Our IVF journey is over. No double pink lines appeared, no transfer date was set—instead, we are left with emptiness, frustration, and feelings of loss.

Deciding to stop IVF treatment brings a unique kind of grief. It’s not the loss of someone we had, but the loss of someone we imagined. We’re grieving the hope of expanding our family. And that’s a strange feeling to sit with, especially when we’re so lucky to have a healthy, beautiful daughter.

How do you balance grief and gratitude?

I’m grateful—I love my daughter more than words can describe. I know how fortunate I am. But I’m also grieving. I’m sad. I’m angry. And those feelings don’t cancel each other out. One doesn’t diminish the other. Gratitude doesn’t erase grief.

I find myself sitting and thinking about all of the early morning appointments, the blood draws, the injections. The endless waiting. Waiting for the nurse to call. Waiting for good news that never came. I put my body through hell, and I’m left with this heavy heart—and no baby.

Secondary infertility after motherhood is a strange and lonely place. There’s this unspoken assumption that you should be “done” or “grateful.” And I am. But I also wanted more. That’s not selfish. That’s human.

Now we’re living in the “after” part of the IVF journey—this in-between space that feels like limbo. There’s this immense sadness that lingers. It doesn’t go away. Yet, life moves forward. Parenting still has to be done. Meals have to be made. Bedtime routines still happen. Being a mom doesn’t pause for grief.

Some days, I feel like a child on the verge of a tantrum. It’s not fair, my heart screams. I’m not ready to say I’m done. But the reality is… the odds are not good.
And of course, there’s still that tiny, painful part of me that whispers: Maybe it’ll just happen. But in many ways, that faint hope makes it harder.

So where do I go from here?

How long will I carry this emptiness? How long will I long to feel pregnant again?
No one has those answers. There’s no guidebook for this part. No plan, no calendar, no protocol.

Just time, I guess.