This is a question I’ve been pondering for a few months. How do you know when to let go of having a biological child when you’re facing unexplained infertility. Because you could just keep trying and hoping forever. Or you could let that go and look to how your marriage and life will look either without children or with children from adoption. But when do you do that?
Letting go is not as easy as it sounds
It might sound like a simple thing to do: accept your situation and look for the next step to take. But letting go of your hope and plan for biological children is like watching someone you love die. It feels like you are giving the ‘do not resuscitate’ order on a loved one when you step away from actively trying for a child.
And so you keep trying. Because that’s a lot to deal with. And hope is so persistent. There’s always a ‘maybe’ or a ‘what if’.
I think that’s what I find so difficult about unexplained fertility. There’s no closure. No one is going to say, “Sorry, you can’t have children” because technically there’s nothing stopping you. It just never happens. How can you let go of something that might happen anytime between now and menopause?
Those who struggle with infertility may feel the same thing. This desire for children, but also a simpler wish for the pain to just end. To be done. No more questioning, no more intervention. Drop it. Move on.
Returning to the ‘do not resuscitate’ analogy: you want to let this rest in peace, rather than pushing brokenly on.
But there’s also that tenacious hope, often blended with guilt, that makes you keep going.
Not ready to let go yet
For me, the time hasn’t come to let go yet. We decided to give another set of medications a go, which will cover about six months or so. After that, there really are no further options for us, so in a sense I will be forced to let go.
I have found that I’m struggling more now that we’re trying properly again. Tracking, timing and taking pills really brings it all to the fore. This particular medication comes with a feeling of permanent PMS, so I’m not sure who to feel more sorry for: me or my husband! I become hyper-aware of what my body is doing or not doing. There is more pressure to succeed than when you’re not just rolling with it. It saps a lot of joy out of things and makes the start of each new cycle so, so much harder.
But I feel that I have to do this last thing. Maybe that’s just guilt talking. There’s not a high chance of success, so I could just say no. And yet, I want to know that I really did everything. This is the last bit of ‘everything’ we have.
Refocusing fertility
This struggle makes me face up to myself in big and uncomfortable ways. It forces me to honestly see how much I really trust God, and how attached I am to my own plans. I’m also discovering the sneaky little feeling that I ‘deserve’ children.
We often say children are a gift, but I think we often feel we are owed children if we ‘do all the right things’. Certainly, I struggle with that feeling of missing out something I am owed because I’m married/trying/wanting. But that’s the thing about gifts. They are freely given with no reference to your worthiness. You’re not a bad person if you can’t have children. Children are not a reward for being ‘good’.
As I shoulder this particular cross, it’s splinters catch on the flimsy veils I put up to high my own pride or weakness. My inability to make this thing happen is showing me how silly it is to think I am in control. Acknowledging this is not easy. For any step forward I take towards virtue, there are so many self-pitying steps backward.
But, I begin to see the merit in this suffering. That doesn’t mean I have become a peaceful saint! Far from it. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt and I don’t want it to end. At this point, I can see where I’m being asked to take this cross, even if I often struggle to follow through.
You’re not alone, even if you decide to let go
Recently, I wrote about infertility again after a long break on that topic. It’s important to me to not focus on this too much, and ensure that this aspect of my life isn’t becoming my whole personality. But sometimes it does weigh on me, and I find writing helps get it off my chest. I hope that reading this is perhaps helpful to others in the same boat. This can be a lonely journey, but I want you to know you are not alone.
When you’re trying to figure out whether to stop or move forward there are a lot of emotions at play.
You can be:
- Feeling like a failure.
- Feeling like a coward, for not pushing forward with another intervention.
- Left wondering if you could be successful if you kept going
- Worrying that if you prayed more /had more faith, you would have child
- Concerned about what other people will think
- Dreading the future without the children you wanted
- Uncertain about whether adopting is for you
- Feeling selfish for wanting to stop or not being sure about adoption
I can’t take those emotions away from you, but I do want to encourage you. You are not a failure, not selfish and it’s not your fault. I know it’s hard not to let what others think worry you. But you don’t have to keep going if it’s reached the point of diminishing returns for you. It’s okay to stop and reevaluate.
I know it hurts, but you’re really not alone.
God bless!
