In 2015, I was advising Poland’s president on the country’s demographic challenges: the fertility rate had stalled at 1.3 children per woman, one of the lowest in Europe. I believed I understood the issue. Most Polish couples wanted two children but ended up with just one. I thought the reasons were obvious: unstable jobs, insufficient childcare, and unaffordable housing. At 27, brimming with the confidence of youth and certainty, I debated with politicians and policymakers twice my age—mostly men—who argued that women like me would have more children if the government simply offered enough financial incentives.
As it turned out, we were all focusing on the wrong problem. Over the past decade, Poland’s unemployment rate has dropped to one of the lowest in the EU. Incomes have more than doubled. The number of nursery and childcare spots has grown significantly. The government now allocates nearly 8% of the national budget to cash transfers under the “800 Plus” program, which provides families with 800 zlotys per child each month.
Yet, during this same period, Poland’s population has decreased by 1.5 million. A million new single-person households have appeared in the demographic records, quietly reflecting a shift in social norms. In 2024, the fertility rate fell to 1.1, placing Poland among the world’s least fertile nations, alongside war-torn Ukraine. This year, it is expected to drop further to 1.05.
The issue isn’t just that Poles are having fewer children. Increasingly, they don’t have partners to have them with. The latest phase of gender conflicts is not only hindering childbearing but also preventing the formation of couples—here meaning heterosexual unions, which still form the basis of most birth statistics.
Throughout most of human history, being alone meant facing death. The word “loneliness” barely existed in English until the industrial era. At the start of the 20th century, only a small percentage of adults remained unmarried—even fewer in Eastern Europe than in the West. In what is now Poland, just 8% lived as single individuals, while in England, the figure was nearly double that.
A century later, the situation has reversed. Nearly half of Poles under 30 are single, and another fifth are in relationships but live separately. Surveys show that this generation, especially those aged 18 to 24, feels lonelier than any other—even more than Poles over 75. In 2024, almost two out of five young men reported not having had sex for at least a year. Abstinence has also become polarized, with right-leaning men and left-leaning women most likely to be sexually inactive.
Young Poles aren’t just sleeping apart—they’re scrolling apart. Seven in ten have tried their luck with dating apps. But the promise of endless options seems to have led to endless hesitation: only 9% of young couples actually met online. What looks like a fertility crisis in the statistics feels, in everyday life, like a crisis of connection.
Gender conflicts, fueled by political polarization, biased dating algorithms, and the tension between independence and intimacy, have spread across much of the world. But in post-communist Europe, the struggle feels more intense. Three factors set the region apart: the breathtaking pace of change, the rise of psychotherapy as a new cultural language, and the legacy of communism itself.
Few regions have undergone such rapid transformation. Since 1990, Poland’s GDP per capita has increased eightfold, even after adjusting for the cost of living. Since 2002, unemployment has fallen from 20% to 2.8%. Prosperity has reshaped daily life and consciousness, overturning traditional life patterns and sparking a reevaluation of gender roles.
Changing times bring changing values. They also complicate communication between generations.
My grandmother, who left school at age 10, urged me to skip studying at Cambridge University for fear I would lose my boyfriend. My mother, one of the first college-educated nurses in our town, encouraged me to go but…They warned against taking out a UK student loan, insisting that “it’s wrong to live in debt”—as if debt were an anomaly rather than a fundamental part of the modern economy. Meanwhile, in Kraków, at the other end of Poland and the social spectrum, my partner’s parents—both learned professors—urged him to focus on perfecting his master’s thesis instead of gambling on a business that might one day succeed. For many of my friends, growing up meant not learning from their parents, but explaining how the world works to them.
The family, once seen as Poland’s unshakeable foundation, is starting to weaken. When the Berlin Wall fell, fewer than 6% of children were born outside of marriage—almost five times fewer than in Britain. But as that generation reached adulthood, many chose distance over responsibility. While data on family estrangement is incomplete, estimates suggest that up to one in four Poles under 45 has no contact with their father, and as many as one in 13 is cut off from their mother. (In Britain, about one in five has lost touch with a family member.) When parents no longer set an example, becoming a parent yourself turns into an act of improvisation.
What families and the church once provided, therapy now offers. Raised on a sparse emotional diet, many Poles have turned to psychotherapy. A decade ago, it was taboo; today, public health providers report a 145% increase in psychological consultations over ten years. Private therapists, where most people actually seek help, boast growth rates that would make venture capitalists jealous. This shift is as much cultural as clinical: at glossy business conferences, the keynote speaker is as likely to be a relationship expert like Esther Perel as a billionaire founder. Parliament is now debating how to regulate what critics call the “wild west” of psychotherapy, where deep self-reflection mixes with quick-fix life coaches.
However, the 22% of Poles who have sought therapy in the past five years are mostly young, female, and unmarried. They emerge fluent in terms like “self-care,” “needs,” and “boundaries,” often directed at men who still speak in terms of “duties,” “norms,” and “expectations.”
Behind these personal struggles lies a paradox unique to post-communist Europe: it is both more and less gender-equal than the West. Communism, by rejecting the bourgeois family model, pushed women into full-time work and higher education, leaving Poland with one of the smallest gender pay gaps in the EU. By the 1980s, women already outnumbered men at universities. Yet, in private life—marriage, housework, raising children—traditional norms persisted. Now, when women seek partners of equal or higher status, but earn two out of three university degrees, the math no longer works.
Men and women are also geographically divided: internal migration has skewed the ratio so that in major cities like Warsaw, Łódź, and Kraków, there are at least 110 women for every 100 men. Men are more likely to remain in smaller towns, removed from the new economy and evolving social norms.
As a result, Poland’s baby shortage isn’t something that can be fixed with cash incentives, cheaper mortgages, or subsidized childcare. What’s faltering is the very foundation of family life.The real challenge isn’t the willingness to have children, but the ability to build a life with someone. Poland’s economic success hides what might be called the new generation’s Ingmar Bergman moment: a quiet crisis not of war or poverty, but of silence—how to live together, how to connect, how to maintain intimacy in a country where people have become experts at thriving independently.
Anna Gromada is an assistant professor at the Polish Academy of Sciences in Warsaw and a policy adviser to international organizations.
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Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of FAQs about Polands plummeting birth rate based on the analysis that financial incentives are not enough to counter a widespread sense of loneliness
BeginnerLevel Questions
1 Whats happening with Polands birth rate
Polands birth rate is falling dramatically Simply put people are having far fewer children than in the past which means the population is aging and shrinking
2 Why is a low birth rate a problem for a country
A low birth rate means that in the future there will be fewer young people working and paying taxes to support a growing number of retirees This can strain pension systems healthcare and the overall economy
3 Isnt the government giving people money to have kids
Yes the Polish government has introduced financial programs like 500 which provides monthly child benefits However these incentives have not reversed the declining birth rate trend
4 If its not about money what is the main reason people arent having children
According to researcher Anna Gromada a key reason is a widespread sense of loneliness and a lack of support systems People feel that raising a child in todays society is an overwhelming burden they have to bear alone
IntermediateLevel Questions
5 What does loneliness have to do with deciding to have a baby
Its less about being alone and more about feeling unsupported Potential parents worry about the immense responsibility high costs of housing and education and a lack of reliable help from family or community They feel its too hard to do it all by themselves
6 How do financial incentives fail to address this feeling of loneliness
Money helps with bills but it doesnt create a supportive community help with childcare reduce work stress or provide emotional reassurance A government payment cant replace a helping hand from a grandparent a flexible employer or a trusted friend
7 Can you give an example of how this loneliness plays out in real life
Imagine a couple who both work fulltime They might calculate that after paying for expensive hardtofind daycare and managing a demanding job they have no time energy or village to help raise a child The financial benefit doesnt solve their daily logistical and emotional struggles
8 Are young people in Poland just not interested in having families
Sur
