The unexpected thing being infertile AF taught me about life

In 2018, my husband and I decided it was time to pull the goalie and pump out some love nuggets. We ran our own business and had a plan to time the birth of our future baby so that the due date would fall just after our company’s busy season. Nearly all of our friends had gotten knocked up first try, much to the disappointment of the husbands who were hoping for more time to practice. We expected it would be just as easy.

Life has an ironic sense of humor though. It tends to give us exactly what we ask for even though it may not be in the way we want it.

In December of 2018, I got on a kick to learn how to accept the present moment with an open heart and surrender to life instead of resisting it. I had read The Untethered Soul and Surrender Experiment, by Michael Singer–books about the shift that happens when we stop trying to fight reality and learn to accept it instead. That year, I naively made my New Year’s resolution to learn how to let go of my constant need to control and attempt to trust in life instead.

There are few better ways to learn how to let go than to try to get pregnant.

After 17 years, I went off the pill and learned that aunt flow was MIA. Month after month went by without surfing the crimson wave. Each month, I walked the tightrope of hope and disappointment as I pissed on a plastic stick that would determine my fate as a parent. Hope is persistent and often irrational and no matter how much you try to mentally prepare yourself for a negative, it inevitably feels like a left hook to the uterus every time you see your hopes denied.

After six months, I went to the doctor who performed a series of blood tests and ultrasounds and then referred me to the REI department. I quickly learned the acronym refers to Reproductive Endocrinology and Infertility, not the cool store that sells outdoor recreational equipment.

More appointments, paperwork, blood tests, and ultrasounds resulted in the doctor saying I was kind of an anomaly–something a person generally doesn’t want to be considered by medical staff.

Without knowing the cause, I received a blanket diagnosis of Ovulatory Infertility from Secondary Amenorrhea, or lack of menstruation, since I didn’t fall into the two most common reasons for not having shark week: Polycystic Ovary Syndrome or Hypothalamic Amenorrhea.

I learned a lot about female anatomy.

My faded pink hospital gown acted as medical assless chaps; drafts of cold air caught me off guard as the doctor showed me plastic models of the female reproductive system. It was 7th grade sex-ed all over again, except this time I was actually paying attention.

On average, a woman will get her period within 1-3 months of going off of birth control and will typically get pregnant within the first six months of trying to conceive. Getting a period shows that you are ovulating, which is apparently an important piece of the pregnancy puzzle.

No period = No ovulation = No baby

If you aren’t ovulating your chances of making an oven-bun are non-existent.

The doctor recommended Clomid to kick start follicular growth paired with a self-injection of Ovidrel to force ovulation. The first cycle I was on the lowest dose of Clomid but I over-responded, producing so many eggs that if I conceived, I would have had a litter of babies that Cruella de Vil would be envious of. It was deemed too dangerous, so the doc said we’d try Letrozole next since it was typically less likely to cause over-production.

Three expensive failed cycles later, hormones all out of whack, and disappointment levels at an all-time high, my husband and I decided to take a break from medical intervention for a couple of months. Neither of us wanted to go the IVF route, feeling like it just wasn’t the right option for us.

More than a year had passed since we excitedly decided to start trying, thinking it would be fun, quick, and easy.

Infertility is interesting though. It’s the ultimate practice in learning to let go. I quickly realized that I could do everything ‘right’ and pregnancy still may not happen. Medications, injections, supplements, books, articles, apps, acupuncture, abdominal massages, meditations, fertility diets and cleanses–you name it, I probably tried it.

I couldn’t help but question if I was trying to force something that wasn’t meant to be. Maybe I was just infertile AF and that’s that.

If you’re having difficulty conceiving, you become keenly aware of all of the fertile people that are in your life. Babies and clever pregnancy announcements consume Instagram feeds. Strollers are absolutely everywhere. Baby bumps spotted with an eagle eye of desire for something you want but can’t seem to get unless you eat a massive burrito.

Over the course of TTC, five of my closest friends and immediate family members cautiously, almost apologetically, shared news of their pregnancies with me.

I learned a lot with each announcement. First off, practice makes perfect doesn’t necessarily apply to this situation. It seemed that instead of getting easier the more announcements I heard, the harder it got. Each call or text felt like a swift dropkick to the ovaries, followed by an ugly cry on the floor.

I would be consumed by an overwhelming guilt that my first reaction wasn’t joy and excitement for the people I cared deeply about. The genuine happiness for them would come shortly after but I had trouble compassionately accepting my initial response. Feeling bad about feeling bad creates a vicious cycle, and it wasn’t until I started to accept that it is perfectly okay to be sad for myself and happy for someone else simultaneously.

I started to be kinder to myself and my reactions. I noticed that when I did this, the amount of time before I felt at peace with my situation greatly improved and I was able to share others’ excitement authentically and in record time.

I knew the easiest option probably would have been to close off as a way of protecting myself from the devastating hurt that disappointment inflicts, but there was something inside of me insisting that I embrace the pain and learn to accept it without muting it.

When we face disappointment, we have two options. We can close off and shut down, thinking we’re protecting ourselves from pain by attempting to numb it, or we can choose love and experience the hurt with an open heart. The former is much easier in the short-term, but as time passes, it will lead to a bitter and lonely resentment that will harden our hearts and stifle our joy.

So many people move through life with walls built up to protect themselves from the vulnerability of being openhearted. Because it could hurt. In fact, it’s almost guaranteed to hurt at some point. But what most people don’t realize is that the barriers that we create to protect us actually imprison us. To look at the potential of great pain or sadness that comes from lowering your guard in the face of disappointment, and choosing love instead of fear, is one of the most courageous things that people can do in life. And it’s the only way to truly let go and live fully.

Why do we always try to fight with reality when it doesn’t meet our vision of how it should be?

Life happens, it doesn’t meet our expectations and we take it personally. Rather than accept the situation for what it is, we desperately try to change it. But what happened, happened. No amount of mental McGyvering will change what has already passed. The only thing we can actually control is the meaning we give it and the choices we make in response. Do we choose love, or do we choose fear?

Although I don’t know if I will ever be able to actually get pregnant, I am committed to accepting reality with an open heart, choosing love and letting go. I refuse to let the pain of unmet expectations for my life embitter me. Instead, I will lean into the present moment and show up as I am. It’s only then that I can experience life as it was meant to be lived–from a place of raw authenticity and wholehearted participation.