as a much more serious concern. As the Polish study put it:

“Among the difficulties that can be experienced by a person who has decided to have a child, one of the most serious is to arrive at the conclusion that it was a bad decision because one cannot withdraw from parenthood at one’s own request, and because regretting parenthood can lead to mental problems and negative attitudes towards children.”

If you have a child, and come to regret your choice, there is little that can be done to change your situation. You cannot wish away a human being, and the decision will impact you for your entire life. Even in cases where children are put into the foster system or adopted by extended family, the fallout is still painful for everyone involved.

On the other hand, sterilised people have options available if they change their mind.

3. I would rather foster existing children

One of the options that sterilised people have is to foster children who require out-of-home care. This is one of the major principled stances I have that informed my decision to get a permanent contraception solution. Especially now, as the number of available out-of-home care facilities are decreasing significantly. My logic is as follows:

• There are many, many children in Australia who cannot live with their birth parents for various reasons and need care into adulthood.

• It is prima facie more ethical to provide care for someone currently suffering than to create a new person to provide care for.

• Especially for white, upper-middle class people, having biological children is mostly a selfish choice, as this demographic has the least social and financial barriers to fostering children.

• If I were to eventually form the desire to support and raise another person, I feel compelled to make the most difference I can.

• Having biological children would preclude me improving the lives of children who I could otherwise foster.

Therefore, I am ethically motivated to foster children instead of having biological children. There are plenty of reasons why fostering is inaccessible or improbable for lots of prospective parents. But if you reasonably can, then I think you should.

3 (b) I also don’t find the common arguments to have children morally compelling

To be clear, having a selfish motivation doesn’t inherently make someone a bad person. This is not necessarily a value judgement – but selfish motivations cannot be their only or main motivations, and yet they seem to be the first things people reach for when questioning vasectomy, or indeed anyone’s choice not to have children.

“Who will look after you when you’re old?”

“How else will you find purpose in life?”

“But they’ll make you so happy!”

“Don’t you want a little mini-me?”.

All of these reasons put an inordinate amount of pressure on children to fulfil something in their parents’ lives that they never signed up for and may not be in their best interests. If you have a child, they should not ever feel like they owe you something simply for existing. The main priority, the foundation of all of these wishes, should simply be to provide them with emotional and financial resources to live happily and healthily. If those are not underlying priorities, then we have an ethical problem.

4. It’s tough out there

Living involves suffering – especially in the current political and future literal climate. One of my guiding principles in life is to reduce suffering. Therefore, if I do ever want to raise a child, I’d try to help someone who is already suffering, rather than bring someone new into the world.

This could mean fostering, but it could also look like community. One huge consequence of not raising children is having the time and resources to be present with and support friends and family who do have children. This can be an enriching experience for everyone involved, meaning more freedom for parents, deeper friendships, and broader socialisation and bonding for kids.

Hopefully by this point it’s clear that I’m not a complete hater. Children are a headache – they can be loud, annoying, dirty and stupid; they can ruin a flight or a friendship; put strain on a marriage or make you rethink your life at 2am. But I also think they deserve the best. They deserve every ounce of support, love, friendship and encouragement that their parents and guardians are capable of giving them.

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About the author

Daniel Finlay

Daniel is a philosopher and writer working at The Ethics Centre to bring a better understanding of ethics into the everyday lives of teens and young adults. He is particularly interested in animal rights and welfare, social justice, and entertainment as a political pipeline.