[Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links. You can read my full disclosure here.]
In a lot of ways, infertility is unexplainable. The whole thing is too complicated, too confusing, too personal. Your emotions are too dramatic, the whole thing too unrelatable. It’s like when people don’t laugh when you tell a funny story; for some things you had to be there. Infertility is the same way; to get the cruel joke you had to be there.
Or it’s like when I make some naive comment about kids to some friends who actually have kids, and I see them exchange a glance with their husband as if to say, “You wouldn’t understand. Just wait until you have kids.” Having kids, apparently, unlocks all sorts of secrets. I wish I could tell them that infertility is the same way, that they wouldn’t understand either. That they’ll never know the secrets I know.
If I thought I could make people understand what being infertile is really like, here is what I would tell them:
It’s confusing
There are too many questions and too many possible answers. I used to know the answers to every question only because I’d never actually been asked the questions before. Is IVF morally acceptable? Would you consider adoption? Are you okay with never having kids? Those questions have simple answers when those questions are not relevant to you.
There are no clear answers for anything. Every website says something different; every doctor you go to gives a different opinion. Not knowing your diagnosis becomes a diagnosis in and of itself: unexplained. And that’s as far as doctors are willing to go to diagnose you. Tell me, with what other problem you go to the doctor for, will they be content to just not figure it out?
It’s shameful
I remember going to the hospital to visit a friend’s newborn baby a year or so ago. I’ve never been super comfortable around babies, to be honest. Especially newborns. Give me a toddler and I’m good. But a baby? I feel like they are going to break while I’m holding them if I so much as move a pinky finger. So, as I awkwardly shift the day-old baby in my arms to try to figure out how to get comfortable, the husband jokes, “Do you even know how to hold a baby?”
No, maybe THAT’S why I can’t have one.
That poor husband probably had no idea how I took his little joke. But with infertility comes the shame that you don’t even know how to have babies, let alone anything about raising them. It’s painful; it makes you take offhand, casual comments in a way they were never meant to be taken.
It’s funny
I have a lot of friends, neighbors, coworkers, and family friends who are pregnant. (Heck, isn’t everyone pregnant these days?) Not too long ago, I stood in the hallway at school, face-to-face with a coworker who was 9 months pregnant at the time. Another teacher came up, in the middle of our conversation, and began to rub her belly and talk to the unborn baby in a loud, cooing voice. Literally in my face while we were still having a conversation a day after I found out I wasn’t pregnant again. You can’t make this stuff up.
I laughed. Sometimes some things are just that unbelievable that they’re comical. I mean, really?
It’s eye-opening
Speaking of comical, I once convinced my husband to go to an infertility support group with me. (We stayed in the car long enough to watch people going in to make sure they looked “normal” enough before we headed in.) Turns out people in the group were pursuing IUI, IVF, embryo adoption, surrogates, sperm donation, and other things I hadn’t even heard of before. (Here we thought they looked normal!)
Here were normal people going through infertility and pursuing all kinds of infertility treatments. I legitimately had no idea. I have no idea what a lot of people are going through.
It’s draining
One week — I kid you not — I had three baby showers. Three. In one week. Two of which I hosted. Need I say more?
Being THRILLED and PUMPED and OVER-THE-TOP EXCITED about BABIES and BABY STUFF for that many days in a row is DRAINING. It eventually came to the point where I had to ask my husband, “Did I sound excited enough?” after a friend’s pregnancy announcement that came days after all of these showers.
Being in a perpetual state of excitement for friends who are getting the very thing you want is honestly just exhausting sometimes.
It’s isolating
I don’t care about all of the statistics out there saying 1 in 8 people struggle to get pregnant. Or those people who say infertility is so common these days. Or the support groups we tried (okay, just the one, one time, but still).
1 in 8 people is a lot, but it’s not a lot. If I’m 1, then my other 7 friends do NOT struggle with this, which makes it just plain isolating. (Do I really have to have 15 other close friends to find someone else who is infertile? How many friends do people expect you to have, anyway?) Despite my friends’ best attempts to include me in their conversations (because they really do their best), I just can’t relate anymore to so many of the things they talk about, like diaper rash cures and six-month sleep regressions and 3am feedings. It’s isolating.
It’s surprising
Not only because I was inevitably shocked that I had become the 1 in 8 statistic, but infertility is surprising because I never realized how conceited, envious, guilty, and judgmental I really was until all of this happened. I never counted on infertility to point out all of my flaws.
And what’s more, infertility is surprising because it’s strengthening, and it strengthens your marriage and your faith if you let it. And now, even in the middle of all of this confusion, shame, and isolation, I somehow feel more grateful for the things in my life than I ever have before. My perspective on things has changed, and the honest truth is that whether I have kids or not in the end, I am now more grateful for what I do have. It took me a long time to get here, and I still have my days. Unfortunately, gratitude doesn’t always take away my other — ahem, shall I say less noble — qualities (if you didn’t catch them earlier…self-centeredness, envy, guilt, and judgment). I never said I was perfect. But I am choosing to be grateful.
Like I said, infertility is hard to explain.
You may also like…
—The best infertility encouragement someone ever gave me
—To Talk About Your Infertility…or Not?
—When I realized infertility was making me a terrible friend
These words couldn’t hold more true. I feel like you have taken the words right out of my mouth.
Hii
I also struggling by infertility with 2 failed IVF cycle..
My mind blocked,I can’t understand what to do
I want to share my emotions bt I think nobody want to listen me..
Whatever after reading ur story I feel that I m not alone
I felt that way years ago, not because I could not get pg but because I kept losing them. My medical files classify me as an obitual aborter, meaning I had over 3 miscarriage’s. In one sense I do understand but because I had no problem getting pregnant, it is different. I lost six in the 12 years we were married. They could find nothing wrong with me or my husband but assured us if we had had those babies they would have been physically and mentally distorted. at 30 I decided to try one more time, against the doctors advice. In fact we did try for adoption through the state. They were getting ready to start our home visit when my husband at age 26 had a massive heart attack, spent a month in hospital and finally had a bypass surgery which was a new procedure at that time. Adoption was off the table. My seventh try was a little girl who came a little early but was healthy. I lost another one and finally had a little boy. At 35 I quit to everyone relief. Our son had a few issue, he was full term but was born very under weight. It took him a while to catch up. I knew in my heart it was to quit. yes, my story is different but I felt the same things before i had children around all my friends. I remember abortion were starting to be done openly in New York and I knew a family member who had one and I wanted to scream at her how foolish she was. WE would have adopter the child. The struggle in my heart over others with children was an off and on issue. I tell you all this only to say I am so sorry. Yes, I have children now and everytime I look at them and my grandchildren I am grateful. I hurt for you but not as deep as you hurt. I will pray for you. I wondered after my little girl was born where were those babies I lost for I believe life start when the egg and sperm come together. I bought a bible and started reading the old testament to find maybe an answer to my question. What I found was answer to a lot more of my questions. I knew I was a sinner because I sinned but I did not know Jesus Christ in a personal way, I came to that relationship through my reading of the bible. So when my little girl was 4 and her brother was just born we started going to church because we had children and we wanted to be a church going family. God had so much more in store for us as a family. I got saved, born again, became a believer, not sure what terminology you are use to. I became a new creature in Christ and God begin to teach me that the Father would use all my hurt, pain, struggles to mature me and to help others. Nothing is wasted in God’s kingdom. I begin my search when I carried my little girl and I felt her move in side of me. I never felt the other move, they died before that stage. She is in her 40’s now and we live across from her and it’s the highlight of our life. OUr son lives in another state and we lived with him and his wife for four years. I have no medical answers for why these things happen since they doctors could not tell me. But I do have an answer from the bible, God’s book. All things work together for good. I love that you are so open and honest about your feelings, you are way ahead of me during those searching years. I will pray for you, I will not promise to do it every day, I am not a super spiritual women, or a super Mom or grandma. I am just an ordinary women who wanted children. I love to tell folks I have nine children, seven are in heaven because it gives me a chance to tell my story. You have a story too, keep telling it, someone needs to hear it. I pray blessings on you.
What a beautiful testimony. Thank you so much for sharing your story and the prayers! Your insight and wisdom give me (and others, I’m sure) so much encouragement!
Hey Jen. This was eye-opening. Not going through the struggle personally but I have people around me who are and this is helpful. Doesn’t give me the right words to say but it helps understand them more.
Reposted this on my blog.
Thank you so much for your comment and for adding it to your blog – I am heading over to your blog right now to check it out!
Wow. This message is painfully relatable. It feels like people who don’t struggle with infertility just don’t understand, but how could they? And I don’t enjoy trying to explain the intricacies and nuances to people. It is painful, and unfruitful. But you’re right – we have own secrets that only we understand. My husband and I have been trying to get pregnant for 5 years. I recently found your blog and I thoroughly enjoy it. Thank you!!
Thank you for your comment! Exactly — how could people understand?
Thank you for articulating my pain when I couldn’t. It makes me feel a little less alone.
Thank you for the comment – that makes me feel less alone too!