Moving on From Infertility
I haven’t written about infertility in a good long while—ever since my not-so-welcome appointment with my doctor during which I asked to be prescribed birth control and he tried to convince me otherwise. You can read about that experience here. That was a year ago.
Since then, I’ve been on birth control. You might think that that choice contradicts a desire to have children. You’d be right.
When my husband and I chose to go back on birth control, it was for one primary reason—to help manage my PCOS symptoms. Guess what? It worked.
No longer did I have 14-day periods with mid-cycle bleeding and 36-day menstruation cycles. No longer did I have such severe cramping that I was incapacitated on the couch for two days. My cystic acne cleared up (helped along with an avoidance of chocolate). My mood stabilized. My energy improved.
This means that we also will not conceive while on birth control.
For me, that was reason number two for choosing birth control—to move on from the excruciating five years of TTC (trying to conceive) and begin the road to accepting our life without children. I received a diagnosis (of exclusion) of PCOS in May 2022, which determined that, due to not conceiving at all over 4+ years of trying to conceive, we were unlikely ever to conceive.
For Fritz, that was the sign he needed to mentally move on from trying to conceive. For me, it was a step down that road.
Finally, though, my menstrual symptoms aggravated me to the point where I asked my doctor for a birth control prescription. Now, a year after having had that appointment and beginning birth control, I love our life.
No more questioning every month whether I will conceive or not.
No more stressing about seeing babies at church or the grocery store.
No more rollercoaster of grief each time a brownish-red spot dots my underwear.
No more raging anger every time I encounter a pregnant woman.
Quite simply, I’ve let go.
If someone told me five years ago that I would be okay with never having children, I might have hit them. If they had said that Fritz and I would have a wonderful life together without children, I might have said a few nasty words to them.
The thing is, they would be right. But when someone is in the middle of grieving their infertility, you don’t push them toward acceptance. Not yet.
Instead, you sit with them in their grief. You let them tell you how hard it is and which specific moments they’re grieving—never seeing their child’s first steps, hearing their first words, or experiencing pregnancy, childbirth, and breastfeeding. Never seeing their husband toss their child in the air and blow raspberries on their baby’s belly. Never having a little shadow following them and trying to fix cars or clean the dishes in imitation of their parents.
We won’t experience these things. At least not directly. Not as parents.
Fritz and I are grateful to be part of large families that have multiple little ones. On his side alone, there are currently nine grandchildren under the age of five (with two more on the way!). Chaos is a term too gentle for what it feels like when all of them are under one roof.
This used to be a source of grief for me. Over and over, I watched my sisters-in-law become pregnant and give birth. Over and over and over. What a dagger in my heart!
But now…
Now, the children are a source of great joy. I get to watch them grow up, learn words, and learn how to walk. I’m entertained by their toddling attempts to imitate their parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I am vastly amused by their ability to wreak havoc.
Fritz, of course, is the ‘fun’ uncle. Me? I’ve never been that good with kids, so I’m biding my time. I’m in this for the long haul. I’ll never be the favourite auntie, but I will be present in their lives, interested in them as persons, and when they’re teenagers and adults, that’s when they’ll know that I care because that is when I’ll connect with them best.
We’re also grateful to be an honorary aunt and uncle to the children of friends who have granted us this title. There are so, so many children in our lives.
A life without our own children does not mean a life without any children.
Best of all—Fritz and I get to return home to our quiet house and snuggly pup at the night’s end. No screaming children. No snotty-nosed messes. I quite like this life. We can go on dates as we like. We can spend our Sunday afternoons in quiet. My old soul basks in the sunlight of this life.
We went to see a counsellor this past summer to talk about our infertility and our processing of it. Essentially, the counsellor said, “You need to choose. Will you continue trying to conceive, or will you move on with your life as a childless couple?”
By being on birth control, we are temporarily choosing a childless life. Will this be our future?
Short answer: yes.
Simply put, I can’t do the rollercoaster of did I conceive this month?? again. We can’t know what the future holds. Based on our past, I think we know what a good and healthy future for us looks like, and it doesn’t hold children.
This is not a selfish choice. That’s the rebuttal I hear from some folks who like to point fingers at childless couples. This is certainly not the road we would have chosen for ourselves. It is, however, the road that God has led us on. It’s not selfish to accept that.
We fought it for a long time. We railed against it. We threw our fists at God and wailed in grief and anger.
Now, there’s peace. Acceptance. There is beauty in a life that was not predicted or initially wanted but is now desired. There is space to welcome with open arms whatever God has for us as we move on from infertility.
