In the infertility community, toxic positivity is rampant. The words “hope” and “miracle” are thrown around carelessly, as if they have the power to solve everything. But for many people, these empty promises are anything but helpful. They can actually make the experience of infertility even more painful and isolating.
I know this firsthand. For three years, I underwent five egg retrievals, 10 embryo transfers, and 19 embryos. I spent over $165,000 and gained over 80 pounds. And in the end, I have nothing to show for it.
It’s not the doctor’s fault, nor is it my fault. I know that objectively. But as I look back on who I was three years ago, I can’t help but think that IVF ruined my life.
I used to be a confident, happy, hopeful young woman who dreamed of raising a family of my own. But now, I’m a broken shell of the person I used to be. I have nightmares; I have inescapable bouts of depression. I can’t look at an ultrasound image without choking back tears.
I will never be the same again. IVF did that to me. Hope did that to me.
I wish there was more transparency around IVF — I wish there was more honesty about what it’s really like. Would I have gone forward with it if I had known how it would destroy me?
In truth, I can’t answer that question. I don’t know.
What I do know is that right now the pain is still so fresh that I can’t help but regret my decision to do IVF. I know it’s not the same for everyone — there are so many people in the world who have had wonderful success with IVF. I am happy for those people, but I’m also heartbroken for myself, and everyone who has a story like mine.
To spend all that money and go through all that physical and mental torture only to come up on the other side empty-handed and less than you were before is devastating — and we don’t talk about it nearly enough.
Instead, we let toxic positivity drown out the voices of those who are suffering, making us feel isolated, alone and broken.
Maybe sharing my story can help start that conversation.
