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Last week, when we polled our audience about whether their thoughts on parenthood or having children had changed over time, I already knew what the most popular answer would be: yes, significantly. (I was right.)
But the factors influencing women’s switch are what I really wanted to dig into, because many of the responses share an underlying concern: The question of parenthood isn’t simply about wanting children anymore—it’s about whether the conditions of care feel sustainable enough to support having them.
“Climate change, the economy, the way the tech industry is fueling inequality… what sort of future would I be subjecting a young human to?”
“Having a good partner, stable well paying job with acceptable maternity leave, good childcare, health insurance, family support (or lack thereof).”
“I still want to have a child, and I’ve always planned to do it alone (ICI, IUI, or IVF). But as I get closer to my ‘goal age’ of 35 (this year), I worry I am still not financially ready.”
Lately, as I’ve seen more and more headlines and posts about the declining birthrate, companies cutting paid parental leave, and women opting out of dating entirely, I’ve wondered: What does sustainable care even look like in 2026?
The comments point to the answer: affordability, stability, partnership equity, institutional support, certainty about the future. That’s not a rejection of care itself, as some headlines might lead you to believe; it’s a question of whether today’s social and economic structures can adequately support it.
For many, parenting has become less of an assumed milestone and more of a risk assessment—which was interesting, given last week’s other poll.
We asked women whether they volunteer, and 41% (a funny coincidence) said yes, regularly:
“As a chef, volunteering to cook for fundraisers has become a regular part of life that I do a few times a year. It’s a great way to use my skills to give back when I don’t have a lot of money to donate. It has also helped me connect with other like-minded individuals in my career field. There’s a group of us in our community that you will see at most charity events and it’s always like a reunion to get together and cook.”
“Volunteering for something that I supported helped to generate community, develop long term friendships, and opened up job opportunities in alignment with skills and gave space for new skills in other areas.”
“Volunteering is better than work. You give only what you want in whatever capacity you can. The only reward is learning, having fun and not only enriching another person’s life but also yours. As a bonus, you can meet others with whom you can become longtime friends.”
The contrast between these two polls is striking—and not simply because volunteering and parenting are inherently different. We know one is limited and the other lasting. But how care is structured in each offers a view into what feels meaningful and sustainable in our current environment.
In the volunteering responses, care sounds communal, flexible, and sustaining. In the parenting responses, it often sounds isolating, expensive, and frighteningly high stakes. We can learn from that.
I don’t think it’s a leap to say that today many women see sustainable care as something that requires support, agency, and shared responsibility rather than sacrifice without limit. And while it’s absolutely possible to build those conditions within parenthood, we should expect caregiving to evolve, too: more collaborative, more explicitly negotiated, more community-dependent than the models many of us grew up with.
Less nuclear family and more “village.”
Lately, for me, that has looked like this:
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A friend of mine had a daughter on her own via IVF last year; her brother moved to our city just to be nearby.
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My boss sits down with her husband every few months to decide how they’re dividing up chores, kids, and careers in the weeks ahead.
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My mom and my nephews read chapter books aloud together over the phone throughout the week, sounding out difficult words and talking through the story as they go.
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My friends gathered for a lake day early in the morning to ensure our littlest attendee could still enjoy her naptime.
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This mom’s village signed up to do laundry for her, among other chores, at her baby shower.
None of these are formal systems, and they don’t fix some of the looming uncertainties that worry people considering parenthood. Community support cannot compensate for absence of affordable childcare, paid leave, healthcare, or economic stability. And in many ways, those pressures are what make building and sustaining a community so difficult in the first place.
In an ideal world, we’d have both. Some countries do have both. Community networks are not a substitute; they are a tourniquet in the interim.
But even in the absence of adequate institutional support, community is often what makes care partially sustainable—not complete or sufficient, but livable. That’s my point.
Nonprofits and volunteer spaces are often underfunded, yet we consistently see people opt in just to keep the lights on, because it matters to them.
In fact, our responses suggest that people are actively seeking out spaces where mutual support is still possible—spaces where care is organized through negotiation, flexibility, proximity, and shared investment.
Care is not disappearing. In the gap between what institutions currently provide and what people need, we’re seeing glimmers of what care looks like when it is reshaped around the conditions people are actually able to meet. Sometimes adaptation is what optimism looks like under pressure.
