A few weeks ago, I shared the exciting news of my pregnancy on Facebook. I was filled with mixed emotions, recalling how hard it had been to see similar announcements not long ago. Still, the desire to share my own joy was overwhelming. I realized that my post might give the impression that this journey had been a breeze for me—especially since I hadn’t confided in many friends about my choice to become a single mother. My family was none the wiser either.
I didn’t mention my struggles in January when my AMH levels revealed I was in the 5th percentile for my age in terms of fertility. I kept quiet about the countless hours spent crying in therapy over the fear of being in my mid-30s, single, and desperately wanting to be a mom while worrying that time was slipping away. I felt guilty about my career focus, wondering if I had sacrificed my chance at motherhood.
I remained silent when I began inseminations at the end of March. I kept it under wraps when I started progesterone due to a luteal phase defect, and I didn’t share anything about starting Clomid. In June, after experiencing a heartbreaking early miscarriage—what they call a “chemical pregnancy”—only two friends knew of my joy when I first saw those two pink lines. For nearly a day, everything felt perfect until the spotting began, leading to a painful reality check the next morning with blood and tears. By Monday, I was no longer pregnant, and I felt utterly devastated.
I sought help from a new reproductive endocrinologist at the end of June, hoping for answers. Unfortunately, my AMH levels had dropped again, my FSH had nearly doubled to peri-menopausal levels, and my ovaries showed little activity. My doctor diplomatically referred to my ovaries as “quiet,” but in my mind, they were just lazy. Only my therapist was privy to my full story, as I spent more hours crying, convinced I would never experience motherhood and feeling like my body was defective.
I found myself resenting my friends on Facebook who were mothers. I didn’t “like” their posts about their kids or pregnancy announcements, each one a painful reminder of my own struggles. The social media landscape felt like a minefield, and I seriously considered deactivating my account.
Month after month, I bought pregnancy tests and ovulation kits. I grew weary of the endless cycle of tracking my body and obsessively searching for symptoms online. Each month brought disappointing pregnancy tests, leaving me to cope with tears in the bathroom when blood appeared.
I didn’t share about my last insemination, where I unexpectedly ran into an old college friend in the IVF clinic waiting room. We hadn’t seen each other in a decade, and our shy conversation felt like a strange twist of fate. I kept quiet about the financial burden of tests and kits, the side effects from Clomid, and the emotional toll of infertility.
Instead, I only posted the happy news of my pregnancy, fully aware of the many friends still battling infertility. When that college friend reached out to congratulate me, the irony hit hard—I was now on the other side, yet guilt loomed large. I often feel a stronger connection to those still seeking motherhood than to those who are already parents. I feel like an intruder in a world of abundance, waiting for that dreaded phone call to shatter my joy. After months of longing and fear, this unexpected pregnancy feels both disorienting and fragile. The despair of the past is still fresh, making me all the more grateful for this moment, even if the journey to get here is still raw.
I prefer to stay anonymous, knowing my struggles are not reflected in a simple Facebook post.
Resources for Home Insemination
For those curious about home insemination, check out this insightful article on intracervical insemination. If you’re looking for reliable products, Cryobaby’s home insemination kit is an excellent choice. And for more information on the success of IUI, you can find great details on WebMD.
In summary, the journey to my pregnancy was filled with struggles, emotional turmoil, and moments of deep despair. While I now celebrate this new chapter, the road that led me here remains a vivid part of my story.