I never carried around a toy baby stroller as a girl. I was more the GI Joe type. Throughout my early life, while I desired being a mom, I never really longed for it. I expected it would come when I was ready.
I began my journey naively. Throughout my life, I was taught to avoid pregnancy, so I didn’t know how to navigate what happens when it’s suddenly taken away.
Today, at 42 years old, after two miscarriages, seven in vitro fertilization (IVF) cycles and one recently unsuccessful embryo transfer (in which an embryo is placed into the uterus), my dreams of motherhood feel out of reach.
While miscarriages can cause real bodily pain, losing an embryo is different. There are no noticeable changes or symptoms. All you’re left with is a negative pregnancy test. IVF failure affects more couples than is readily acknowledged. In general, about 13% of people with uteruses ages 15 to 49 have trouble getting pregnant or carrying pregnancy to term.
IVF typically has a 56.7 percent success rate for people under the age of 35 after one egg retrieval, according to the CDC. For people ages 38 to 40, that drops to 26.9 percent, And sadly, for people above age 40, it drops to 9.2 percent.
The data illustrates just how many people deal with unsuccessful treatments — and why the grief that comes along with them deserves more recognition.
In general, I’ve struggled with feeling like I’ve failed at womanhood.
I mourned my pregnancy losses intensely. But the loss of my one and only embryo felt different. There’s power in telling my story to illuminate the pain that some people go through to be parents. You’re not alone and there are resources out there for anyone going through a similar dilemma.
An invisible burden
The immeasurable loss of a failed embryo transfer can’t be articulated. It’s the death of a dream, or an intention. Countless tools are available online about how to prepare your body for an embryo transfer and hopefully, a pregnancy. But there’s sparse advice for how to navigate the emotional and physical effects of how to move forward after a poor outcome.
In fact, nearly half of people facing infertility report symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Stress and depression levels from infertility can feel as intense as receiving news of a cancer diagnosis. In my own journey, I noticed myself experiencing a type of grief I was unaware of before struggling to have a child.
Invisible or “disenfranchised grief,” is defined as grief resulting from a significant loss that isn’t openly acknowledged or mourned by society. A lack of universal support and social validation makes this type of bereavement harder to cope with. Dr. Gabriela Casellato, a clinical psychologist and grief specialist based in Sao Paulo, Brazil, describes the grief couples often feel post-embryo loss.
“Due to feeling shame and failure many couples grieve in an isolated, silent way,” she says. “This fosters suffering.”
In my life, I felt this residual trauma manifest in subtle ways. It’s the unbearable act of returning to a support group you thought you’d graduated from. It’s distancing yourself from close friends because you don’t want them to have to hear you complain anymore. Sometimes, it’s holding on to abnormal embryos. I’ll never use them, and yet I can’t let them go either.
Resource rut
There are limited resources on how to cope with the weight of this hidden, mental anguish. When IVF works, we hear about it – on social media, anecdotally, and from celebrities. Unsuccessful outcomes are discussed less often.
Representation for this community is rare, but things are changing. Actress Jennifer Aniston recently revealed she had tried IVF, but it hadn’t worked. She moved on child-free, not by choice, yet appears to be happy and thriving. Sportscaster Erin Andrews has also discussed her ongoing IVF journey of almost a decade. Her reveal felt refreshingly honest and real.
Casellato encourages more couples to break barriers of silence by sharing similar experiences with others. Building a narrative around the story can help combat guilt and self punishment.
But grievers must be self aware too. Dr. Kati Morton, a clinical psychologist and licensed marriage and family therapist based in Austin, Texas, says that means recognizing personal triggers, like social media. Unfollowing certain accounts can be really beneficial for your mental health. There’s help out there in the form of therapy, books, like Silent Sorority, a memoir by someone who completed IVF and didn’t become a mom, and free, virtual support groups.
Stories that end without a baby are less shared, but vital. They are reminders that people are not solely defined or valued by their parental status. All these measures are fundamental to increasing cultural awareness and mitigating some of the risks for mourners.
As for me, I’d always believed failure was the opposite of success, but I’ve learned that it’s just a component of it. I’m starting to see my failed IVF attempts as less permanent barriers, and more like rungs on a ladder — which I continue to keep climbing