While statistics suggest that 1 in 8 couples experience infertility, as you can imagine the Glow Community has a much larger proportion of women who are dealing with this heartbreaking condition. A few years ago, I was one of them. And while I am now on the other side of the divide, those feelings, those days, they live with me.

Infertility has many faces. Many different paths. Some walk it silently for years. Some shout it from the rooftops. Some seek medical help. Many do not. The only thing we all share is our grief. The grief of the unknown, the unknowable, the loss of a child who doesn’t exist. Who may never exist.

The grief of infertility plays on an endless loop. Every month, every cycle brings on the pain anew. Every month, infertile women (and their partners) feel the highs of reluctant optimism (maybe this will be my month) and the crushing finality of a failed cycle (not again!). It is the possibility that you could get pregnant, no matter how remote, that will not let hope die. And it is that same hope that tortures you, month after month, year after year.

Because of this, there is no one big moment that infertile women can point to and say “This – this happened. And I hurt.” and so, often, there is no way to assimilate the grief. No public event where others can see, and feel, and say: “Look, she is grieving. She has a right to grieve. Let us hold her hand. Let us cry with her.”

But the grief is no less real for being spread over months and years. No less hurtful. It haunts you. It haunted me. For four very long years, in my happiest moment, I paused and thought of the child I had failed to conceive. That I had miscarried. That I had failed, over and over again.

We expect understanding of our grief over a death or a divorce or the diagnosis of a serious illness. We just have to reveal the situation to receive empathy and sympathy. Compassion and kindness.

But not so with infertility. Because the scale of infertility is almost impossible to convey with a few words. Sometimes, that makes people think it’s okay to dismiss this grief. To discuss it in a flippant fashion, without the knowledge that our very words are like acid on the minds and hearts of the infertile women in our community.

But it does not have to be this way.

No matter what, I will always believe in the best of the Glow community. How can I not, when every day I have a front row seat to the endless compassion women here display towards each other.

And so, I want to ask you – personally – to choose your words with care when you discuss this important topic – especially if you yourself have never experienced infertility.

Thank you for hearing me out.