Choosing Not to Have Children in France: Three Paths in the Face of Social Pressure

From the first minutes, voices set the scene. Having a child in today's world is "scary," says one. Another observes that it has become part of history that a family must consist of a couple and then children, and that anyone who departs from this model is seen as abnormal, especially if she is a woman. A third declares: "We're not society's 404 errors," before adding that a woman who doesn't want children is not, for all that, someone who hasn't completed her journey as a woman.

Yasmine is 40. She married Reinaldo, 34, during a two-week stay in New York. She explains that it is very easy to get married in the United States even if you don't live there: all you need is a passport and a witness. So the couple got married "just the two of us," without wedding rings. Back in Paris, they chose their rings, with no deadline and no stress since the wedding had already taken place. The idea came to them from an announcement they saw from friends of a cousin, who had simply announced, with lovely photos, that they had gotten married in New York. For Yasmine, this marriage is a commitment: they are heading in the same direction, and that is their "little family."

Yasmine rejects the idea that a childless woman's life must necessarily be boring, or that her activities serve only to fill the void left by not being a mother. According to her, their life is already very full and there is "no room for another person." Neither she nor her husband feels the need to give love to someone else: the two of them live in their "little bubble" and say they are very happy. They have always defined their family as "a family of two with cats."

She also insists on a distinction: not wanting children does not mean hating children. We see her choosing nail stickers and "super kitschy" unicorns for her niece. She says she loves other people's children and describes herself as the aunt who is there for the good times, "with all the benefits," without wanting children of her own.

The question of children came up very early in the relationship — on the second date, according to them, during a picnic. The couple doesn't remember exactly whether the subject had come up on the first. Reinaldo says that at the time, he didn't have a settled answer. He had never wanted children, but had told himself that if he met the right person and she absolutely wanted to have them, he would choose the person first. Since Yasmine didn't want any, he says he was reassured to be on the same wavelength.

His parents have never made comments about it, and he says he's glad of that. It's colleagues, rather, who are surprised: "That's so weird, what is it with this generation that doesn't want to have…?" His answer is simple: he doesn't have "the right reasons" to have children, it's not something he aspires to, and "everyone does their own thing."

The report points out that France was long one of the most demographically dynamic countries, but that its birth rate is now in decline. The number of births is the lowest since the end of the Second World War: 643,905 babies were born in 2025, 24% fewer than in 2010. Despite this drop, France still has, according to the film, the second-highest fertility rate in the European Union. In response to this decline, the President of the Republic called two years ago for a "demographic rearmament."

On the Côte d'Azur, Mélanie runs a café where parents and children get together. The establishment has received the government's "Families' Choice" label. The place is "a bit of chaos," she says with a laugh, but that's what gives it its charm: the children play while the parents catch their breath, have lunch or chat.

A pharmacy technician for 13 years, Mélanie had the idea ten years ago, when her first daughter, Victoire, was born. She had a "lightbulb moment": there needed to be a place where people with children are made welcome and where you don't get dirty looks for having a stroller. She describes real relief among customers, who thank her for thinking of them. Everyday difficulties are shared there: broken nights, teething, the "terrible two months"… "It passes," the parents reassure one another. One mother also mentions the budget, particularly for daycare, for which she has started saving.

Mélodie, a 34-year-old architect and mother of two, is a regular. She offers a harsh analysis: if the birth rate isn't higher, it's because, in her view, "nothing is done to help people have children." Society even pushes people to become more individualistic, she says. Giving your children a good education or finding a daycare spot so you can work is very difficult. Her children are asking her for a third, and she would have liked one, but she considers it impossible if you want to keep a career. She adds that around her, nobody is getting married and nobody wants children.

The report stresses that the balance between family and working life seems increasingly fragile, even though France is one of the European countries where mothers work the most. Mélanie, for her part, observes that parents are having fewer children and doing a bit less with them because they are tired. She also cites the economic barrier: one more child may mean a bigger car, a bigger home. Finally, she believes the new generation is much more aware of what's at stake, and that the abundance of information has created an anxiety-inducing climate that weighs heavily on how everyone envisions their life.

In Bordeaux, Lou, 30, also runs a café — but a game café for adults, which he opened with his friend Axel. A former video game designer and then teacher, he describes himself as "a big kid." According to the report, games are for him a way of preserving a sense of wonder in a world he finds increasingly worrying, and in which he cannot see himself having a child.

He cites several crises: housing, ecology, humanity's impact on the planet and the consequences that come back in return. He also mentions the number of humans on Earth, set against resources that are not infinite. His impression is that we don't necessarily need more people, and he asserts that not having children is the most impactful thing you can do for the environment.

He acknowledges a motivation that he himself describes as "relatively selfish": becoming a parent means accepting being, for a long time, "a bit of a side character in your own life," a choice he finds hard to contemplate. He also talks about fear. He feels ready to face a worrying future himself, but the idea of another person depending on him, and then having to face those difficulties alone later on, seems "really scary" to him. His father, who is fairly elderly, has already confided his fear about the world he will leave to his two sons, and Lou says he dreads going through the same thing with regard to someone else.

His friends share these questions. One lists the uncertainties: economic, emotional, the difficulty of keeping a job, divorce rates that are "through the roof." He believes one risks unintentionally reproducing an unstable family pattern. Another person mentions wanting not to reproduce the family violence they experienced, and thinks this is something many people who don't want children have in common.

For some, the choice extends to an irreversible decision. Chloé, 31, a dentist who has been in a relationship for four years, has never felt the desire to become a mother. The film follows her on the day of her tubal ligation. She brings a negative pregnancy test taken 24 hours earlier and her signed consent forms, then settles onto the stretcher.

She turns around the accusation of selfishness often directed at people without children. From her point of view, it's rather people who have children who are acting selfishly: they do it for themselves, to fill a void, and not for the child. She says she doesn't feel that void, nor the fear of ending up alone after the death of her husband or her family.

Specializing in pediatric dentistry, she works only with children. She sees them all day long, as well as parents who are really struggling. She describes children who have more and more psychological disorders and suffer from bullying at school. She doesn't want, she says, to "selfishly" have a child and place it in today's world. She takes care of other people's children — "there are plenty of them" — and her family as it is fulfills her. She doesn't see herself as a mother.

Dr. Guillomard, a gynecologist, performs the operation by thermocoagulation. She details the procedure: at least two consultations, with a four-month waiting period between the first time the patient raises it with a health professional and the operation. The first consultation is for information: the gynecologist presents the other methods of contraception and stresses the irreversible nature of the operation. The patient then comes back to confirm her choice, and the operation is scheduled.

That same morning, she had seen an even younger patient, aged 26. In her view, there have always been women who didn't want children, but they now dare to say so. The operation takes 20 minutes. When she wakes up, Chloé's shoulders hurt a little because of the gas, as she had been told they would, and her lower abdomen feels "like after a good ab workout." Everything went well. "Permanent," the doctor confirms. "Free at last," Chloé replies.

According to the report, Dr. Guillomard performs on average one ligation a month on nulliparous patients — that is, women who have never given birth — and the operation remains marginal in France. Chloé says a cousin encouraged her: many of her friends don't dare take the step for fear of how others will see them, and some ended up having children even though they didn't want them. Chloé sees this as the effect of social pressure. Better, in her view, not to have a child if you don't want one than to have one in order to "fit into a box."

Women aren't the only ones making radical choices. Three years ago, at 26, Lou had a vasectomy, an operation which, unlike tubal ligation, can be reversible according to the report. As early as 13 or 14, he was surprised that men had no access to long-term contraception other than condoms. He looked into vasectomy. He wasn't sure he wanted children, without ever having formalized that thinking, and on discovering the procedure, a lot of things seemed logical to him.

He describes a long-standing fear: that of an unwanted pregnancy, whether from a condom breaking or a forgotten pill. In that case, he would lose all control over his future, since if the other person decided to keep the child, she would keep it no matter what he said. Vasectomy is therefore his "own contraception," a form of autonomy, and he says he is still very glad he had it done.

The report states that in 12 years, the number of vasectomies performed in France has increased fifteenfold, which is said to reflect changing attitudes toward contraception. It notes, however, that the statistics do not distinguish men who are already fathers from those who, like Lou, have no children.

Colombe, Lou's mother, lives in the Paris region, more than 600 km away, but remains close to her son. She welcomed his choice with understanding, unlike those around her. The men she talked to about it felt that 26 was "much too young," that he had time to change his mind. She describes people who were shocked, men included, by something that "isn't part of the mindset."

She admits that she herself felt a shock. But Lou's arguments made her reflect on her own view of the state of the planet and on the possibility of choosing whether or not to have children. Lou sums up his thinking: life's two great instructions would be "survive and reproduce," but since the need to reproduce has been surpassed, it can become a purely personal choice. Colombe adds that it's beautiful that some people find fulfillment in parenthood, and that others don't need it to give meaning to their lives.

She has brought photos of Lou as a child. Looking at them, she expresses a regret: she won't be a grandmother. She says she accepts it — "that's life" — she has no choice in any case and deeply respects her son's decision. She admits, though, that inside her, "it's a bit of a jumble."

Yasmine is a self-employed French teacher who gives her lessons online, while Reinaldo, a cybersecurity specialist, works remotely in the next room. She says she is certain she could never have had her current career with children. Her hours are flexible, everything is digital, and that is what allowed her to go and live in Brazil in 2022, after the lockdowns: she worked online and had no children.

Happy and fulfilled, she nevertheless endured social pressure for years, with remarks that were sometimes very harsh. The most hurtful came from a friend who had just had a daughter and told her she would never be a real woman without children. Yasmine draws from this an analysis of the double standard. She cites astronaut Thomas Pesquet, who openly stated that he didn't want children because his career would prevent him from being a sufficiently present father, and who was praised for it. A woman who said the same thing would be insulted, according to her. A man remains free to do what he wants, while a woman absolutely must have children, or else "the problem lies with her."

A few weeks after the operation, Chloé sees Dr. Guillomard again for a check-up. She still feels a little pain around the lower scar, without any particular discomfort. She describes her journey as "very difficult." Four gynecologists refused to operate on her. She was told she was too young, that it was irreversible, that the operation would leave after-effects, that there were other methods, that she would change her mind and that they would talk about it again when she had "lots of children." According to her, these doctors had "decided for [her]."

The film points out that previously, you needed your husband's consent, to be a certain age or to already have had children. Since 2001, no criteria have been required, other than finding a gynecologist willing to perform the operation. Dr. Guillomard notes that some of her patients travel long distances or have faced several refusals. For her, it's a "false debate," but it very much exists: as if having a uterus defined women as being made for that, when every human being is simply "made to be happy."

Chloé concludes on a note of relief. She feels as though "a weight has been lifted off [her] shoulders." She will never again risk needing an abortion, and since it was her choice, she feels at peace. "All that's left is to enjoy life."