Beyond The Wait...
A Newsletter for Those Navigating the Complex Emotions of Infertility
Issue #14 28th April 2025
Dear Reader,
Sometimes the hardest part of the fertility journey isn't any single moment, but the accumulation of countless experiences that layer upon one another over time. Today, we explore how these layers form what many experience as compounded trauma, and how we might find ways to carry this weight with greater gentleness.
This Week's Story: The Layers of Infertility
Shared Anonymously
Our story of infertility started 5 years ago (might be 6 - I stopped counting) with abnormal bleeding that 4 specialists told me was nothing to be worried about. In fact, one asked me was I sure I didn't have haemorrhoids (but that's another story). Eventually, specialist number 4 relented and retested my AMH. It had dropped significantly and he quickly changed his tone and suggested we explore IVF as soon as possible. That was an interesting conversation over dinner that night!
Whilst we've learnt a lot of lessons over 9 cycles, 1 missed miscarriage at 11.5 weeks with a D&C for retained products, 1 laparoscopy (hello silent endo) and 3 clinics there are 3 things that destabilise my foundations regularly:
- Babies and pregnant women/families with babies: these days happen about once a month and they only ever happen when I think I'm doing ok. The pregnant woman will insist on ordering her coffee first so she can sit making me feel more invisible than the last 5 years have. The colleague complaining about how hard it is to be pregnant. And don't get me started about TV ads or IG reels! During one of these days it feels like the universe is playing a cruel joke.
- Disappointing people: it's the fine line between isolating ourselves by not telling anyone what stage we are up to versus being completely isolated. I hate disappointing my parents the most. They'd make the most amazing grand parents and I keep failing to deliver the goods. Cancelling plans because the day has left me needing to hide (see point 1) also makes me feel awful that I can't just be my old self (see point 3).
- Who the hell am I now? I'm definitely not the same person as 5 years ago. Our relationship isn't the same. My body now has scars. I've lost my best friend and a number of close friends because this whole thing is tough to uninitiated (or the can't be bothered). This question keeps me up at night because I worry about who I'll be in another 12 months, 5 years etc.
Ultimately, infertility for us is compounded trauma. It's little pieces from the top three destabilisers, it's the 'do you have children?' (Or the doozy from the weekend - 'he'd make a great dad, best get a wriggle on') comments, it's the nurse from the clinics tone when delivering bad news. It's the people that watch us treading water through this like they are watching a terrible reality show. It's the mother's days, the Christmas' and the dreaded birthdays. It's not just one thing that changed us, it's ALL the things. And similar to my Humpty Dumpty Easter egg, we won't be put back together (in the same way) again.
Our first frozen transfer ever was cancelled last Friday. I didn't know they could be cancelled. I also didn't anticipate it would hurt like a failed fresh transfer or a cancelled fresh transfer. Just another piece of fear and worry to add to 'next time'. I don't know when 'next time' will be. It's like we have to summon all our energy to jump blindly into the unknown once more and neither of us can muster that today but tomorrow may be different, it may not be. Our three little embryos are safer in the freezer than inside me and that is one thing that keeps my soul calm.
Deep Dive: Understanding Compounded Trauma Through Infertility
When we think of trauma, we often picture sudden, catastrophic events. But through my work with clients on their fertility journeys and my own experiences, I've come to understand that trauma can also build quietly over time—what psychologists often call compounded or cumulative trauma.
Infertility creates a perfect environment for this compounding. Unlike a single event that everyone acknowledges as traumatic, the fertility journey is filled with smaller moments that might seem manageable individually, but together create an overwhelming burden:
- The seemingly endless cycle of hope and disappointment
- The physical and emotional toll of treatments
- The constant exposure to triggers in everyday life
- The gradual reshaping of your sense of self and your relationships
- The unacknowledged losses that few around you recognise.
This accumulation happens because our nervous systems don't fully reset between difficult experiences. Each new disappointment, each insensitive comment, each medical procedure lands on a foundation already sensitised by previous experiences. Our emotional resources become depleted, making each new challenge harder to face with resilience.
What makes compounded trauma particularly difficult is how invisible it often remains to others. There's rarely a single moment that clearly marks "before" and "after." Instead, the changes happen gradually, sometimes so slowly that even we don't notice how profoundly we're being affected until we find ourselves responding to situations in ways we wouldn't have recognised in ourselves before.
This is why you might find yourself breaking down over something that seems "small" to others—it's rarely about that one moment, but about all the moments that came before it.
The good news is that understanding this compounding nature of trauma can help us approach our healing differently:
- It validates why this journey feels so difficult, even when others might minimise individual experiences.
- It explains why our emotional responses might seem disproportionate to single events—because they're never just about that one event.
- It highlights the importance of regular emotional processing, rather than pushing through and "staying strong."
- It reminds us that healing may not look like a return to who we were before, but rather an integration of these experiences into a transformed self.
Perhaps most importantly, recognising the compounded nature of fertility trauma helps us be gentler with ourselves when we struggle. It's not that you're "too sensitive" or "not handling things well"—it's that you're carrying a weight that has been building over time, often invisibly, and that weight deserves acknowledgment.
This Week's Self-Care Exercise: Creating Breathing Room
When trauma compounds, one of the most healing things we can do is create space between experiences—room to process, integrate, and recover before the next challenge. Try this simple practice this week:
- Set aside 5-10 minutes in a quiet space.
- Place one hand on your heart, the other on your belly.
- Take a deep breath while silently saying: "I acknowledge all I've been carrying" or something similar that feels right for you
- Exhale slowly while silently saying: "I create space to hold this with compassion" or something that feels right for you
- Continue breathing this way for several minutes, picturing each breath creating more room between you and the weight of infertility trauma.
This practice won't make the challenges disappear, but it can help create the psychological space needed for your nervous system to begin processing what you've experienced.
Your Story Matters
If you'd like to contribute to a future newsletter, please reply to this email (you can be named or be anonymous—it's up to you). This is a safe space where all experiences are valid, where complex emotions are acknowledged, and where your story matters.
Remember Reader: You did not choose this, it is not your fault, and you are not alone.
With compassion,
Dr. Grace 💕
@thenotsofertilepsychologist
