On Isolation and Infertility

It could be argued that I choose this – this painful, screaming label which keeps me so separate – because there is always the ongoing choice I make to stay with the man I married and to honour our wedding vows, because damnit, I just can’t stop loving him, in spite of how much more convenient it might be if I could cast him off. Love is rarely about convenience.

In sickness and in health…ah, how little we knew. We were not forewarned that this vow would mean us pledging our lives to infertility and heartbreak. Nor to depression. Nor to the desolation of knowing that our two, miscarried babies would probably be our only ones – we thought we were committing to one another and the start of a new life spent fulfilling all our expectations for ‘How Marriage Should Be’. Life is rarely about fulfilled expectations.

Ongoing chronic sickness, both mental and physical, and dead babies aside, it’s really the ‘no more babies’ which has been hurting me lately, because it makes other people so damned uncomfortable. And I can’t escape it – it might as well be branded on my skin.


Barrenness used to be considered a curse, the origin of which could be attributed to any number of deities or personal faults of the owner of said unused womb. The fact that my own womb could be described as “Barely used, good as new, slight crease to dust-jacket” is beside the point, as is the fact that the reason for its emptiness does not originate with me. The curse as social stigma, is (if not in full force, then at the very least) tangible.

I have experienced things. I have been told things. I have heard whispers.

A friend and I were recently ensnared in a tangential and unfortunate (sometimes) offshoot of infertility – the drunken, desperately sad rant. My fault, for there is no excuse, but exposure to a third party’s ‘happy pregnancy details’ before I could absent myself, on a particularly tricky-anyway day, left me distraught, and I dealt with it badly.
After this, we didn’t speak for a few days; she was busy and I was mired in a cycle of misery and distraction as things settled down again – Husby and I talked things through and various deeper complications came to light (side-shoots to the original issue: his ill health, which causes our infertility). When we spoke again, she was sombre and said we needed to talk seriously about the way I had behaved; that others had been upset by me and felt they had to tiptoe around me. Our conversation was curtailed there as the routines and requirements of the day took over, and I was left to mull.
To imagine (for it was only allusion, half a conversation and me drawing matters to their logical (but erroneous) conclusions) that I was behaving in a manner which made my friends uncomfortable was painful for a few reasons: firstly because I have seen the extent to which infertility can cause an individual to become angry and embittered, and I do NOT want to end up that way, if I can help it; secondly because I happen to think that there are few jobs more important than the right raising of the next generation, and if my presence was hindering this process for my friends, or making them feel they couldn’t ask for support while I was around, that was utterly unacceptable to me; thirdly that this situation existed at all, surely meant that I should remove myself and allow them to get on without me. The idea of being further isolated tore at my heart, but it felt like the best and only thing I could do to show that I cared for my friends, their children, and the conversations they needed to be able to have, freely, in order to best raise them.
Fortunately a subsequent heartfelt conversation put both of us to rights – my poor behaviour had knocked her confidence in me and had called into question my levels of support. Other people were not upset by me. But in spite of my apologies and our mutual reassurance that we both love one another HUGE, and had no desire to upset the other, the situation left me feeling hollow, because she’s not the only one to express this kind of thing. My friends have felt uncomfortable sharing news about their children with me (or near me), out of guilt because they think it will hurt me. They have felt unable to ask for support from other moms with me around, because it might be a tough conversation for me to see, and be so utterly excluded from. One friend even hid her pregnancy from me, up to birth (which she really couldn’t hide), and I still don’t know why.
These events chill me – children are so important, and yes, of course it hurts to be unable to have my own, but being kept from the chance to join, even vicariously, in the joy of having them, is nothing short of awful.
Strangers, upon hearing I can’t have children, either give me the ‘pity face’ (just don’t, please!), stumble over words trying to find anything more appropriate to say than “That really sucks” (there’s nothing else – I promise), or they rush headlong into Ways It Can Be Fixed (trust me, anything you’ve thought of, we’ve already discussed).
So please, if you don’t know me, get to know me. I’m (usually) happy to talk and answer questions and have conversations about this immensely tricky subject, because I believe that the more it’s talked about and accepted, the less taboo it becomes: just be gentle with me, and don’t try to offer solutions.And if you know me, and care about me, please, please, please don’t shut me out.

I want to hear about your pregnancy and be allowed to congratulate you. I might not be around for all of the updates, but I’m here, and I’m thrilled for you, because babies are wonderful.

I want to know if you’re worried about something, and to be able to provide a listening ear, if I can.

I want to hear about how stressed you are because your toddler threw up in the middle of the night and you’re tired and cranky – let me support you and encourage you. Kids are hard bloody work, and it’s rough sometimes, but that you still care enough about them to try to make their day work, even though yours is super-hard; that’s AMAZING and I’m in awe of your determination to be a good parent.

I want to hear about how you and your child played hooky and went to the beach and had a perfect *RightThere* moment together, and just basked in one another’s company –  just as it should be, because these moments are the ones which memories are made of. I love that you do that – that you make sure there are those golden, shining memories for the two of you to look back on and cherish.

I want to be involved in conversations when you’re not sure what to do, or how to handle a situation. Admittedly, I’m no authority on the subject, but I have common sense, I know a lot of parents, I know a lot of children, and I’m sure there’s some way I can contribute in a constructive manner, if you let me.

I want you to be able to tell me that you’ve had enough, that you’re sick to death of them and could I please come and take them out for a few hours for you, because if I can, I will, and I love that you trust me with them.

I want you to let me babysit, or hold sleepovers, so that I can enjoy the precious, small moments of excitement, of damp, shampoo-scented hair, sleepy eyes, of bedtime stories and songs and the warm, snuggled weight of a safe, happy child drifting off into slumber.

I want to listen to you tell me how wonderful your children are. I want to know about their quirks and personalities and the scrapes they get into and the sweet things they do, and the times they surprise you. I want to hear about the things they say which make you frustrated or angry or sad. I want to know how they make you laugh. I don’t want you to hold back, and I never want you to feel guilty for sharing those things.

I want to hear about what a pain in the ass your teenager is, and how you swear if he does that thing ONE MORE TIME…and to be able to make you laugh or distract you, or try to offer some perspective when you feel you can’t see the wood for the trees. I want you to feel that you can rant about your kid, if that’s what you need to do, because we all need to be able to offload sometimes. I get that. I don’t think less of you for not loving every moment just because you have the privilege of parenthood which has been denied me, because that would be impossible.

I want you to keep inviting me round for parties and picnics, even if I can’t round up a child to bring with me, because I’ll borrow any of yours, and I love that they all flock to me and join me in with hide-and-seek and climbing trees and creating new, amazing games.

I want to know that a letter sent halfway around the world made your child’s day.

I want children, and if I can’t have my own (which seems pretty much stuck into the ‘really not’ side of ‘never’), let me join in – let me borrow…observe…watch over…engage with…steal for precious moments…go on adventures with…hear about…and love, yours.

Because if only you’ll let me, I’ll gather up the broken pieces of my mama-heart and love them all.


Just…let me know we’re okay, because the thought of alienating you or becoming isolated because of this, makes it so much harder to bear.


344 thoughts on “On Isolation and Infertility

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  3. Oh, LIzzi! I’m sure the pain is hard to bear sometimes. I have an aunt and uncle who were unable to have children (and it was due to problems with my aunt). They tried everything to no avail. That was 20 years ago and she still bears the pain of it. Yet, they are the best aunt & uncle in the world. They spoil all their nieces and nephews by taking them on little trips to sometimes a weekend trip away. Anyhow, if you lived closer, I would love it if you could watch my little ones. (Oh, and as you know, I’m aware of the pain of loss…having lost 4 babies myself). (((hugs)))

    Liked by 1 person

    • I think that’s going to be my way forward – to be the best Aunty I can be, and the best ‘friend of mum/dad’ that I can be, in terms of getting my portion of ‘childing’ from other people’s kids. In ways there are LOTS of things which are great about child-free life, but it really does feel second best, if that makes sense. For ME anyway…I know there are people out there who genuinely wouldn’t prefer to have kids, and who remain happily child-free forever 🙂

      If I lived closer I would CERTAINLY watch your little ones 🙂 And yes…there’s no pain like losing children. I’m sorry you’ve experienced it so many times 😦 *hugs*


  4. Lizzi, I found this post by way of your ice bucket challenge post, and oomph. I am so sorry that you have been through so much. This is such a brave and honest post — and posts like this help others to better understand the hell that infertility can be. Thank you for putting it out there. Please do continue to write about it as you need/want to — I, for one, am so glad that you have.

    Liked by 1 person

    • That was always the plan with writing openly about this – to try to educate, to provide an honest look at what it can be like, and also to provide solidarity for others in the same situation. I remember when it all first happened, I was so in need of other people’s stories about it, so that I’d have an idea of how it might look/work and how I might feel.

      I’ll keep writing – you can be assured of that. Thanks 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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      • Your post did tap into something deep. I felt how you felt. And it was also good to know I’m not feeling alone. My husband and I have been married for 10 years…and you can guess why I balled my eyes out. The most difficult part is when people keep asking me when we were going to have children, why we don’t have any children, and questions after questions. It’s tiring to keep answering them, justifying the reasons behind our reasons, and other things intertwined in that particular conversation. Looking forward to more of your posts. Keep in touch, and take care 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

        • Responding to and managing the weight (and intrusiveness) of other people’s expectations is very hard – one of the worst things. I don’t like those questions at all – I’ve had to develop a ‘strategy’ answer, which I can just say, quite glibly, which lets people know (without them feeling attacked or as though they’ve caused me hurt) that we can’t have children and yes, it sucks, but we’d like to if possible one day, and then moves the conversation along.

          I’ll keep writing on this, sporadically – as the need hits me. And I’m sorry you know this hurt so well. You’re not alone. No way.


          • It’s good my husband sometimes comes to the rescue whenever that conversation comes up. Thank you! I’m very happy to have stumbled upon your blog. I guess, we are here for each other, and that’s comforting. Hope you have a good week ahead. Keep in touch.


            • That’s good – it helps to have a husband who’s on side with these things.

              Husby and I were both caught unawares last week when our 4 year-old Niece suddenly made a comment about us not having kids, and how it was okay because we had her and her brother instead. A bittersweet moment, and I think we fielded it okay, but we were both pretty sad for a while.


  6. People start excluding you when they start caring too much without knowing equivalently… I often request my friends and family to stop predicting my reaction to your actions. Stop thinking for me.. At the end they only end up hurting me. I hope your friends too will give you the chance to react and think for yourself instead of being so protective.. I guess being close to you they can’t help it.. But I am sure you will enjoy your life. Your positive lookout is inspiring.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks – I think I see what you mean, and I think that writing this goes some way to enabling them to understand my viewpoint; at least, the feedback I’ve had so far seems to suggest that is the case 🙂


      • Writing this actually has gone a step beyond that.. It has also inspired those who have not been equally blessed to understand that being sad and disheartened is no way of living life. They will start borrowing kids too.. I will share your blog on fb with my friends.. Because though I have, by His grace, got all for my needs there will be many others who will take inspiration from you.. Thank you for replying.. I am new to WordPress and you are the first person to reply! Thanks!


        • Bless your boots! I love to have conversations in the comments! Welcome to WP 🙂 It’s fun here and I hope you discover a world of wonderful people to connect with.

          And thank you for sharing my blog – it’s so nice to hear that you appreciated this post so much, and that you find it inspiring. That’s what it’s all about – trying to make the world better, one piece of writing at a time 🙂


  7. I found out I had PCOS when I was 21. I was trying to have a baby every month it was a disappointment for me and my ex boyfriend. I tried everything from going through doctors after doctors. I tried herbal Medicines. I lost hope after I turned 29. I was heartbroken. Then little did I know was pregnant at 30. Doctors were shocked me as well. I just thank god every time for my son. Your story hits home for me. I know how it feels.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I remember the ‘every month’ disappointment. It’s kind of a relief now to know that there’s no need to be disappointed because there’s no reason to get our hopes up. I’m glad you got your miracle in the end 🙂 That’s brilliant.


  8. I know nothing about the person you truly are, i have no children of my own and i am not gong through the same kinds of challenges in my life as you are, but reading this made my heart fill with love for you. I can feel (or i guess assume) that you are lovely and deserving of more love than you dare ask for.


    • Steph, that’s such a sweet thing to say – thank you 🙂

      I’m sorry to hear you’re going through the same kinds of challenges as I am – it’s never an easy ride, but so much easier for knowing other people in a similar position.


  9. Thank you for your post. I admire you for your courage and sincerity. I’m going through something myself which I still can’t really explain yet. It’s still all emotionally confusing. But your post is helping me see some things from a different light. I appreciate this. Thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’m glad it’s offering you a different perspective – that makes me very pleased that I wrote it, and was as honest as I was. I hope that you find a way through your situation, and that the tangles and emotional snaggles all smooth out so that you can move forward with it.


  10. Infertility has made me a very different person. I’m not the outgoing person I use to be, because of the pity I get from people when they find out I’m infertile. I feel out of place at times and when people find out I’m 33 with no kids they are in shock and that kills me. Do they ever consider that its not by choice? I’d love a big family unfortunately I’m not deserving enough for a miracle. I can’t wait for the day I wake and feel hope

    Liked by 1 person

    • Listen carefully to me, because this is important. If you take nothing else from this article, take this…infertility (or fertility) has NOTHING to do with deserving or worth; just fertility.

      Because if you and I (and everyone else who is infertile) doesn’t have children because we don’t ‘deserve’ it, then it automatically means that somehow, the douchebags who have kids and abuse and mistreat them or neglect them or hurt them, DO deserve them. And I UTTERLY REFUSE TO ACCEPT THAT! No. It is NOT SO.

      The ability to have children is just that. Nothing more.

      The inability to have children is just that. Nothing more.

      There is NO angle which takes a person’s intrinsic value or worthiness or worthwhile-ness into account. NOT AT ALL. EVER. EVER. EVER.

      Sorry. I’m very vehement on that point, because after I miscarried my first child, I immediately thought it was because I didn’t deserve a baby – wasn’t a good enough person – and it was an *awful* place to be, emotionally. And it took a lot of hard work (still does) to understand that this thinking is completely disordered, and that infertility and personal worth are not connected.

      Please know that.

      But I’m so sorry that you get treated differently and with shock. That’s not easy, and I hate that you have to endure it. Find children – other people’s – to join in with. You may or may not get your miracle, but your life will be wasted if you spend the rest of it pining after such an uncertainty. Let go, and create new hopes, if you can. It sucks and it’s more painful than I can say, but it lets you live, and lets you (eventually) get back some of your old happiness and lightness of character.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Yes its an awful place to be but after my second loss it seems I can’t break away from that feeling. I keep striving to get back to that place I once was. Thank you for your reply, I needed that. Sometimes its the words of a stranger that reaches where no one else can.

        Liked by 1 person

        • Keep trying. I lost two, and it’s still nothing to do with worth. I promise 🙂 Have you got people around you to support you? Do you use Facebook? I started a support group there called The Invisible Moms Club, for women who have miscarried. It’s small but the members all look after each other very well. You would be welcome to join.


          • Thank you so much, you have warmed my heart! I do not have Facebook, but if I ever do I will join. I do have my family and they support me but they have kids and I hate to burden them with my issues. Thank you for your kind words!

            Liked by 1 person

    • No – I disagree, because I don’t think a loving God would DO this to someone, like a mean kid on an anthill, pointing down from Heaven and going “Here, you can be infertile – GOTCHA! Deal with THAT, suckers!” That does not equate. But also God’s not a vending machine, and sometimes the answer is “No”…so we wait, and try to live right in the meantime.


  11. I have heard multiple stories of couples being told they cannot have children EVER, and they end up having one! I do not know if you are slightly religious or not, but god always has the final say. Hugs from New Jersey 🙂


    • I’ve heard of that too. It seems to be the ‘miracle story’ people use as a ‘go to’, in these situations. I’ve also heard of far, far more people who have been infertile and desperately unhappy (or who have found a way to cope) who have never had children, and who have had to find ways of living life which are fulfilling in spite of that.

      God has the final say (perhaps – even He does not override free will) but He is NOT a vending machine, and also sometimes the answer is “no”.


  12. I was so moved by this and my prayers goes out to you and your husband. I understand depression as i too have it. I would love to rant about my five children any day to you. If it was legal i would even be a surrogant mother for you so you could have your own bundle of joy, as i have enough and got fixed since my ex husband was abusive a pregnancy was his way of controling me. But i have to end this conversation so I can encourage my daughterd to do their chores. Hugs


    • I can carry my own children (and want to). I have no need of a surrogate. It’s funny – that’s often an assumption too, that the ‘problem’ lies with me, Another misconception (ha ha) to battle.

      I hope you managed to encourage your children to do their chores – that’s never fun.


  13. Sending lots of love and understanding your way! Infertility is one of the most heart breaking things for a “Mommy in Agony” as I used to call it. And it is almost impossible for those who had children easily or for people who don’t want children to understand. The isolation of it all is sort of the final kick in the gut. Here’s to a feeling of peace and contentment to all the mommys at heart dealing with infertility!

    Liked by 1 person

    • I call myself an ‘Invisible mom’ due to the two miscarriages, who, in spite of their lack of presence, did make me a mother. I carried within me two human beings in their earliest form, and they were my children. And always will be. So that’s another isolating factor… *sigh*

      BUT there are others out there like me, and they have the same hurts and challenges, and I just hope that, in the spirit of ‘together we’re stronger’, they make connections with others and fight back against the isolation, too, as I found it necessary to do. Thank you for your support and encouragement.


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  15. ***Hugs*** I feel your pain, I know your pain. I promise you, one day, the pain won’t hurt as much anymore. A child will enter your life that needs you the most. This child might not be your own, but they still need you. Eventually, most will understand that isolation is not the way to treat the infertile. Kudos to opening up your heart. I hope that those you are reaching out to will see this and be more inclined to engage you in their lives.


    • Maybe a child will, or maybe they won’t. There’s no way of knowing the future, and that’s why I’m determined to seek all the silver linings I can, right now. I’m not prepared to accept isolation or exclusion, though, and I hope that this piece has gone some way to showing my care for and commitment to my friends and their children…

      And no – I know one day the pain will change, become less intense and more manageable. Just gotta make it there 🙂 Thank you for your encouragement.


      • I spent the last 20 years on the infertility roller coaster and suffered through 1 miscarriage. A cousin of mine told me a couple of years ago that her and my other cousins were afraid to invite me to their baby showers. This irritated me because I thought of the many friends who had babies and never once invited me to share in their joy or participate in their life experiences. I reassured her to keep inviting me. I may or may not attend, but I would much rather be included than excluded.

        Now, I am raising my two step-daughters (teens now, ugh! LOL). It’s really nice to have children around, even if they aren’t my own. But, in the back of my head, I think about the one I lost and where he/she would be in their life if they had lived. This gives me comfort on the days I feel the pain.


        • Yes – I’ve heard from friends who had miscarriages that they still think of those children-who-might-have-been, and wonder what they’d be like. I don’t expect that changes much.

          But I’m glad you have step-daughters to raise and love and be involved with. That’s awesome and goes a long way, I should think, to filling that hole in the heart.

          As for your cousins! pffft – what a shame. I’m glad you were forthright with them.


  16. Hi there, and thanks for writing this blog. My wife and I suffer from “Unexplained Infertility.” There’s nothing wrong enough with either of us that we CAN’T have children… we just can’t. I’ve experienced some of the same things you described in your post: awkward conversations, my brother not wanting to tell me they were expecting, pain and frustration upon hearing the good news of another person’s pregnancy, and the extreme irritation of friends telling us “I know what you’re going through… we’re having trouble conceiving our THIRD child,” or even worse: “Everything happens for a reason.”

    My wife and I are right there with you about wanting to bond with other people’s children, our nieces and nephews, and experience things along with them, not have them hidden from us because they think it will be awkward. We are lucky that my wife and her sister are very close and we have a great relationship with her family. The kids come visit us every summer for a week or two.

    As sad as it is for people like us, it helps to know we aren’t the only ones, and there are other people out there who ACTUALLY know what we’re going through.

    Thanks for this post.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much Dale – you and your wife (not you guys personally, but people like you – like me) were in mind when I wrote this – it’s too hard already, to be burdened with such an isolating, not-how-things-are-meant-to-be situation to manage, without suffering further isolation as a result. I am only too glad to be open about this, and let others know loud and clear – we will be heard! We will be joined in! We are HERE!

      I’m so glad to hear that you have such lovely relationships with your nieces and nephews and other people’s children. That’s great, and it sounds like you have some really strong family bonds. But although it helps, it still hurts, and I’m sorry to hear your infertility is unexplained. That really, really sucks because there’s no closure with that one – nothing you can put your finger on and say “this is why”. Ack! None of this is easy, but that perhaps least of all.

      I’m glad you found this a helpful post 🙂 Thank you for your comment – I really appreciate it.


  17. I find joy in your willingness to love. I know life has handed you a horrible circumstance, but you are my hero. I was lucky to have my one child and I will cherish her. Jesus blessed me. I will continue to pray for you and a miracle. God, however, has made you a spokesperson. He has made you a voice for those who are barren. I know you could be and should be so angry (at times you are and that is so okay too.) But remember you bring hope in your honesty.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I can do all these things, but if I do not love…

      It’s important. And I need it. It’s what is in me to do. I’m glad you have your child, and that you cherish her. And I hope that my voice will bring sunshine to this dark topic, and help to combat some of the taboos which surround it. Thank you 🙂

      (don’t make me a hero though – I fall off pedestals *very* quickly 😉 )


    • Your comment makes me even gladder than I was before that I wrote this. Thank you for letting me know this was a helpful read for you. It’s definitely not the easiest thing to put into words, but I do think it’s good to try, if only to get it from the inside of you to the outside. Infertility and eloquence don’t always go together. I’ve written some very incoherent, unbeautiful posts on it as well, in the past, but it’s always a bit cathartic to get it out.


  18. I feel your pain …. every day.
    I too am unable to conceive because my hubby is infertile. That torn feeling of loving him and wanting kids is horrible. Makes me feel like a bad person.


    • Ack. I’m so sorry to hear you’re in precisely my boat. That torn feeling is awful, but I think I decided I want him more than I want kids. It’s inconvenient (to my ideas of motherhood) how much I love him and can’t just decide to un-love him because of this…

      But you’re not a bad person, and thoughts in and of themselves hold no moral value – they don’t make you good or bad or anything. They’re just THERE. Your behaviour is what can be good or bad. You as a person are of intrinsic value, and are by no means ‘bad’.


      • Same with me. My love for him far outweighs what life without him would be. I need David. He is my security blanket. I actually think I need him TOO much sometimes. But the heartache I feel when I hear a baby cry or see kids running around playing outside our building. I have to all myself out of browsing through baby sections in stores.

        It actually physically HURTS.


        • It does. I can’t do that to myself any more – I stay away. We ended up with loads of really cute hand-me-down baby clothes from my Niece and Neff…they’re all in bags in my mum’s loft, waiting to be given away to people who will use them. That’s sad.

          I don’t need mine, but sometimes then I suddenly realise how much I probably do.


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  20. Oh how I can relate! I have PCOS… Which means I’m infertile, and it sucks. I’ve always obsessed about being a mom, and there’s a chance I never will be either. And yes I become extremely jealous of my friends who have littles ones, but I’m good about hiding it. But the situation does suck, and the alternative options are pricey and risky. (Adoption, fertility drugs, etc.) Hang in there and speak your mind!


    • Ack. I’m sorry to hear this is all so close to home for you. It gets to be a bit of an art form, doesn’t it, the hiding the envy and trying to be supportive while you’re falling apart inside.

      BUT I will keep writing – it is what’s in me to do. I’m sorry you know this so well though. It totally sucks.


      • It is definitely an art form! Not many can relate. I actually developed a support group for women with this issue on Facebook, but I’m having trouble getting the ball rolling. Many women suffer with PCOS/Infertility and don’t realize it.


        • Good for you! It matters to take steps.

          I’m the member of an infertility group on FB but had to step away, because reading about all the ladies still trying, when there was nothing more I could do, was painful. But they’re around in the background. I also began the Invisible Moms Club on FB – it’s going slowly but surely. That one’s painful to belong to as well, but SO important.

          I suspect PCOS is one of those oft-missed things, with people being reluctant to share symptoms and things?


          • That’s wonderful! And yes. Some of the symptoms are extremely embarrassing to share. However, if not looked into and/or taking care of; you end up being very high risk for diabetes and ovarian cancer.
            I’m part of an FB page as well, but the regulations of what can be posted are too strict. So I created my own. My idea is that the group doesn’t just focus on the negativity of this disease or being infertile, but coming together as sisters. I feel that strong bonds can be made with those who are going through similar situations.


            • If you weren’t doing your own thing, I’d invite you to the one I’m in (but not in) because that’s precisely the ‘feel’ they have going there. I remember it being ever so supportive and lovely 🙂 I think you should stick at your endeavour – it might be perfect for others with PCOS who need that kind of sanctuary.


    • Thank you 🙂 And I guess my story is commoner than even I imagine, but it makes it no less pitiable. That said, the sharing helps, I think, because others seem to respond well, and it either educates or offers solidarity.

      But yes. Hard work not becoming bitter. I had a moment like that today where I had to be really careful not to be snappish. BUT. Bitter people often seem to be very lonely, too, because I think people (as a whole) tend to stay away from negativity…so they leave.


  21. The thought that others feel they must “walk on eggshells” so to speak is upsetting to me. You’re just one of many that is going through something not all that uncommon. You have my support, guaranteed, sweet lady.
    I love how you worded this. It speaks of your grace & intelligence. *high fives on being Freshly Pressed* 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ahhh thank you *high-fives back* it’s so nice to have the opportunity to spread this message a bit further…it seems to have helped or resonated with a lot of people, which is why I write, so I am pleased as punch that my honesty and openness have gone down so well. It’s a helpful piece to have ‘out there’, I think.

      Thank you, for your support, encouragement and feedback 🙂


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