My husband doesn’t want a vasectomy. I don’t blame him: it might be a 15-minute procedure carried out under local anaesthetic, but it’s not exactly a spa treatment. When I suggested it might be the answer to our family planning, he winced and joked that he had “seen what the snip did to the dog”.

He’s not alone in his reticence; there was a 64% decline in the number of men getting the procedure in the 10 years to 2015. But the thing is, he and I have finished having babies and I feel like my turn should be over. A vasectomy would feel like a feminist action on his part, an acknowledgment of everything I have been through that has got us to this point in our lives.

Yes, contraception played a huge role in liberating women, and in heterosexual relationships both men and women benefit from being able to plan their families. But it can also have a real impact on the wellbeing of women – it certainly has on mine. A few weeks ago I asked my doctor to remove my hormonal coil, the latest birth control method to have gone badly for me. Its removal worked a kind of magic as I recovered from its effects: I lost 4.5kg in two weeks, the acne I had developed cleared up, and the low-level fug of lethargy and sadness I had been feeling vanished.

I am back to my normal self and I know that just like the pill, the mini-pill, the injection and the implant, the hormonal coil had affected my body and mind. Many women are perfectly happy and healthy taking hormone-based contraceptives, but I am not alone in reacting badly to them. Recent research suggested the pill can make it harder for women to read other people’s emotions, and there are studies that link its use to an increased risk of depression.

We have three planned and very wanted children, and that’s enough. I don’t want any surprise pregnancies, but I cannot put myself through any more hormone-based treatments that risk messing with my mind, my mood and my metabolism.

It also simply seems unfair that long-term contraception should always be a woman’s responsibility in male/female relationships, especially since she will also be the one to endure the physical effects of any pregnancies. In my adult life I have spent years on one contraceptive or another, despite the negative effects. I have been through three full-term pregnancies, as well as one miscarriage. I have breastfed for a combined total of four years. In order to prevent pregnancies I have had implants jabbed into my arm, injections in my backside and a doctor who gestured at my crotch every time he mentioned periods. During pregnancy and birth I have had my cervix “swept”, I have had what I’ll call “intimate stitching” and, let’s not forget, I have pushed out three small humans. Women go through a lot, whether they are preventing or experiencing pregnancy.

Then there’s the time spent managing contraception. Not just the time women spend worrying about whether they’ve taken the pill on time or checking the coil is still in place – although all that is additional emotional labour for which they get no credit. It’s also the hours spent in GP waiting rooms and queueing at chemists.

All this means that once a couple know they don’t want to get pregnant again, it’s only fair for the man to step up and take his turn. A 15-minute procedure under local anaesthetic cannot be much worse than having your waters broken by a midwife with an amniohook and a determined expression.

I hate the expression “man up”, with its toxic undertone and implication that being masculine is somehow superior. But women have been stepping up to manage birth control and fertility for decades – it’s time for men to “woman up” and play their part in managing their family size. Equality is about sharing the burden, and that ought to include the burden of birth control.

• Felicity Hannah is a consumer affairs journalist