My husband and I have been trying to grow our family for five years. Five. Years. At this point, I feel like I should get a loyalty punch card or at least a commemorative mug. We’re gearing up to start fertility treatments soon, which is equal parts hopeful, terrifying, and “please someone bring snacks.”

Infertility is one of those journeys you don’t sign up for, but suddenly you’re on the tour bus anyway, clutching your emotional support water bottle and wondering how you got here.

🌱 What Infertility Feels Like (Featuring: Too Many Feelings)

Infertility is invisible, which means you can be having a perfectly normal day on the outside while internally spiraling because your period showed up like an uninvited guest who definitely didn’t read the room.

It’s a cycle of:

• Hope — the kind where you start imagining baby names again.
• Hyper-awareness — suddenly every twinge is a “symptom.”
• Heartbreak — the quiet kind that shows up in the shower.
• Rebuilding — because somehow, you always get back up.

And while you’re doing all that emotional heavy lifting, people around you often try to help… and sometimes their attempts land like a brick wrapped in a Hallmark card.

🚫 Things Not to Say to Someone Struggling With Infertility

(A helpful guide for well-meaning humans everywhere)

“Just relax. It’ll happen.”

Ah yes, the classic. Because my uterus is apparently a stressed-out houseplant that just needs a spa day.

“Have you tried…?”

If it’s on the internet, I’ve tried it. Pineapple core, special vitamins, standing on my head, manifesting under a full moon — I could write a dissertation.

“You’re still young. You have time.”

Time is lovely, but it’s not exactly a fertility treatment.

“At least you can sleep in / travel / enjoy your freedom.”

Infertility is not a vacation package. No one chooses heartbreak for the perks.

“Maybe it’s not meant to be.”

This one deserves to be launched into the sun. It’s unhelpful, hurtful, and implies the universe is sending targeted messages.

“You can always adopt.”

Adoption is beautiful, but it’s not a quick fix or a consolation prize. It’s its own complex journey.

“My friend got pregnant after they stopped trying!”

Cool cool cool. I’m thrilled for your friend, but this is not a rom-com plotline where the moment I “let go,” a miracle happens.

💛 What To Say Instead

(Because support doesn’t require a TED Talk)

• “I’m here for you.”
• “That sounds really hard.”
• “I’m thinking of you this week.”
• “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
• “Want me to bring you tea before your appointment?”

Simple. Kind. Zero unsolicited advice. Chef’s kiss. There is no advice in the world you can give, that will help.

🌼 Moving Forward With Hope (and Humor, Because We Need It)

As we step into fertility treatments, I’m holding space for hope, fear, and the occasional meltdown over a medical bill. I’m learning that two things can be true at once: I can be grateful for my life and still long for something more. I can be strong and still feel like a soggy tissue. I can laugh at the absurdity of it all and still cry when I need to.

If you’re on this path too, I hope this made you feel a little less alone. And if you love someone who is, thank you for wanting to understand — truly.