Finding My Way: An Infertility Journey

How group therapy offered me connection, information, and shared strength.

Five years. That's how long I lived in the space between hope and heartbreak, between wanting and wondering if I'd ever become a mother.  When you are 29 and everyone around you seems to be effortlessly expanding their families, infertility doesn't just steal your ability to conceive—it steals your sense of who you are and where you belong. Baby showers became minefields. Pregnancy announcements felt like paper cuts to an already raw wound. I smiled and congratulated friends and sisters while quietly grieving the future I couldn't seem to reach.

When the World Fell Apart

Then came September 11th, 2001.

I was living and working around Ground Zero. The world didn't just crumble on the news; it crumbled right in front of me. The smoke, the chaos, the loss, was all immediate and inescapable.

As my physical world fell apart, so did my remaining certainty about everything I thought I wanted. The questions that had already been haunting me became impossible to ignore: Why would I bring a baby into this mess, into this world that could shatter in an instant. Was I on this journey with the right partner? What did I want my life to look like?

Infertility had already upended my world, but that moment forced me to face an even deeper truth: I was questioning the direction of my life while also trying to create one. The internal conflict was overwhelming.

The Sadness That Takes Over Everything

There is a particular kind of sadness that comes with infertility, especially when you're young. It's not just disappointment; it is a complete disruption of your identity and your timeline. You watch your peers move forward while you feel stuck in an endless, painful loop of hope and loss.

Every month became a cycle of possibility followed by crushing defeat. Every doctor's appointment brought new procedures and new ways to feel like your body was failing you. The medical maze of infertility is confusing and exhausting, but the emotional toll is what truly breaks you down. I found myself asking: What does my future look like if this doesn't work? Who am I if I'm not a mother? Can my relationship survive this?

The Turn I Didn't Expect

What saved me wasn't another medical procedure or a new protocol—it was therapy.

Individual therapy gave me a safe space to untangle the knot of grief, fear, and identity crisis that infertility had created. I could finally say out loud the thoughts I was too ashamed to share with anyone else: that I wasn't sure I wanted this anymore, that I questioned my relationship, that I felt angry at my body and jealous of everyone around me.

Group therapy changed everything else. Sitting in a room with other women who understood—truly understood—what this journey felt like was transformative. We didn't have to explain or justify our feelings. We could be sad, angry, confused, and hopeful all at once without judgment. These complete strangers became my lifeline.

Finding the Right Doctor

Here's what I know now that I didn't know then: I would have never found the right doctor without group therapy and the wisdom that came from our shared experiences.

In group, we compared notes—not just about our feelings, but about our care. Which doctors listened? Which ones dismissed our concerns? What questions should we be asking? The other women in my group had been through doctors I hadn't tried yet, and I'd seen doctors they were considering. We pooled our knowledge and our courage.

I also learned to ask my therapist the questions I didn't know I could ask: Is this normal? Should my doctor be doing more? Am I being too demanding, or not demanding enough? My therapist helped me understand that I deserved better care, that my instincts mattered, that I could push back.

When I finally found the right doctor through a referral that came through the network of women in my group, everything shifted. This doctor listened, treated me like a whole person rather than just a collection of fertility statistics, and gave me hope rooted in real medical expertise. But I only had the clarity and confidence to recognize that doctor, and to work effectively with them, because of the therapeutic work and the community of women who had my back.

What I Want You to Know

If you're in the thick of infertility right now, drowning in the sadness and uncertainty, please know this:

You don't have to do this alone. You don't have to smile through the pain or pretend you're okay when you're not. You don't have to have all the answers about what you want or who you want to be.

Therapy, both individual and group, can be as important as finding the right medical care. It was for me. It helped me process the grief, examine my relationships and life choices honestly, and ultimately find my way to the family I have today.

Infertility is a crisis that touches everything: your body, your relationship, your identity, your future. Getting support for all of those dimensions isn't weakness, it's wisdom.

Five years felt like forever when I was living through them. But I made it through, and you can too.

You're not alone in this.