I warn you; this is long. However I know these are feelings shared by many women, maybe they might find comfort knowing they’re not alone. I understand.

Yesterday afternoon, I was inconsolable. Yesterday morning, I stupidly allowed myself to entertain the idea I may be pregnant. Not because I was symptom spotting…. We are way beyond that. Symptoms are just my mind playing cruel tricks on me, trying to get my heart to recognise typical PMS symptoms as pregnancy. No, I entertained the idea because I was three days late. Knowing myself it’s perfectly normal to be a few days late, but also knowing it’s unusual for me. Yesterday morning I stupidly saved my FMU, went to the shops, bought a test. Yesterday morning I stupidly tested, and even though the proof was in my hands, I stupidly further allowed myself to entertain the idea that it was a faulty test.

“I’ll get a different brand tomorrow”, I told myself.

Well.

That wasn’t necessary. In the afternoon, thinking nothing more of it, I used the bathroom and saw it. I don’t need to go into details. You know what I’m talking about. And in that moment, my dreams were shattered. In that moment, I knew I was deceived by my hopes. And in that moment I knew it would never be. I had given myself three more months to conceive before giving up for good… and suddenly we were down to two months. I had given myself three months, because in three months-time it was the anniversary of the day I stopped my birth control pills. It was the day that we made the decision to start a family… without knowing four years later that decision would be taken away from us.

I’m not going to talk about the initial year… when you think it’s OK, it can take a healthy couple up to a year. I’m not going to talk about the second year… when you think it’s OK, I’ll start looking at clinics and treatments… I’m not going to talk about the third year… when plans are delayed due to COVID… I’m not going to talk about the fourth year, when your bank account is haemorrhaging money in a desperate attempt to figure out what the problem is before the banks are dry.

I’m going to talk about the despair you feel with every month. I’m going to talk about the gut-wrenching pain you feel when you realise it’s another failed cycle. I’m going to talk about the kick in the stomach when your friends and family announce their pregnancies. I’m going to talk about the never-ending grief, frustration, sorrow, agony that follows you in your journey.

Because how can you be happy? Knowing that you’re not childless by choice. Knowing that a basic human function is dysfunctional in you. Knowing that every pregnancy around you, every birth, every “when are you having kids?” question directed at you is just another reminder that well, you can’t. It is salt being poured into the wound. It’s kicking someone when they’re down.

And, personally, it’s worse when no one knows you’ve been trying. Because you have to attend Joan Soaps bridal party on the same day you got your blood tests back that your AMH levels are non existent. Because you have to go to Christmas lunch on the same day you got your period. Because you have to go to Joe Soap's wedding in the same week your fertility appointment got cancelled... And you have to do it all with a smile on your face.

And you have this smile on your face while secretly dying inside. You have to hope you are strong enough to keep the tears in when someone else is expressing their joy. Even worse, you have to be involved, help pick a colour scheme for the baby shower, be expected to help paint the baby room... when you want to hide. Even if people know you are trying and struggling, you are still expected to be happy for people. Which is a fair expectation, but unattainable when you just… aren’t.

Now I know many people think this is selfish. So what, people aren’t allowed to have a baby shower because you’re sad? People aren’t supposed to plan their families because you can’t have one? It’s not their fault they can get pregnant and you can’t. Grow up, the world doesn’t revolve around you… to those people, just don’t. DON’T. We KNOW it’s not their fault. We KNOW we should be happy. We KNOW that life is unfair.

We are allowed to shy away. We are allowed not to go. We are allowed to drown in our tears. It is better for everyone involved to distance ourselves. We don’t have to battle to externally appear joyful while simultaneously, internally, keep telling ourselves to be strong, we can cry at home. And for the pleased parent to be… they don’t have to have their joy brought down by our misery.

Why is it socially unacceptable for an infertile couple to distance themselves from triggering events? Why is it selfish to look after our mental health? Why is it not selfish to force one to attend showers and celebrations detrimental to one's mental health? Why is it OK to emotionally manipulate an already vulnerable person into attending an event that generates pain?

We know we can’t excuse ourselves from each and every gathering. But you have no idea how much mental preparation we need to undergo, to prepare ourselves in the event someone announces their pregnancy. The anxiety that builds up during the course of the day, how are you going to react if someone decides to share their news? The nerves, eyeballing every woman… are they drinking? Are they sharing a knowing look with their partner? Do they have a glint in their eye that indicates something is going to happen?

Infertility consumes you. Infertility is the never-ending torture of having to deal with fresh grief month after month, year after year. Infertility steals your bliss and plunges you into a depression you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to make your way out of. Infertility invades your mind. Infertility changes you. Infertility ruins you.

To those struggling with infertility. I feel you. I understand you. I share your grief. I will never call you horrible because you’re struggling to be happy for others. I will never expect you to set aside your true feelings. I will never guilt you for being sad. I understand.