Speaking Openly About Fertility Issues

Taboo, shmaboo, this is my life.

I’ve made no secret in my life that I can and will talk about things and be vulnerable and open — even at the risk of stigma.

I’ve spoken very openly about my own struggles with anxiety, loneliness, and my mental health. More recently, I published a book continuing the conversation surrounding sexual assault, abuse, and harassment.

I’ve said it before and will say it many times more: I REFUSE to be part of ANY stigmatization of mental health or “taboo” subjects.

I am open and vulnerable because I choose to be. I choose to not be embarrassed. I choose to show my own issues and struggles and I hope others will see it and relate. And feel like maybe they, too, can speak openly and not feel judged.

Here is my truth: I am dealing with fertility problems.

It sucks. It is absolutely mentally and emotionally draining at times, causes crazy emotions, and more.

After over a year of trying on our own and several misdiagnoses, we are now working with a fertility specialist.

I have been poked, prodded, in stirrups, and poked more. Test upon test. I’ve had blood drawn on no less than 9 separate occasions in 3 months.

I have been put on and taken off more than five different types of medications. Also, my insurance doesn’t cover fertility treatments — because of course it doesn’t.

They don’t know why I haven’t conceived.

As is normal (from what I’ve heard, researched, and been told by friends and family), I have had some bouts of being very emotional.

“What did I do wrong? I must have caused this!” “Why is my body not doing what it is biologically supposed to do?!” “I don’t feel like a ‘real’ woman.”

I’ve cried to my husband and my mom. I’ve had anxiety over it. I’ve questioned whether we are “meant” to be parents.

Wanting to have a kid but not being able to has been (so far) one of the most discouraging and frustrating things to ever happen to me.

Yet I press on. What else can you do but silence that horrible voice in your head and keep trying?

Our doctors are great and we really like them. And I am incredibly lucky and thankful to have a supportive husband who is my teammate in this. I don’t know what I’d do without that dude (shh! Don’t tell him I said that!).

Despite having a supportive network of husband, family, and friends, it is a very isolating situation and just feels so discouraging and just plain hard sometimes.

I’m sure it’ll happen eventually, and I am excited for when that day does come.

But for now, no one seems to talk about how damn hard it is. How you sometimes just cry because you feel like your body just won’t do its damn job. Or how you feel like a science project laid across a table at the doctor’s office. Or how you hope so hard every month and when you see the blood of your period, you tear up a little and need a hug.

So, I am.

I want to talk about it.

THIS is why I am a writer. I am a writer because I want to be able to write about real life, real feelings, and be real and vulnerable to the world.

All parts of this series:

Part 1 (this one):

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

Part 5:

Part 6:

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