Last week was Infertility Awareness Week, and no one is talking about it. Unless your life has been tragically altered and shifted by infertility, you probably didn’t even know this week existed.

The crying mommas, the waiting mommas, the loss mommas, the lingering mommas, the begging, pleading, bargaining with God mommas . . . no one is talking about it.

The empty car seats, the empty arms, the empty nurseries, the empty hearts, the empty dreams . . . no one is talking about it.

The money, energy, resources, emptying of savings accounts, taking on two additional jobs . . . no one is talking about it.

The countless needles, the endless ultrasounds, the continuous invasion of your most intimate areas, the painful side effects of month after month of medication . . . no one is talking about it.

The daily tracking of temperatures, timed intercourse that has nearly ruined all the fun and surprise of intimacy with your husband, the avoidance of caffeine, alcohol, and too much sugar . . . no one is talking about it.

The monthly peeing on every stick you can find at the grocery store only to be disappointed yet again that this isn’t your month . . . no one is talking about it.

The unsolicited advice of, “Just relax and it’ll happen,” or, “It’ll happen when you least expect it,” or, “Just rely on God’s timing,” or, “Have you tried this tea? Or this position?” or, “Hold your legs up,” or on and on and on. This isn’t helpful. Only hurtful. And no one is talking about it. 

The isolation, the hurt, the anger, the resentment, the hopelessness, the fear . . . no one is talking about it.

The guilt of your life being potentially too stressful to conceive, the acupuncture, the supreme supplements, and the hope that maybe this is the “one thing we were missing” . . . no one is talking about it.

The painful cousin’s baby announcement, the sorrowful yet joyful best friend’s baby shower, the avoidance of all social gatherings, baby-related or not, because it’s just so much easier to sometimes avoid all the questions . . . no one is talking about it. 

The nightmares, the night terrors, the nights spent wide awake. The sheer and utter terror that “my time may never come” . . . no one is talking about it. 

The warriors, the resilient, the undeniably tough women who fight through infertility each and every day . . . no one is talking about it.

Ashley Richburg

Ashley Richburg is a 29-year-old who lives in a suburb of Austin, TX with her sweet husband and two spunky Labrador retrievers. She loves topo chio, hammocking, and all things outside.