I saw this post on another board and wanted to share, I edited it to more relate to my feelings. It summed up so much for me.
want to share my feelings about infertility with you, because I want
you to understand my struggle. I know that understanding infertility is
difficult; there are times when it seems even I don’t understand.
struggle has provoked intense and unfamiliar feelings in me and I fear
that my reactions to these feelings might be misunderstood. I hope my
ability to cope and your ability to understand will improve as I share
my feelings with you. I want you to understand.
You may describe me
this way: obsessed, moody, depressed, envious, obnoxious, aggressive,
antagonistic, bitter, and cynical. These aren't very admirable traits;
no wonder your understanding of my infertility is difficult. I prefer to
describe me this way: confused, rushed and impatient, afraid, isolated
and alone, guilty and ashamed, angry, sad and hopeless, and unsettled.
Infertility makes me feel confused. I feel confused as to why this is
happening. I feel confused when I get diagnoses such as unexplained
infertility, unexplained habitual miscarrier. All titles I do not want.
Surely if I try harder, try longer, try better and smarter, I will have
My infertility makes me feel rushed and impatient. I
learned of my unexplained secondary infertility only after we’d been
trying to become pregnant for some time. My life-plan suddenly is behind
schedule. I waited to have another baby and now I must wait again. I
wait for medical appointments, wait for tests, wait for treatments, wait
for other treatments, wait for my period not to come, wait for
pregnancy. At best, I have only twelve opportunities each year. How old
will I be when I finish having my family?
My infertility makes me
feel afraid. Infertility is full of unknowns, and I’m frightened because
I need some definite answers. How long will this last? What humiliation
must I endure? What pain must I suffer? Why do drugs I take to help me,
make me feel worse? Why can’t my body do the things that my mind wants
it to do? Why do I hurt so much? I’m afraid of my feelings, afraid of my
My infertility makes me feel isolated and alone.
Reminders of babies are everywhere. I must be the only one enduring this
invisible curse. Sometimes I have to stay away from others, because
everything makes me hurt. No one knows how horrible my pain is. Even
though I’m usually a clear thinker, I find myself being lured by
superstitions and promises; I think I’m losing perspective. I feel so
alone and I wonder if I’ll survive this.
My infertility makes me
feel guilty and ashamed. Frequently I forget that infertility is a
medical problem and should be treated as one. Infertility destroys my
self esteem and I feel like a failure. Why am I being punished? What did
I do to deserve this? Am I not worthy? Am I not a good enough mom? It
is easy to lose self-confidence and feel ashamed.
makes me feel angry. Everything makes me angry, and I know much of my
anger is misdirected. I’m angry at my body because it has betrayed me.
I’m angry at my partner because we can’t seem to feel the same about
infertility at the same time. I want and need an advocate to help me. My
younger brother and older brother are having kids soon and I am angry
at how I feel about that. I’m angry at my medical caregivers, because it
seems that they control my future. They humiliate me, inflict pain on
me, pry into my privacy, patronize me, and sometimes forget who I am.
How can I impress on them how important parenting is to me? I’m angry at
my expenses; infertility treatment is extremely expensive. Finally, I’m
angry at everyone else. Everyone has opinions about my inability to
become a to get/stay pregnant. Everyone has easy solutions. Everyone
seems to know too little and say too much.
My Infertility makes
me feel sad and hopeless. Infertility feels like I’ve lost my future,
and no one knows of my sadness. I feel hopeless; infertility robs me of
my energy. I’ve never cried so much or so easily. I’m sad that my
infertility places my marriage under so much strain. I’m sad that my
infertility requires me to be so self-centered. I’m sad that I've
ignored any friendships because this struggle hurts so much and demands
so much energy. I’m surrounded by babies, pregnant women, playgrounds,
baby showers, birth stories, kids’ movies, birthday parties and much
more. I feel so sad and hopeless. My infertility makes me feel
unsettled. My life is on hold. Two years spent doing treatments put so
much on hold. The more I struggle with my infertility, the less control I
have. This struggle has no timetable; the treatments have no
guarantees. The only sure things are that I need to be near my partner
at fertile times and near my doctor at treatment times. Should I pursue
adoption? Should I take expensive drugs? Should I pursue more
specialized and costly medical intervention? It feels unsettling to have
no clear, easy answers or guarantees. Occasionally I feel my panic
subside. I’m learning some helpful ways to cope; I’m now convinced I’m
not crazy, and I believe I’ll survive. I’m learning to listen to my body
and be assertive, not aggressive, about my needs. I’m realizing that
good medical care and good emotional care are not necessarily found in
the same place. I’m trying to be more than an infertile person.