#35: What I learned in 30 months of infertility
plus announcing bts podcast episodes 👀
Before we started IVF, we had already spent 30 months trying to grow our family. In those two and a half years, infertility taught me a few things:
For one, you’re never fully okay, even when you convince yourself you are. You can be strong and struggling at the same time. I used to think struggling meant I was failing. Eventually, I realized it was the feeling that kept me going.
I also learned that asking for help feels hard because it is hard. Even though humans are wired for empathy, many of us are raised to believe we should be able to handle things on our own. But help carried me through those years. Sometimes it looked like calling a friend when the voice in my head insisted I was being a burden. Other times it meant therapy, or the quiet comfort of strangers online who understood infertility in a way most people couldn’t.
After a miscarriage one summer—six weeks of bleeding that eventually ended in the emergency room—something in me shifted. I reached out to a doctor for help managing the anxiety. I still remember sitting on the edge of our bed, the small pill in my hand, crying while my husband held it with me. I wanted relief, but I hated that I couldn’t just power through on my own.
At the time, IVF was still ahead of us. I had no idea how the story would end. What I did know was that telling the truth helped. Saying out loud that I wasn’t okay didn’t change the circumstances, but it made the weight a little easier to carry.
In some ways, when I can step back and see the bigger picture, which I’ll admit is very rare, I recognize how beautiful and complex infertility is. Each of us has our struggles, valleys through which we must walk. But it’s when we admit the truth—that we are not okay—that we learn how to keep living amidst the pain.
This was the hardest lesson for me during that time: waking every morning with grief by my side and still getting out of bed. Infertility was not a season of my life but a daily companion. I had to learn to live alongside it, just like I had to learn how to rely on my community and loved ones to carry me when I couldn’t carry myself.
Sending you all so much love this weekend 🩷
Kayti
🎧 Coming soon: bts episodes
We’re so excited to share that starting next week, we’ll be launching mini behind-the-scenes episodes, available exclusively on Substack for paid subscribers. These episodes and video clips are in addition to our regular podcast (season 3 drops this spring!) and will feature just the two of us, bantering about infertility, IVF, life, women’s health care, and more. We’ll also share more real-time insider details about where we both are in our journeys—more than what’s shared on the public podcast. Basically, all the things we want to say but don’t, because of, well… internet trolls.
Paid subscriptions are $7/month or $75/year. Of course, if payment is ever a barrier, please please please reach out. We’ll gift you a paid comp, no questions asked.
💜 Everyone’s getting pregnant without me:
We are so grateful to Cathryn for sending us her story about recurrent loss and trying to conceive with balanced translocation:
Note: We’ve turned on paid subscriptions for our listener stories because they’re so personal and sensitive. You can upgrade here. If cost is a barrier, just reach out—we’re happy to offer a free subscription, no questions asked.
💜 Amy’s small “j” joys:
I got my hair cut and a root gloss for the greysss baby for the first time in like seven months and oh my god I feel like a new person!
I introduced Nima’s 92-year-old grandma to red light therapy, and she loves it (love this mask + it’s HSA/FSA eligible). For a mask closer to $100, we’ve heard good things about this one, but haven’t tried it ourselves!
We’re caught up on Shrinking and I could not stop crying about the gay couple finally being able to adopt a baby!
We spent Wednesday evening with Nima’s fam eating incredible home-cooked Persian comfort food, talking about what they love about Iran and what places they hope to show Ken (his step-dad) and me one day.
weekend mood:
