Hidden pain of infertility yearns for communal support

By Mary Bruno
NOLA Catholic Parenting

We put a pool in our backyard not too long ago. It took a couple of years for our now 4-year-old adopted daughter to learn how to swim, but she can finally hop into the water with no problem.

One day the ripples of the waves caught her eye, and she took particular notice of how far they reached – even to the other end of the pool. Her attentiveness made me smile. Those effects of the waves are easy to miss if we aren’t paying close enough attention.

The subtlety of that simple wave, that I didn’t even notice, reminds me of the extent to which many human emotions go unnoticed. For me, it’s the result of infertility. This is a primary pain, but the effects are felt far beyond it. 

There are ripples of the inability to bear children that enhance feelings of isolation, especially as years pass. Chris and I have been unable to get pregnant for over eight years now and, although I am able to celebrate the gifts God has uniquely given me and find great consolation in sharing my unique spiritual motherhood with the world, I have also noticed a growing sense of the loss of connection between us and other families that keeps on growing.

The call to grow a family is beautiful – otherwise, the inability to do so wouldn't hurt so much. Naturally, by extension of that, the more children others have, the more different our families look, and the farther apart our daily routines, conversation topics and weekend plans become.

Without intentional actions by both parties, relationships grow apart.

Both joys and the rarer, more obvious tragedies related to new babies tend to, rightfully so, bring women together with great compassion and unwavering support. But the tragedy of new life never formed – and often life that never leaves the womb – slips through the cracks because it is suffered in silence; often unseen behind closed doors. Often forgotten.

We tend to mask the pain well and even become OK with our unexpected life circumstance, but the longing for community doesn't go away. No matter the source of anyone's pain, the longing to be seen doesn't change.

Some people would rather not talk about it, but it's more realistic to assume that they've gotten used to not being understood. It doesn't always feel emotionally safe. But you don't have to understand what the tragedy feels like to connect with the one who has been hurt by it. 

Here are some suggestions to keep in mind:

1. Check in and enter into someone's pain periodically, even for just a moment. See how their hearts are. Be authentic.

2. Be alert to discussions that may become difficult for someone in the room. 

3. Maybe it doesn't feel right to talk. Find a sitter. Make an effort to have more group date nights without kids. 

4. Don't just take an interest in the other gifts they are bringing into the world. Make it sincere.

This goes both ways. Whether a woman is able to bear children or not, spiritual motherhood is extremely undervalued in our world. Everyone wants to be seen – not just the infertile.

Let's support and build each other up in every way possible. Let’s remember that unseen tragedies can be just as life-altering and lingering as the ones that are quite apparent. The more we appreciate the gifts God has given us and affirm this goodness in others, the less isolating any tragedy will feel.

Mary Bruno grew up in River Ridge and is a wife to Chris and a stay-at-home adoptive mother to Isabella. She is a permanent newcomer to Mandeville but will always consider herself a southshore girl. She loves spending time with her family, playing sports, Saints football and chocolate. Our Lady of the Lake is her parish. Mary is a former physical therapist assistant. Infertility both rocked her world and renewed her faith, causing her to stumble into some unexpected, yet thrilling roles: Catholic speaker and rapper, Creighton Model Practitioner Intern, podcaster, blogger, one half of a marriage prep mentor couple and women's health warrior. Find her @MaryGBruno.com.