In planning family and careers, young Sikh American women say balancing act is their own

(RNS) — The questions that researcher Pavita Singh asked her interview subjects were those any young woman might be pondering: Do you want kids or children? When? With whom? 

But the women in Singh’s study — 30 Sikh Americans between 18 to 24 years of age — answered these questions in ways that showed how their plans around having children balance the future of their faith tradition with the rhythms of modern American life.

In academic terms, Singh hoped to shed light on how culture shapes women’s “reproductive identity.” But Singh’s research also drew a portrait of a generation at the threshold: young women in their late teens and early 20s holding their faith in one hand and their futures in the other.

Eighteen of the young women — 60% — hoped to have children with a spouse, with a third of that group preferring that spouse to be a Sikh, reflecting their desire to keep the faith alive. That desire for cultural and religious continuity emerged as one of the defining threads of the study, which is titled, “She Defined Her Own Happiness: Uncovering the Envisioned Reproductive Futures of Sikh Young Women in the United States.”

Pavita Singh presents her initial research at the Provost’s Grant Research Expo at Teachers College in New York, May 6, 2025. (Photo courtesy of Pavita Singh)

But when Singh asked her participants what “preserving the faith” actually meant to them, their answers ranged from maintaining the religious teachings of the Sikh gurus to cultural traditions such as keeping the Punjabi language alive in their households, as opposed to activities that could only happen within the walls of the gurdwara, as Sikhs call their houses of worship.

Singh found, however, that the young women were responding not to pressure from their families or faith communities, but their own wishes. “The participants rarely framed faith preservation as external pressure,” she said. “Instead, many described an internal desire to maintain something they viewed as beautiful and meaningful.”   

“The results of this research complicate the assumption that in order to be a good Sikh or a good South Asian or a good woman, you have to follow one set path,” Singh said. “There are, in fact, a depth and breadth of desires and envisioned futures out there.”

Among participants, 24 reported wanting children, while three reported not wanting children. Nearly all — 28 out of 30 — said they would remain open to other reproductive paths if their envisioned futures did not unfold as planned, including adoption, IVF, fostering, surrogacy and others. 

Singh said she was initially surprised by how strongly participants favored having children. “I expected maybe a more balanced sample—perhaps half wanting children and half not,” she said. “Instead, there was a strong inclination toward wanting kids.”

In her interviews with the participants, “There was real diversity in how participants envisioned their futures,” said Singh. “Some were unsure about children. Some did not want them. It challenged the assumption that being a good Sikh woman means following a single prescribed path.”

Aurélie M. Athan, a research associate professor at Teachers College and Singh’s mentor, said women from religious minority communities often face pressure to preserve their cultural and religious heritage through childbearing. “This can produce pride and purpose, but also guilt, anxiety or ambivalence if their personal trajectory diverges from communal expectations,” said Athan. “The psychological burden is not just “Do I want a child?” but “What happens to us if I do not?”

But Singh’s findings challenged this familiar narrative that religious women’s tradition and autonomy are in conflict. Many participants expressed interest in what might be considered traditional life paths — education, career, marriage and children. They described those goals as personal choices rather than obligations.

Some participants talked about the stereotypes and taboos their parents faced, including backlash for not having sons. Some parents tried for sons as a result, while others pushed back, saying their daughters were worth more to them. “Because of both experiences, participants are advocates for gender equality, and most want a combination of boys and girls,” Singh said.

With many of them describing family planning not simply as a personal decision, but tied to the preservation of their faith and culture, the results clearly depict a generation attempting to reconcile American individualism with collective cultural continuity. 

The study comes during a period of intense conversation around the world about reproductive rights and declining birth rates across the United States.

It also contrasts with recent similar studies among Jewish Israelis. In a 2020 study, “Fertility Intentions and the Way They Change Following Birth: A Prospective Longitudinal Study,” researchers found that greater religious identification among religious Jews in Israel correlated with wanting more children. Among Singh’s Sikh participants, no such pattern emerged.

“It wasn’t necessarily true that the more you identified with Sikhism, the more kids you wanted to have,” she said.

Singh is clear about the limits of her work. With 30 participants, the study was a first step rather than a definitive statement about the Sikh American community as a whole. “These women are in very early stages of imagining their reproductive futures,” she said. “It would be fascinating to see how those visions evolve once they move through marriage, career development or parenthood.”

Athan added that further research would allow practitioners and policymakers to better tailor policy to the unique challenges and conflicts various communities are trying to resolve. “It’s not a one-size-fits-all model,” Athan said.