I’m not built like that. No children for me — that’s a path I’m certain I don’t want to take. I don’t even have a wife or girlfriend, which suits me just fine; I’m not on the market for a relationship and much prefer to go solo. The idea of having a child is honestly the scariest prospect I can imagine. I can barely manage to look after myself, let alone be responsible for another human being. My budget doesn’t allow for raising a child, who would require ongoing financial support I simply can’t afford. I live on a DSP and need to prioritise my own stability. I’m too selfish to give away that much of my time: the medical appointments, schooling, sporting events, sleepless nights, food and feeding, housing costs, clothing — the list goes on. Why would I willingly put that burden on myself?

I would step up if I did have a child; there would be no getting rid of that responsibility. I would accept that my life had been ruined and do what I needed to do to provide and cope. I’m forty-three, so time feels like it’s running out, and that adds pressure. It would be devastating to long for a family and be unable to find a partner to have children with, and some people might judge my perspective as sad or say I’m missing out. Of course there would be joyful moments and small rewards too, but to me the negatives would far outweigh the positives.

I suffer from debilitating mental illness. I wouldn’t want to risk passing this on to a child, and I can’t imagine bringing another person into a world that often feels so fragile and chaotic. The world’s a mess. I have three little nephews who I love to bits, but I can hand them back. What can they realistically look forward to in the years ahead? It doesn’t seem likely to get any better or easier. Call me a pessimist, but I’d call myself a realist. I have little faith in humanity’s ability to steer us away from serious trouble, and I fear we could end up in deep trouble. I’m not going to list all the numerous threats we face here, but do prepare yourselves.