My son Sahib turns 5 this week! A child’s birthday is always a moment of celebration and reflection. I am taken back to 7/8 years ago…when we decided to try for another child, I thought it would be as speedy as the first time with our daughter Daya. But it wasn’t meant to be.
It took two years to conceive Sahib.
Two years of of praying, hoping, crying, two years of trying not to be jealous of the women around me who were pregnant, of being sad when it didn’t happen the way I thought it would. Every month, I would build up new hope and excitement. I would remind myself of pregnancy symptom checklists by looking online. I’d analyse every cramp or twinge, wondering if it meant I could be pregnant. But then my period would come, along with a new sense of loss. It felt like a never-ending cycle and took a huge emotional toll.
I know from talking to others that 2 years is nothing compared to the heartbreak many go through and are experiencing. I had a tiny window into this world of infertility and heartache.
I kept my pain a secret from friends, family and colleagues and tried to bury my emotions. The fact that I was so sad made me feel really guilty. I didn’t think I had the right to experience those feelings, because I already had so much to be grateful for. At the top of that list: my husband, our amazing, healthy daughter and my health. I didn’t feel like I could or should talk with anyone about my feelings, except for my husband. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful for the many blessings we already had.
My husband was supportive, but he was perfectly fine with us having only one child. He didn’t want to take any extraordinary measures to have another child. But I wasn’t okay with that. I could not shake the feeling that our family was not yet complete. There are a few unique challenges that come with secondary infertility that no one really talks about.
This space between motherhood and secondary infertility can feel lonely and bleak.
Many who are struggling with secondary infertility get used to the flippant comments and lack of empathy directed to them:
- “What are you complaining about? You already have a child. A beautiful child. Be happy with that!”
- “You have such a great opportunity! You can focus all your love and energy on the one child you have. How lucky is she?”
- “Lots of folks CHOOSE to have just one child. Have you read that new book by XYZ? It’s all about the joys of raising an only!”
But because I chose not to tell anyone about the challenges I was facing I used to hear:
- “You have to have another child you can’t let her be alone forever”
- “It’s selfish not to have another child!”
It can be so hard to hear these comments and heightens the feeling of guilt you are already feeling.
Questioning Your Fertility & Sanity
When a couple has struggled to get pregnant with their first child, their struggle with secondary infertility might not come as a surprise. It is a little more surprising when a couple tries to conceive many years after the first pregnancy, even if they have reached the waning stage of reproductive years.
Regardless of how surprised you are by your secondary infertility, if you choose to share the pain of your struggle and are then being met by others’ disbelief. Fielding these comments is an extra challenge because it feels like they are questioning the validity of your infertility. I have had friends who have gone through the same, tell me they have been met with:
- “But wait. You aren’t really infertile, right? I mean, you do have a child already. Right?”
- “Huh. I thought since you were able to have one child, you can’t really be diagnosed as infertile.”
This line of questioning trivialises the pain you are feeling right now in your struggle, but many women also report significant additional pain in being doubted in this way. These questions have already been swirling in your mind and increasing your anxiety. When they are asked aloud by friends, family, or medical professionals, it’s isolating. It makes this space of secondary infertility feel even more lonely.
Where Do You Belong?
The loneliness of secondary infertility is frequently compounded by a division of those that are content with where they are and those that are not.
For example, some may happily immerse themselves in their parenting role, with a calendar full of playdates and Mummy and Me music classes. Parenting consumes them. And you get that – you may “only have one,” but that one is a full-time occupation, regardless whether you work outside the home.
Others are focused on trying to conceive. They are tracking cycles, timing intercourse, and researching new promising treatments. Their calendars are full of doctor appointments. You also totally understand that – you are trying and timing, too.
Then, there are those who are content with childlessness or parenting an only child (even if just for now). Their day planners are full of coffee dates and day trips. They don’t get your pain, but that’s okay. You can sort of remember being there before your child came on the scene.
You have space for these “haves” and “have nots” in your life. You are happy for them. Except that it’s lonely because you aren’t quite sure where you fit or if they have space for you. To ask, “where do I belong?” can exacerbate that loneliness.
If you are struggling with the loneliness of secondary infertility, it’s time to talk candidly about it. When comments hurt or feel too intrusive, have a come-back at the ready. Depending upon your temperament, you can choose to educate nicely but firmly. But you should never feel pressured to give more information than is right for you. Many women find it helpful to have a few different kinds of canned responses that they can use depending on the conversation’s circumstances.
Find your “village” – surround yourself with those who support and care for you well, even if they don’t get the pain you are facing. Tell them what you need and what is not helpful in this season. Figure out what your boundaries are and stick to them. No one has the right to make you feel embarrassed or ashamed of your struggle.
Consider working with a therapist or a counsellor who is skilled at the issues of infertility grief. You deserve to navigate this path with support, tools, and hope.
1 thought on “The Loneliness Of Secondary Infertility”
Thank you so much for sharing and exposing the loneliness and anguish of second infertility. While most people make comments to “pep talk” us (because they don’t know how to be with our grief), they really don’t understand the impact of their words. After my father died when i was 25, my boyfriend said to me, with a firm knowingness as he had lost his mom three years prior, “People will say really stupid things to you and use meaningless platitudes. It’s only because they haven’t yet experienced what you are experiencing.” He was right, and I have carried his wisdom with me through many such moments in life, including my infertility struggles.