The reasons I would go to great lengths to have a second child are few, yet I’m opting to start birth control again. My partner, Jake, and I have been battling secondary infertility for a couple of years now. Two years is a long time to be trapped in your own thoughts. It’s an extended period of monitoring cycles, timing intimacy, nurturing hope, and praying for those elusive two pink lines. But we’ve finally reached a breaking point.
It’s challenging to explain why we’ve decided to stop trying. I often hear comments like, “Maybe once you stop thinking about it, you’ll conceive!” or “You just need to relax!” While I understand the sentiment, those are easy words to say. There are numerous stories of couples who stop actively trying and then get pregnant, but that’s not my reality. I can’t simply switch off my emotions. Living in a state of uncertainty has been exhausting. The hope of pregnancy lingers, and with it comes the pain of disappointment month after month.
So, I found myself at the doctor’s office, tears in my eyes, asking for birth control. Do I long for another baby? Absolutely. But I no longer have the emotional energy to keep trying. My doctor suggested several medications we might explore, and I felt a flicker of hope. Then she mentioned visiting a fertility clinic to discuss IVF, which reignited my optimism.
She empathized with my situation, expressing her wish to prescribe prenatal vitamins instead of the pill. I share that sentiment too. I doubt there will ever be a moment when I come to terms with this process, but I recognize that starting birth control is the best way forward for us.
Infertility has impacted me deeply, shaking my self-esteem and leaving me feeling betrayed by my own body. It has robbed me of joy and created an unrelenting weight in my heart. Simultaneously, I fear closing the door on this chapter. What if a year or even a decade from now I regret not trying harder? What if my daughter, who already asks for a sibling, grows up feeling incomplete? At her age, she can’t fully grasp the situation. We explain that families come in all shapes and sizes; some have many children, some only one, and some none. I worry about how this might affect her. She is my heart and soul, our little miracle.
Infertility can feel isolating. I often felt that no one could truly understand my struggle, especially since I’m already a mom. People might think I should be content with what I have. Even though I’m apprehensive, I’m ready to turn the page on the feelings of helplessness that come with infertility. I am prepared to pursue new dreams, even if it’s easier said than done.
Acceptance is a journey I’m still navigating. I’m unsure if it’s entirely achievable, but I will make the effort. For me, part of moving on means eliminating the prospect of getting pregnant. This might not resonate with everyone, but if there’s still hope for a baby, then nothing truly changes. I’ll remain preoccupied with the thought that maybe this month will finally be our month. Birth control is essential for my healing and letting go. That said, it’s going to be a challenging step to take…both literally and figuratively. I despise this situation.
I don’t have any grand advice to offer. I’m simply taking things day by day. I’m not searching for a silver lining because, for me, there isn’t one. I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. Life throws us hard challenges that test us.
However, nothing lasts forever, so I’m learning to coexist with my feelings. Discussing such a personal topic isn’t easy for everyone, and it’s usually not for me either. Yet, I felt compelled to share this chapter of my life since it resonates with so many others. I’m incredibly grateful for the strong women who have supported me through this journey.
As I found a quote by Alex Elle that resonates deeply with me: “Acknowledge your pain. Let it surface and spill over. Give it permission to make an uncomfortable mess. Healing can happen this way and so can emotional freedom. Face it all. Free it, too.”
In summary, while the desire for another child remains strong, the journey through secondary infertility has led me to the decision to start birth control as a means of healing. It’s a complex emotional landscape, but I’m determined to move forward, even if that means temporarily letting go of the hope of another baby.
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