Holding Space for What Isn't Often Seen

There are some experiences that don’t always have a clear place to land, and conversation around infertility is one of them. I often hear women say things like:

“I want to talk about it, but it makes people uncomfortable.” 

“I don’t want to bring the mood down, and I don’t know how to talk about this in a way that doesn’t make me feel like I am coming across as someone who’s negative all the time.” 

“I feel like I don’t have the space to talk about it, especially when someone tells me they’re pregnant. I’m so happy for them, but devastated for me.”

Infertility is a quiet grief that often remains in the shadows of everyday life. There is a heaviness that feels constant, and it can feel so scary to try and have it acknowledged by others. National Infertility Awareness Week is a time where many people don’t feel so alone in their grief, and it’s a time where the day-to-day silence can be challenged.

Infertility is often talked about in medical terms: diagnoses, timelines, treatment plans. While these pieces matter, they’re only part of the story. Infertility can impact identity, relationships, self-worth, and hope. It can shift how you see your body, your future, and even your place in the world.

It can also feel like an unpredictable experience. There may be moments of hope followed by disappointment. Or decisions that feel impossible to make. Grief that shows up in ways you didn’t anticipate… sometimes quietly, sometimes all at once.

And that’s not even considering the relational layer. Navigating pregnancy announcements, baby showers, well-meaning comments, or questions that land harder than people realize can feel especially heavy. There’s so much nuance in holding your own grief while also making space for excitement and joy for others experiencing the very thing you want so deeply.

It can be hard to know what to share, what to hold close, and how to stay connected to others while still protecting your own heart. It’s a delicate balance, and one that can feel incredibly exhausting.

My Own Experience with Infertility

I have to admit, this feels vulnerable to share! 

I don’t often talk about my own experience with infertility because it’s something that’s deeply personal. I sit with women each day and help them navigate through the pain and uncertainty of their infertility journey, and it’s something that I’ve lived, too. 

In my early 20s, I learned that I wouldn’t be able to have children. At the time, I carried that news largely on my own. I didn’t know how to talk about it. I didn’t know who to turn to.

I know what it’s like for your body to feel like it isn’t doing what it’s “supposed” to do. To feel isolated in your grief and go through the motions as if everything is fine. To slowly come to terms with the reality that the future you imagined might not unfold the way you thought it would.

My experience doesn’t define me, but it has shaped me. It’s impacted how I show up in my personal life and in my work. It deepened my understanding of what it means to sit with uncertainty, to hold space for grief without needing to fix it, and to honor the different paths that people choose in their journey.

I’m sharing this not because there’s a perfect way to talk about infertility, but because I want you to know you’re not alone. 

National Infertility Awareness Week isn’t just about awareness. It’s about making space for more honest, nuanced conversations. It’s about challenging stigma, and recognizing that infertility is more than a private struggle. It’s a deeply human experience that deserves care, compassion, and support.

If this is part of your story, you don’t have to carry it alone.

There is room for your grief.
There is room for your questions.
There is room for your hope, whatever that looks like for you.

If you’re needing support during this time, reach out to Willow Counseling today 🧡