At first, hope felt like my lifeline. I clung to it like a whispered promise in the dark, believing that if I followed every step of the IVF process correctly, like a good student, I would eventually succeed. It was the thread that kept me moving forward, keeping the dream of motherhood alive, even when the path felt uncertain. I held onto the belief that this hope, this unrelenting faith, would eventually lead me to my child.
However, the odds were stacked against us. With each failed cycle, my lifeline began to fray. Hope, once my greatest ally, started to feel like a cruel whisper, binding me in a cycle of expectations and heartbreak. Every new attempt began with renewed optimism, only to end with a deeper, more crushing sense of failure than the last. It was like holding onto something constantly slipping through my fingersโso close, yet just out of reach.
The more I tried and failed, the louder that quiet fearโthe one I never wanted to admitโbecame. What if itโs true? What if I never get to be a mother? That fear had always been there, but I had buried it under the weight of hope. Yet, with each unsuccessful attempt, it grew stronger, until it was impossible to ignore.
I remember the exact moment it all came crashing down. I was down on my knees, tears streaming down my face, wailing as though a loved one had passed away. I had just received the second call advising me that the process had been unsuccessful. My hands trembled in my lap, my chest tight with grief. It wasnโt just the fact that we had failed again; it was something deeper. It was the crushing realization that my worst fear might be realโthe fear that I may never hear someone call me โmom.โ
Hope suddenly felt different. It was no longer the buoy that kept me afloatโit became the anchor that drowned me. With each new cycle, I realized that holding on to hope was only dragging me deeper into despair. After six more failed attempts, I let go of hope completely. I had to, for my own sanity. Instead of dreaming of what could be, I let the harsh realities of the process guide me.
Today, I no longer dream of motherhood. My journey through IVF is long behind me, but it has left its imprint on who I am. Over time, Iโve learned to practice acceptanceโacceptance of what my life is and what it isnโt. It wasnโt an easy transition, but by adjusting my mindset and releasing my grasp on the future, Iโve found peace. I no longer live in the โwhat ifsโ or the โmaybes.โ I live in the present, fully aware of who I am and what I have right now, without the constant ache of unmet expectations.
Acceptance doesnโt mean erasing the past, nor does it mean that the longing for motherhood wasnโt real. It means finding peace with the reality Iโve been given. My life is still full and meaningful, even if it looks different from what I once imagined. And while hope may have been my enemy for a time, letting go of it allowed me to make peace with my story. Today, I embrace the life I haveโnot the one I once dreamed of.
We are always here to help. If this resonated with you and you would like to talk further about your own experiences, we offer a FREE 30-minute call. You can book this free session by head to the top right hand side of this page, and hitting the green book now button.
Until we meet again, be well.
TULLY XO