In recent years, the term “birthing person” has been introduced as an alternative to “mother” or “woman” in conversations surrounding reproductive health. Advocates argue that it is an inclusive, gender-neutral term that acknowledges the experiences of transgender and nonbinary individuals who can become pregnant. On the surface, this seems to be a well-intentioned attempt to make language more inclusive of a broader spectrum of gender identities. However, beneath this seemingly progressive shift lies a series of problematic assumptions that can ultimately be harmful and reductive.
At its core, the term “birthing person” reduces individuals to their reproductive capabilities, a concept that fails to respect the complexity of human identity. While proponents claim that it is meant to acknowledge the experiences of transgender men and nonbinary people who may give birth, it also inadvertently excludes those who cannot or do not wish to have children. People who are biologically capable of becoming pregnant but have made the personal choice not to, or individuals who are unable to do so for medical reasons, find themselves lumped into a category they might not identify with. This is where the term becomes not just an inclusive attempt but an exclusionary practice—one that reduces identity to the physical ability to bear children.
Additionally, the term “birthing person” is a perfect example of how language, when overly focused on inclusivity, can become overly broad and lose sight of nuance. The notion of reducing someone’s identity to their capacity for reproduction implies that their worth and purpose are tied solely to this one function. It disregards the rich, complex nature of human experience, which encompasses far more than biology. For many, the act of giving birth is just one of many experiences they might have in their lives, and to be defined solely by this function feels disempowering, rather than empowering.
Furthermore, the term “birthing person” fails to consider the wide spectrum of experiences and identities within the group it aims to encompass. Transgender men, for example, may identify as male but still have the ability to give birth. Using the term “birthing person” assumes that this individual’s identity is tied to their biological sex rather than their gender identity. It places them into a category based on a single physical characteristic rather than recognizing their identity as a whole. In doing so, it perpetuates a reductive understanding of gender, one that does not fully respect how transgender individuals may see themselves.
But the problems don’t stop there. The term “birthing person” also fails to consider those who are not currently pregnant or do not wish to be pregnant. A person who might have once been pregnant but is now infertile, or someone who actively chooses not to have children, could still be considered a “birthing person” based solely on their reproductive anatomy. For these individuals, the term can feel alienating and erasing, as it pigeonholes them into a singular role they neither want nor identify with. This is another example of the term’s reductionist nature—it treats people as though their only purpose is to give birth, regardless of their own desires or experiences.
What makes this all the more problematic is that there are already neutral terms that could be used to describe people who can get pregnant without reducing them to a single, dehumanizing role. Words like “fertile,” “procreative,” “generative,” “fecund,” and “childbearing” already exist in the language and serve to describe people who have the biological capability to bear children, without stripping away their identity or reducing them to one aspect of their being. These terms are more neutral, less prescriptive, and more accurate, as they focus on a person’s potential for reproduction without narrowing their entire identity to this one function. Even terms like “bearing” or “people with wombs” could be used in specific contexts without the baggage that “birthing person” carries.
Another issue with the term is how it’s been framed by some prominent voices in the debate, such as Ana Kasparian, who criticizes the term primarily for erasing women’s identities and degrading the concept of womanhood. While it’s true that the term does challenge traditional understandings of gender and motherhood, Kasparian’s framing, which focuses only on the harm it does to women’s identities, misses the broader issue: the term doesn’t just degrade women. It degrades anyone capable of pregnancy by reducing them to their body parts.
The critique here is not just about the term’s potential to erase the identities of women but about how it dehumanizes anyone—transgender men, nonbinary individuals, and cisgender women alike—by stripping them of their complexity and reducing them to their biological function. This kind of reductionist language perpetuates the notion that people are defined by what their bodies can do, not who they are or how they identify. The term “birthing person” fails to respect the humanity and individuality of those it claims to represent, and that is why it’s so problematic for a broad range of people, not just women.
The desire for inclusive language is understandable. The intention behind the term “birthing person” is to acknowledge that not all people who become pregnant identify as women. But inclusivity shouldn’t come at the cost of empathy and nuance. It should expand our vocabulary in a way that respects everyone’s identity and lived experience, rather than simplifying and stripping people down to one aspect of their being.
The solution does not lie in trying to invent an all-encompassing phrase like “birthing person.” Instead, we need to embrace a more thoughtful approach to language that asks individuals how they wish to be identified. When discussing pregnancy and reproductive health, we should make the effort to use terms that respect the person’s preferred gender identity. If a person identifies as a woman and they are pregnant, then they should be referred to as a woman. If a transgender man who identifies as male is pregnant, then acknowledging him as a father or simply as a pregnant man is both more respectful and more accurate.
In addition to using gendered language that aligns with how individuals identify, we also need to stop assuming that everyone who is biologically capable of giving birth desires to do so. In recognizing this, we can begin to move away from terms that reduce people to their reproductive organs or functions. Terms such as “fertile individuals,” “procreative individuals,” or “generative individuals” might be more inclusive without being reductive. These terms acknowledge the physiological reality without erasing a person’s identity or reducing them to a single function.
It is essential to push back against the idea that inclusivity should involve a blanket term that lacks depth or personal recognition. True inclusivity comes from respecting and embracing the diverse experiences and identities of individuals. That means moving beyond terms that make sweeping assumptions about people’s bodies and experiences. Instead of trying to create language that includes everyone, let’s create language that respects everyone’s complexity, identity, and choice. We need a term that acknowledges people’s reproductive capabilities without erasing their individuality, and above all, we need to respect the fact that people are more than just their ability to give birth.
In the end, the fight for better language is not about political correctness—it’s about ensuring that every individual feels seen and respected in their full humanity. As we continue to grapple with issues of gender identity, reproductive rights, and healthcare, we must be careful that the language we use doesn’t become an instrument of exclusion, but rather a tool for empathy, understanding, and respect for all.