Rachel Addison

Rachel Addison

This. Is. Infertility.

…. Well, at least for me.

Infertility is falling in love with an incredible guy and soon realizing you can’t wait to see him be a Dad.

Infertility is taking all the responsible steps in getting your priorities straight, such as being able to live in the same country in our case, as you plan to start a family. Infertility is when the doctor doing routine pre-conception checks tells you most healthy couples take an average of 6-12 months to become pregnant, naïvely thinking that he’s crazy… after all, you’re a type A control freak and are having a Spring Baby.

Infertility is the first few months of excitement amidst the passion and anticipation with a touch of calculation.

Infertility is googling questions like ‘is left armpit tenderness a symptom of early pregnancy’?. It’s getting your period just when you convinced yourself your breasts were sore enough to think you might be pregnant and thinking, bummer, no worries, round 2. Infertility is the first few months turning into 4, then 5 then 6. It’s buying boxes of pregnancy tests because you realize, you just can’t bear to wait until you wake up one morning to Aunt Flow and realize ‘Round 7’ before starting your day.

Infertility is melting on the kitchen floor in sobs when you see yet another friends pregnancy announcement on Facebook, especially one who just told you they were going to start ‘trying’ that same month. It’s feeling like a terrible person over the guilt that your initial reaction wasn’t to be happy for that friend.

Infertility is in the spectrum of responses to the well-intentioned question, ‘when are you going to start having kids’?. First, you give a polite smile and honest answer of ‘soon’. Then it’s the sarcastic answers to distract from the truth. Later it’s the occasional tearfulness when the question catches you on a bad day. Finally, it’s the mixture of hurt, resentment and anger when you really just want to scream ‘none of your business’ at the same time as breaking down in anyone’s embrace.

Infertility is realizing that a year has past and it’s time to accept maybe something is wrong. Wrong with me. Wrong with him. Wrong with us.

Infertility is a husband with an above healthy drive looks at you and says, ‘again’? … Infertility is your intimacy becoming obligatory with the occasional turkey baster joke. It’s everyone telling you not to stress about it, so you become stressed about not stressing about it. Infertility is becoming delusional staring at your own pee on a stick swearing you see two lines when anyone else would only see one. Infertility is knowing you have something so heavy on your heart… all the time… but feeling like nobody really would want to talk about it… or get it.

Infertility is appointments. Tests. Prodding. Poking. Money. Time. Vulnerability. Random excuses for missing more work. Infertility is reading all the books and blogs you can consume and doing things like taking your temperature every morning, knowing more about cervical mucus and positioning than you ever knew possible. Infertility is thinking it’s normal to use acronyms like TTC, BBT, DH, DS, DD, AF and more! (Love to my girls who know what I’m talking about here).

Infertility is lying on an exam table while a Radiologist does an internal ultrasound and numerous med-school students are staring between your legs while you silently cry at your own vulnerability, beating yourself up because you didn’t just say ‘no, I’m not comfortable with this’, coupled with all the big questions of what will the results will actually mean. Infertility is progesterone, clomid and expensive conversations over really big desks with yet another stranger in a white coat about your body like it’s broken and things like insemination, in-vitro and whether we are open to adoption.

Infertility is counseling people who never wanted a baby and it becomes your ethical obligation to speak to them objectively about their options. It is being a mandatory reporter for child protection services when you are counseling someone who discloses atrocious treatment of an innocent baby. Infertility is supporting women through their own journeys of pregnancy loss, stillborn births, rainbow babies, and post partum mood disorder. Infertility is praying with all you have in you to get through another client appointment while still giving the best service you should be giving. It is walking out of those appointments praying for an understanding of why not me?

Infertility is an emotional rollercoaster of calculation, hope, excitement, prayer followed by devastation, disappointment, sadness, loss, emptiness, bargaining, more prayer and grief…. month after month; year after year.

Infertility is that one doctor along the way who mentions things like eating Date & Ghee, Bee Pollen, Essential Oils, Reducing Toxins and Ayurveda medicine, planting a seed that there might just be another way. A seed that reminded me of my grounding, the power of nature, my Faith and ultimately led to healing & optimum wellness.

Infertility is feeling like nobody understands what you’re going through but yet when you do start talking, you realize just how many people truly do. Infertility is having a beautiful cousin reach out in a letter that ends with ‘you will have your family one day, it just might look different than how you imagined’ and knowing that because she truly gets it, her words are the most reassuring you ever needed.

Infertility felt like the hardest thing I would ever go through; in the thick of it, there was no knowing when or how it would end for us. There was a complete surrender to my Faith and eventually an acceptance that it will be okay, however okay might look.

Infertility is a blessing.

Infertility woke me up. It led me to cleaner living, more compassion & gratitude, a stronger Faith and marriage, knowing my own body and what I needed to heal, a passion for educating others about toxin-free wellness and ultimately, it led me to my two beautiful daughters, Camilla & Hazel. That rollercoaster was one I wouldn’t wish on anyone, yet I am so grateful for all the beauty that came from it in the end.

I know this may not be what infertility is or was to you.     I know some people’s journeys are much harder than mine was and I know some people don’t experience the same blessings I have. Regardless, if you are or have been on this roller coaster, I hope you find some comfort in these words. I hope you find comfort in knowing you are not alone if you’ve experienced any of these things. That it is okay to talk about it. That it’s okay to melt on the kitchen floor. That it’s okay to not accept that you are broken. And especially, that it is okay to question why so many of us are experiencing infertility. That yes, there are uncontrollable risk factors for some of us, yet, the numbers still don’t add up.

That enough is enough and I for one, demand better for my own daughters in terms of the safety of what we breathe, apply & ingest.

I encourage you to show compassion to women who might be going thru something like this. I encourage you to be mindful of how your questions or your April Fool’s social media posts might affect someone you know. I encourage you to talk. I encourage you to share your story. I encourage you to hold on to your hope.  I encourage you to offer kindness whenever possible, it is always possible.


This was infertility. This is healing.

Thank you for reading. I send you love & light for wherever you are in your own journey.

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