The chapter I didn’t expect to write: My Fertility Journey

When Things Don’t Go the Way They Used To

I’ve written a lot of stories in my life.

In my stories, things usually make sense. There’s a beginning, a middle, and an end. There’s conflict—but it leads somewhere. There’s growth. There’s resolution.

Real life doesn’t seem to follow that same structure.

It’s been over a year now.

A year of trying.
A year of medications.
Needles. Tracking. Waiting. Hoping.

And still… nothing.

After about five months of trying on our own, I started to feel like something wasn’t right. It didn’t make sense. I’ve had four children before, and each time, I fell pregnant almost straight away.

So why not now?

The Questions That Don’t Go Away

That question plays on repeat in my mind.

Why can’t this just happen?
Are we not meant to have another baby?
If I had taken better care of myself… would things be different?

I was diagnosed with PCOS, which honestly shocked me. I never expected to be someone who struggled with fertility. Not after everything that came before.

People say things like, “At least you already have four children.”
And I understand what they mean. I do.

But this baby—the one we’re trying for now—matters just as much.

This is our last baby. And I just never imagined it would be this hard.

The Weight of It All

There’s a lot people don’t see.

They don’t see the constant tracking.
The mental load of remembering everything.
The negative tests, month after month.

The hope that creeps in… and how quickly it gets taken away.

I learned pretty fast that letting myself feel excited only made it hurt more when it didn’t happen. So now, I try not to get my hopes up at all.

It feels safer that way.

When It Starts to Feel Like It’s All On You

Lately, everything has been building toward IVF. But even that isn’t simple.

To qualify, I need to lose more weight. I’ve already spent the last five months on weekly injections to help with that.

And now, after a phone call with a fertility nurse, I’ve been told I still need to lose another 3–4 kilos in just a few weeks.

Otherwise, everything gets delayed.

And that’s the part that feels the heaviest right now.

Because suddenly, it feels like everything is on me.

On my body.
On my choices.
On whether I can do enough, fast enough, to move this forward.

Living With It Every Day

I’m trying. I really am.

I’ve changed the way I eat. I’m trying to exercise more. I’m trying to treat my body like a temple…

Even on the days where it feels like it’s letting me down.

This has taken over more of my life than I expected.

It’s always there.

I’ll sit down at my laptop, meaning to write… and instead I’m googling.

Different diets.
Ways to lose weight faster.
How to get pregnant.

And before I know it, the time I had to write is gone.

Writing Through the Noise

Writing used to be my escape. And sometimes, it still is.

When I can get into that flow, it’s one of the best distractions I have.

But getting there feels harder now.

Because even when I’m writing, part of my mind drifts.

I wonder if I should be doing something else. Trying something else. Fixing something.

And when the words don’t come easily, the doubt creeps in.

Should I even be writing?
What if I was never that good to begin with?

When You Don’t Have Anyone Who Gets It

I don’t really talk about this with anyone.

Not because I don’t want to—but because it’s hard to explain to people who haven’t been through it.

I don’t have many people in my life who truly understand this kind of struggle.

So I’ve started writing things down instead.

I was given a journal for my birthday, and lately, that’s where it all goes.

Because sometimes, you just need somewhere to put it all.

Still in the Middle of the Story

I don’t have a neat ending for this.

No lesson wrapped up in a bow.
No clear resolution.

Just a chapter I’m still in the middle of.

But I think that’s the point.

Not every story is tied together perfectly. Not every chapter makes sense while you’re living it.

Some of them are messy. Ongoing. Uncertain.

This is one of those chapters for me.

And even though I don’t know how it ends yet…

I’m still here.

Still trying.
Still hoping, in my own quiet, careful way.
Still writing—when I can.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.