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For a girl, thinking about motherhood is seen as normal. But a boy who thinks about his fertility or future fatherhood early is often viewed very differently. We wonder why he’s already thinking about being a father? It seems slightly strange to us.
We question it in a way we rarely question girls. We place girls’ thoughts about future children within the context of motherhood. But for boys, we have no real narrative for that.
The patriarchy also handed boys the script: Sow your wild oats, play the field, and enjoy life before you settle down. Ironically, some of our familiar messages about male freedom are built around a fertility metaphor, and yet we’ve hardly encouraged men to think about their fertility at all. The focus is on virility, sexuality, and independence, not fertility, reproduction, or future fatherhood.
In fact, many men don’t consider their fertility unless there is a problem, and then those conversations move behind closed doors, with either a doctor or a therapist. The language also shifts yet again to “shooting blanks.”
So we move from bravado to shame. What’s left in between?
“This Wasn’t a Conversation I Thought I’d Ever Have”
If a male fertility problem does arise, it is often deeply disorienting. A man can go from assuming everything is fine to suddenly facing a part of himself he has never had to think about.
There is a scant relationship with his reproductive health because there has never been a conversation about it. Instead, there is simply a crisis followed by the sudden realization:
“This was never a conversation I thought I’d ever have.”
What We Told Girls and What We Told Boys
“The first time I learnt about fertility issues was just before I had my first period, so maybe age 11. My mum taught me all about it, why I had it, and even that I’d have a limited number of eggs. Most of my friends also knew about those things. So I didn’t know the term ‘biological clock,’ but I knew there was some kind of age that most women have babies by, and I also knew how to make babies. When I found out, I was definitely curious and thinking about baby names. It was a fun thing to do with my friends.”—Emma*
“No, I didn’t know anything about the workings of my own body, really, at that age (11). I mean, I think I knew the term sperm and eggs and how you make babies, but not much else. I definitely never sat and thought about how many kids I wanted.”—John*
“I didn’t know my sperm renew every two months or so. Really? I thought it was every nine days, maybe, if I had to guess. Is there a timeline? Do I run out?”—Braydon, age 16*
*Names and details have been changed to protect privacy.
What is striking about these comments is not simply who knew more facts, but rather the different relationships they were forming with fertility.
Emma’s story was about biology, and she was introduced to the idea that her body had a reproductive future. Alongside periods and puberty came conversations about eggs, timing, babies, and choices. Her fertility became something connected to her identity long before she wanted to become a parent.
John knew the basics when it comes to sperm, eggs, and how babies are made, but the information didn’t feel directly connected to his developing sense of self or his own reproductive future.
And Braydon’s question captures what happens when adolescents are included in the conversation: curiosity, not disinterest.
So the real question is, why is it that women consistently report greater fertility awareness than men, long before they are actively trying to have children? (Pedro et al., 2018; Martin, 2017)
Where Did We Go Wrong?
How and why did we create a world where so many men never thought the conversation included them? There are so many threads that interweave this story.
Perhaps we tied reproduction to the visible parts only, such as pregnancy and birth. So, fertility became filed as a women’s health issue. It’s not surprising, then, that many girls enter the reproductive healthcare system from adolescence onwards, leaving young men with no real equivalent—no specialist or annual check-ups.
The silence is not only cultural. It is structural with the female system as preventative, and the male system reactive, or on an as-needed basis.
No wonder many men feel they were never invited into the conversation early on (Grace et al., 2019).
Go Forth and Multiply
Perhaps we’ve also confused virility with fertility.
Virility is about the image of reproduction—sexuality, masculinity, and performance. Fertility is simply the biological ability to have children. Subconsciously and conscientiously, we’ve focused on virility and overlooked fertility. We’ve turned sperm into a symbol instead of recognizing it as part of a man’s reproductive health. We’ve given boys a language for sex and performance, but very little language for fertility.
The message has been mixed and often missed.
The Myth of Endless Sperm
We have also given men an incomplete reproductive story.
Girls often grow up hearing that fertility changes, eggs are limited, and time matters. Whether that message creates awareness or anxiety, it is clear.
Many boys grow up with the opposite message: Sperm is endless, and fertility will simply be there when they need it. While sperm is continually produced, that is not the same as being indefinitely fertile.
That story has consequences.
If you believe something will always work, why would you think about it? Why would you protect it? Why would you ever check it?
The Missing Male Reproductive Self
It’s strange to think that something like fertility, which is related to relationships, health, identity, and legacy, would only be fully explored by many men later in life. This part of the self—the reproductive self—sometimes only truly develops when another person enters the picture, and a relationship becomes serious. It’s as if a relationship legitimizes it, putting it within a socially acceptable format. It is often only in that space that we hear his hopes and fears about fatherhood or fertility. Questions that are deeply existential in nature.
I wonder if, for many men, fertility first becomes a conversation with a partner before it has ever become a conversation with themselves.
The Missing Invitation
Fertility does not belong to one gender. But it’s not about moving the burden from women to men. It is about creating awareness, because awareness creates choice. From choice comes real freedom and an opportunity to understand an important part of ourselves.
Course Correction
We can change this.
Maybe the bigger questions are:
How can we give young men the language and space to talk about their reproductive health?
What would sex education look like if it included everyone’s reproductive future, not just preventing pregnancy?
How do we create routine reproductive health check-ups for young men?
There seem to be more questions than answers, but at least it’s a start.
