National Infertility Awareness Week

"This is not a pregnancy announcement."

A line from a post I scanned this morning. Instead, it said, “this is a we’re a 1 in 4 announcement.”

I’ve played the argument back and forth in my head for a long time now – do I make some kind of public statement, like this couple, or continue in my relative silence? Seeing that post – an announcement to fill the space where many wonder and wait to see – but not the one expected – provided the last fuel to get me to the finish line and put words to a small introduction to our story on this messy journey so far.

The public sphere of social media gives many of us a “town square”- like presence the more introverted of us would have never filled before the modern era. These little grids and timelines allow more friends and acquaintances to peek into our lives than ever, for better or worse. Usually we default to the highlights, for obvious reasons. Sharing is scary. And I don’t think the public or quasi-public sphere is the place to air dirty laundry or process deep emotions. But it is a place where our stories can be used for good. So, here I am: sharing something that is much easier kept between myself, my husband, and our closest allies.

Before I continue though, here is what this is not, and this is an important boundary I am asking all who engage to hold with me:

1. This is not an ask for your friends/sisters/cousins/co-workers aunt’s recipe, doctor, protocol, or quick-fix that got them pregnant overnight. I have a great team in place that supports me in all of this.

2. This is not to garner sympathy.

3. This is not a place to encourage false promises, such as, “it will happen for you” or “in God’s time!” – While that may be true, there are so many precious emotions around this journey I will share as I am prompted. But through all of it, and I think many of us with infertility struggles are keen to this, I cannot hold onto something that simply is not true nor is biblically promised. And that’s ok. I have to live in reality, though not without hope.

At least weekly a stranger or new acquaintance asks, “do you have kids?” And it’s innocent. It doesn’t upset me like it used to. I respond with a kind but faked smile, “no…just two dogs…” The wise and compassionate seem to pick up on the potential backstory, the pain deeper in my eyes; they give me a sympathetic smile and move on, reading the unexpressed signals that this isn’t a topic to delve further into. A relief to us both. Those who aren’t so keen sometimes go on to say something else that twists the knife a bit: “being around my kids would be like birth control!” “Just wait, they’re a handful!” “want one of mine?”

That’s a hard question, because from a position of not knowing if that is in our future, I am left with two choices: simply and kindly say “no” (as I often do), or invite a random person on a soapbox about how hard that question is for some people with how common infertility is, and how we are 2.5 years into the waiting and not knowing, and how hard this is to long and not have….you see what I mean? Nobody wants that from a stranger.

A new study came out raising the long-cited number of 1 in 10 struggling with infertility to 1 in 6 now estimated to be impacted by infertility sometime throughout their lifetimes (https://www.who.int/news/item/04-04-2023-1-in-6-people-globally-affected-by-infertility). Knowing what I know now, it doesn’t surprise me.

If you knew 1 of every 6 of your friends were going through this battle, would you be willing to take even a few minutes to better understand? To learn about the words that sting? To be a safe place for them to land if/when they decide to share? Most of us are fighting these battles silently. Nearly three years in, I can safely say: fighting a battle of this magnitude alone is not the better way. But sharing does not come easy – small or large scale. Sometimes the people we love have to pull us close and say something so simple as: “if you need to talk, I’m here.”

It’s an extremely difficult tension to hold – being a friend to a friend with infertility. The friends that stick around and dig into the hard don’t hear enough from me how much it means. I hear you: you don’t want to hurt my feelings with your big news, expose me to kid parties and conversations, or say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

But let me encourage you in your efforts: keep asking. Keep texting. Be willing to listen but willing to accept “no” to invitations. Ask again anyway. Because it means more than you know. Knowing you continue to care and support, and allowing us the space to say no when it might be too hard is the tight rope of friendship that is worth walking. Although the baby shower may be too hard in this season, missing out entirely on your joy and walking with you as a friend through the highs (and lows) of life is so much harder than deciding between a yes and no, but still getting the invitation. We still want to know and love your kids. We want to be a part of their milestones. And in all reality, we are probably some of your easiest and most reliable babysitters (I even have a long resume to prove it, if you insist).

I don’t know if I will ever come on here with a miracle story, announcing a rainbow. I pray every day that I do. As do many prayer warriors fighting beside me. But every time I imagine that day as a possibility, I think about how insincere and insufficient it would feel to add a line about how long it took for us to get to such a glory when the storm is already behind us. It would not do justice to what years of longing looks like, and it would not reach those sharing in this struggle the same. Every time I hesitate to share while we are in the middle of this valley, I remember that there are others going through it too.

To my fellow warriors: you’re not alone. As Jennie Allen would say, #findyourpeople It’s worth it.

Learn more about this week here:

https://www.infertilityawareness.org/

Originally published April 25, 2023