Hey there. Let’s skip the flowery intro and get straight to it: infertility is a mind-fuck.
Some people get pregnant the moment they start trying. Good for them. (No, really. But also… ugh.)
Me? I was pessimistic from the start. Turns out my anxiety wasn’t just being dramatic–it was onto something.
Let’s Clear Something Up First
You know how TV shows portray an infertility diagnosis? The dramatic moment in a colorless doctor’s office where some old dude in a white coat delivers the news? Similar to a strep throat–one test and boom, we know what we’re working with.
Yeah, that’s not how this shit works.
In reality, it’s messier. It typically goes something like this:
- “Let’s try this and see what happens”
- Endless tests
- More questions than answers
- Sometimes no answers at all
What You’re Getting (And Not Getting) From This Post
This isn’t your typical “stay positive” guide to infertility. Mindset matters–100%. But I’m here to keep it real, raw, and unapologetically honest. Let’s ditch the sugarcoating because, honestly, it just makes you feel worse in the long run.
So before we go any further, let’s make sure we’re going to mesh.
What I’m NOT Covering:
- How to “fix” it: I’m not a doctor, so no medical advice here. This is about navigating the emotional rollercoaster.
- Toxic positivity: You know, the “Just relax, and it’ll happen!” vibes? Hard pass.
- Forced silver linings: Infertility sucks, and you don’t have to pretend it’s a “blessing in disguise.”
- One-size-fits-all advice: Your journey is yours. Period.
What We’re Actually Going to Talk About:
The Real Shit:
- That special kind of rage you feel when another friend announces their pregnancy
- The grief nobody warns you about
- Guilt that bubbles up at random moments
- How infertility can feel like the most isolating club you never wanted to join
- Why it’s okay to feel like a complete mess
The raw emotion of infertility is rarely talked about. So let’s dive into the real world, shall we?
Before The Diagnosis: Welcome to Limbo
You’re in this weird space of hope and disappointment, month after month. You cling to the thought: This is the month.
But then, it’s not. You’re standing in the bathroom, staring at another stark white pregnancy test. Hope fades, disappointment takes over, and by month 6+ fear starts to creep in.
Is this infertility?
The infertility label
Infertility isn’t usually a dramatic diagnosis. Technically, it’s defined as the inability to get pregnant after a year of regular, unprotected sex. But the actual process of getting that label? It’s a journey.
It may go something like this:
- Try for a year
- Do approximately 47,283 tests
- Get vague answers
- Do more tests
- Maybe get a diagnosis
- Maybe not
- Welcome to the club nobody wants to join
When you’re stuck in this limbo, you crave a reason—a diagnosis that makes sense, and a direction to move in. Instead, you live in uncertainty, and that’s when the emotional shitstorm begins.
Confusion and Loss of Control
At first, trying to conceive feels like something you have control over. But the minute you get hit with the infertility label, that feeling of control vanishes into thin air.
Suddenly, you feel like a science experiment. Tests. Appointments. Procedures. Acronyms you’ve never heard of—HSG, IUI, FET, LH. If I’d wanted this much medical lingo in my life, I would’ve gone to med school.
Here’s what might hit you during this phase:
- Inadequacy: Why isn’t my body doing what it’s “supposed” to do?
- The monthly gut punch: That sinking feeling every time your period shows up.
- Unsolicited advice rage: “Have you thought about adoption?” or “Just relax!” (Spoiler alert: I was not relaxed.)
- Faking it at baby showers: Taylor Swift summarized this nicely in “I can do it with a broken heart”
When Your Body Becomes a Science Experiment
Once fertility treatments start, life becomes one giant schedule. Overwhelming is the best way I can describe this phase. Medications, appointments, tracking ovulation. Did I take that pill today? What’s the next step? Oh, and let’s not forget the side effects.
It’s intense, to say the least. But here’s the thing: in all this chaos, you learn vulnerability. You lose control—hard—but you also gain something unexpected. Vulnerability is a superpower (even if infertility still sucks). And it truly shaped me for the better. So F you infertility, I still hate you, but thanks for the new skill you taught me.
The Googling Begins
Funny thing (looking back)–it’s also the start of an unhealthy relationship with Google. I was Googling every little thing I could think of.
Is this an evaporation line or a positive pregnancy test?
Did you have a positive pregnancy test by 13 DPO? (oh yes, medical lingo and internet lingo are two different beasts)
I’m just going to chalk this embarrassing Google habit as a elite research skill I’m now equipped with.
When Everyone Else Moves Forward Without You
This phase is brutal. It feels like everyone is getting pregnant except for you. Baby showers, Facebook pregnancy announcements (in 2014 everybody did that)—it’s everywhere. And you’d prefer to just crawl under a rock.
I was dominated by jealousy, anger, and guilt. It didn’t feel fair.
And let’s not forget the isolation. If you haven’t told anyone about your infertility, you’re carrying this weight alone.
For the longest time, we kept it a secret. Looking back, I wish we’d shared sooner. I will always 100% understand those who keep it close to home, but in full transparency, I regret holding it in.
After we told people, we received so many supportive messages. People who had either once struggled with infertility or knew someone close to them who had. It felt freeing and reassuring.
Support looks different for everybody, but it’s an important part of every fertility journey.
Finding Your People
Here’s where you finally take back some of your life, and control. I got so tired of experiencing all the lows and was just like fuck it, we’re not doing this any more. I stopped hiding and started finding people—therapist, a support group, the one friend who just gets it.
Strategies that can help:
Create a community: Online forums, support groups, or even infertility reels on Instagram can make a difference.
Set boundaries: Protect your energy from people who diminish your experience.
Lean into your partner: Yes, you’ll argue, but they’re also your teammate in this battle. Communicate what you need (and ask what they need).
Surviving the Day-to-Day of Infertility
Infertility forces you into survival mode. Every day feels like a battle, but you get better at it.
You find ways to cope. You cry when you need to. You laugh at yourself for Googling “odds of positive pregnancy test at 13 DPO” at 3 a.m.
And eventually, you realize you’re stronger than you thought.
Here are some additional things that can help:
- Feeling your feelings (all of them)
- Finding outlets for the rage (great time for that hobby you’ve been meaning to start)
- Creating a game plan for triggers (and understanding your triggers)
- Building a support system that doesn’t suck
- Trust yourself when everyone has an opinion and wants to weigh in
Final Thoughts
Infertility sucks. It’s messy, painful, and unfair. And it also changes you.
There’s no magic formula for making this easier, and anyone who tells you to “just stay positive” probably hasn’t been here. What I can tell you is this:
Your feelings – all of them – are valid.
You’re not broken.
You’re not alone.
It’s okay to not be okay.
Anyone who tells you to “just stay positive” can fuck right off.
From someone who’s been there: I see you. I get it. This is hard, but you can do it.
