How I Overcame Secondary Infertility

I wrote this guide as closure for myself. If it helps you on your journey, please consider making a small donation to Resolve.

This is my perfect triangle family. My husband, who I began dating in 2007 and married in 2012, and our son who was born in 2017.

When my son was in the "three’s" program at daycare, I wasn't in a good place. We had been trying for a sibling since he turned one, with absolutely no luck (in fact, we faced lots of bad luck). It took us four years and lots of science to have him, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that it would be even harder to have another one years later.

That year I watched every single one of the remaining only children in his class get a sibling. By April he was the only only-child left, and that was really hard for me to process. I felt like we were behind, I stressed about the age gap that we would inevitably have, and I put all of my energy into making a second child happen.  

Spoiler alert: it never happened.

Several more years passed, as did many rounds of IVF, and eleven miscarriages. But I always had a backup plan, and so we kept on truckin’. The darkest time in my infertility journey, when we traumatically lost twins at 17 weeks, was the inflection point. It was the first time in years that I didn’t have a Plan B. Instead of maternity leave that summer, we decided to take time off as a family. I was able to use that time to reflect on the tumultuous experience. I finally recognized how infertility had been a thief of time, attention, and happiness. I was so obsessed with having another child that it was actually taking away from my first. I was just previously too busy with family planning to see that.

I am not the only one who has had this experience. Secondary infertility, the inability to conceive or carry a pregnancy to term after successfully having one or more children, impacts 1 out of 8 women trying for another child. But those facing secondary infertility are less likely to talk about it. 

So, I wanted to talk about it. I wanted to share how I overcame secondary infertility, not by having another baby but by doing the work to find peace and self-love. 

This guide is for anyone struggling to have a second child. 

Secondary infertility as a medical diagnosis

Secondary infertility is the most common form of female infertility around the globe. It refers to the inability to become pregnant or carry a pregnancy to term after previously giving birth to a baby. It includes all of those who struggled the first time around as well, plus people who had no problem having a first child but find themselves facing roadblocks in having a second child.

As the average of having children increases, more of us are left to grapple with the intricate interplay between societal expectations, individual aspirations, and the undeniable facts of human biology. Female fertility starts to decline in our 30s, with a more significant drop after the age of 35. So while some people may be able to sneak in a child before this happens, many of us are left trying to build a family while facing a natural decline in egg quality and quantity that creates unexpected challenges.

Treatment for secondary infertility typically mirrors that of primary infertility: that is, expensive fertility treatments that are rarely covered by health insurance, and come with dismal outcomes. 

But I’m not here to talk about IVF, and how it’s both awful and incredible (when it works). 

What we don’t talk about enough is the emotional toll that comes along with infertility. People experiencing secondary infertility often grapple with a unique form of grief, confounded by the societal expectation that having had a child before should somehow render them immune to fertility struggles. Indeed, the paradoxical nature of having a child and simultaneously longing for another can create a sense of isolation and guilt.

Women with secondary infertility are less likely to talk about it with others. In fact, twice as many women with secondary infertility never talk about it with others compared to women with primary infertility. 

So I’m here to help start the dialogue around secondary infertility, which needs to evolve beyond the clinic and the IVF lab. The silence that envelops secondary infertility must be broken, and the nuanced understanding of this condition must be expanded, so that those who endure it are met not with isolation and guilt but with compassion, support, and the full breadth of human understanding.

What it means to overcome secondary infertility

The struggle with secondary infertility is not merely a biological battle but a confrontation with our deepest senses of control, expectation, and identity. For those of us who have thrived on planning, precision, and the logical progression from effort to outcome, infertility can be an unexpected and maddening nemesis.

But the reality is we (especially A-types) have a false sense of control. We operate under the assumption that adherence to rules and execution of a plan will invariably lead to an expected outcome. Secondary infertility disrupts this narrative, leaving in its wake confusion, frustration, and a profound sense of loss.

Regardless of where you are in your secondary infertility journey, what I want you to know and internalize as soon as possible is that overcoming infertility is not about having the baby. It's about finding peace with the plans the universe has for you. This change in mindset forms the emotional core of the journey to overcome secondary infertility. It entails a shift from a narrow focus on outcomes to a broader, more introspective understanding of oneself and one's role in this one wild and precious life.

Before even exploring your options for bringing home a baby (which is entirely separate guide itself), I want to fast track you through what took me five years to accomplish. And that is mentally overcoming secondary infertility. This mental transition is not merely a coping mechanism but a huge personal transformation that can bring peace, acceptance, and strength, irrespective of the eventual outcome.

Even more important than all the things you can do to try to get pregnant is doing the real work to take care of your own mental health. Secondary infertility is as much an emotional and psychological journey as a physical one. The emphasis on mental health, self-care, and inner peace is not ancillary to this journey but central to it.

First, do the grieving

In the tactical pursuit of getting pregnant, amidst ovulation tracking, clinic appointments, and online sleuthing to figure out what the heck you’re doing wrong, one critical facet of the journey can become obscured: grief. Infertility of any form sucks. It's unfair, and it's okay to give yourself space to be sad, confused, or angry about it.

In the world of Plan B—where hope meets science, where dreams intertwine with reality—grief might seem like an inconvenient emotion, a roadblock to be bypassed on the path to growing your family. But to ignore grief is to ignore a fundamental part of what it means to grapple with infertility. Grief is the mind's way of processing loss, and infertility represents a very real loss: the loss of a dream, of a plan, of an assumed biological ability.

The best way to process this grief is to confront it, to give it space and time, to understand that it's a legitimate and natural response to a difficult situation. Finding a good therapist is a great step. Someone who is trained to help you to explore and overcome the multifaceted emotions that accompany this unique type of grief. 

If you don’t walk out of a therapy session feeling like a huge weight has been taken off your shoulders, it may be a sign that the particular therapist or therapeutic approach is not the right fit for you. Therapy, especially when dealing with something as complex as infertility, should be a refuge—a place where you can safely unpack the tangle of emotions without fear of misunderstanding or judgment.

Finding the right therapist is not always a straightforward process. It may require time, research, and even trial and error. While it might seem that finding someone with experience in infertility is crucial, that’s not always the case. I saw a therapist who specializes in infertility but her approach didn’t work for me (she was one of those who doesn’t say much other than “how does that make you feel”). So I switched back to my regular psychologist who is smart and thoughtful and gives me very clear guidance, much of which I share here in this guide. Trust your instincts, and remember that it’s entirely appropriate to move on if and when the relationship doesn’t feel right or isn’t working for you. 

Group therapy is another avenue for support. In a room (actual or virtual) filled with others who understand the unique pain and frustration of infertility, there is a shared language, an unspoken empathy. The solidarity of shared experience can be healing, turning a solitary struggle into a communal one, transforming isolation into connection. You can find a virtual or in-person support group in the Resolve directory. 

Grieving is not a sign of weakness or a lack of determination. It is a necessary human response to a deeply human challenge. In giving ourselves the space to grieve, we acknowledge the complexity of our emotions and embrace our own humanity in all its messy, beautiful intricacy.

So before you immerse yourself again in Plan B (or C, or D), take a moment to breathe, to feel, to grieve. It is not an abandonment of hope but a recognition of reality. And in that recognition, in the honest confrontation of pain, lies the first step towards healing. 

Second, unpack your story so it can be rewritten

Now I want you to examine where the desire (and for many of us, the desperation) to have a second child is coming from. Understanding the narrative that drives the longing for another child is essential to finding peace and clarity on this journey. Begin by unpacking the story you created for yourself. Where did those expectations come from? When did they start? From family traditions to societal pressures, these underlying forces shape not only our desires but also our disappointments and our ability to navigate them.

How much of our desire to have a second child comes from outside of us? The archetype of a two or three-child family is reinforced everywhere around us. Advertising, television shows, and movies usually portray families with multiple children as the norm, subtly conveying the message that this is the ideal family structure. It's a narrative that speaks to sibling relationships, to legacy, and to a certain perception of familial abundance.

Even well-meaning friends, family members, and—let's be honest—complete strangers can reinforce these norms through casual inquiries and comments such as “wHeN aRe YoU GiViNg HiM a SiBLiNg”, sometimes without recognizing the weight and complexity behind such a question.

There is no doubt that women face more significant scrutiny and expectation to fulfill the role of motherhood in a specific way. The notion that a mother should desire multiple children is ingrained in cultural norms that associate maternal success with the ability to bear and raise several children. 

Yet, personal desires and societal influences are rarely neatly separable. Individual dreams, hopes, and plans for family life often develop in the context of broader life experiences. 

For me, coming from a family of divorce with a big age gap between siblings, the longing for a “picture-perfect” family was something I wanted from a young age. I wanted to have three kids close in age so they could be life-long best friends. But I also wanted to be a journalist and live in my childhood home across the street from my bff. I wanted to run for Senate and own a restaurant.

We all grow up with ideas of how we want our life to turn out. But no one's life turns out the way we expected. For some, it takes longer to find a partner, or they never find the right partner at all. Others feel lost or bored in their career. Some battle with health issues or lose their partner or a parent too soon. A good friend once said to me, “boy, you are unlucky in fertility, but wow, are you even more fortunate in other areas of your life."

Her words reminded me that our lives are often filled with unseen abundance, waiting to be acknowledged and embraced if only we can work through our preconceptions and fears. But sometimes it takes real work to see the full spectrum of life, recognizing that while certain paths may be closed, many others are open, rich with possibilities and joy.

So ask yourself, why is it so crucial that you have another kid? When my therapist first asked me this question, I responded “I think if I don’t have another one there will be a huge void in my life”. And then he said, “What if you do and you still feel that void?” And that simple reply shifted something in me. There is no void in my life today. Why would there be a void in the future just because I had one child and not three? I needed to really exam why I had become so obsessed with having a certain family size.

The realization that a void exists only if you create it is transformational. The void is shaped by societal expectations or personal pressures that do not truly reflect reality. By recognizing and challenging these constructs, we can gain clarity and free ourselves from unnecessary burdens, allowing us to appreciate the richness of our lives as they are, not as we think they should be.

Third, take back your life

Now that you’ve begun to do the work to be at peace with whatever the outcome of your journey may be, it's time to take back your life. This stage is more than a process; it’s a reclamation. Infertility can cast a long shadow over your daily existence, but it doesn't have to define your entire being.

What has infertility taken from you? 

This is a powerful and confronting question. Infertility can rob you of time, peace, spontaneity, relationships, and even your sense of identity. Acknowledge what it’s taken from you so far, and make a conscious effort to reclaim what you can. Your life is rich, multifaceted, and fertile in so many ways beyond biology. Infertility is only one part of your story, and it’s time to change the narrative.

Living with stress and anxiety

Stress and anxiety is not just a state of mind; it’s a physical burden on your body. And while it's normal, its reduction isn't about fulfilling others' expectations. It's about nurturing yourself. 

Stop looking to reduce stress and anxiety, and start looking to enhance joy, relaxation, and pleasure. Give your body and mind the chance to practice joy as much as possible. To live with more harmony that can take the place of tension. This shift from a defensive stance of alleviating negative emotions to a proactive approach of cultivating positive ones changed my life. 

A lot of people think eliminating their problems will make them happy, but as my therapist says, we never reach inbox 0 with problems. You have to separately cultivate happiness as a discipline.  So start to organize your life around the good stuff, not the bad. Seek ways to actively find joy amidst grief and loss.

Healing is not linear. It isn’t a task; it’s a practice. 

Prepare yourself for triggers

The world is full of reminders and barbs, and people's insensitive remarks can be especially painful. They may come from well-meaning friends or complete strangers, but they sting nonetheless. Whether it's prying questions like "WhEn aRe YoU gOiNg To HaVe AnOtHeR?" or misguided statements like "OnLy-ChiLdReN aRe SpOiLeD," these comments will continue to happen (although I’ve noticed now that my son is older that I hear them much less). However you decide to respond, remember that this is not about defending your life but about owning it.

Now stop putting life on pause 

It's an all-too-common scenario for those wrestling with infertility: the continual deferral of plans in hopes of a baby in nine months. Whether it's hesitating to book a vacation or putting off a career move, the anticipation of a new child can leave you trapped in a cycle of waiting.

But over time, this pattern doesn't just delay gratification; it diminishes joy and connection. It inhibits you from enjoying the richness of the present, as you constantly gauge the potential impact of every decision on a future pregnancy. It's a form of self-imposed limbo that can erode not only your sense of fulfillment but also your relationships and overall happiness.

Stop letting the theoretical idea of what could be take joy from your actual story.

This doesn't mean abandoning hope or relinquishing the pursuit of your goals. It means understanding that your life, in all its complexity and beauty, must continue to unfold. It's about reclaiming agency over your life, recognizing that the path to a child is not the only path to joy and meaning. Whether booking that trip leads to a celebration of new life or a well-deserved vacation, either outcome is a win. Embrace the present and live fully. Do not allow the ‘what-ifs’ to dominate your decision-making.

Don’t rely on role models

It's natural to seek affirmation in others who seem to reflect our own situation. I used to really look to those with a child my son’s age and no sibling as validation that my triangle family was the right shape. But slowly, these one-kid families would turn to two-kids families, like Serena Williams, who had her first child around the same time as me, and announced her second pregnancy while I was writing this. The lesson? The confidence in your family needs to come from you, and you alone. Letting go of comparisons and external validations liberates you to celebrate your own path.

Avoid toxic positivity

One problem with the infertility community on social media is that we hear too much from those who at the end of the day, got the outcome they wanted. Everyone loves a story with a happy ending. Everyone wants to hold onto hope that their baby is just around the corner. 

This pervasive culture of optimism can create a tunnel vision effect, focusing only on the tales of triumph. It becomes a chorus of "DoN’t GiVe Up!" and "YoUr MiRaCLe bAbY iS nExT!"

But actually, this is not helpful. This is what we call "toxic positivity." It's an enforcement of happiness and success at the expense of real, complex feelings, a pressure to conform to an expectation of relentless hope. It can be isolating for those whose stories don't align with this sunny narrative, those who are grappling with the very real pain, uncertainty, and ambivalence that often accompany infertility.

Toxic positivity doesn't allow room for doubt, grief, or the acknowledgment that the path to parenthood might be riddled with twists, turns, and sometimes insurmountable obstacles. 

What's needed is not blind optimism but a compassionate realism, a community that understands the nuances of the infertility experience and recognizes more than just one outcome. So go ahead and unfollow accounts that do not make you feel great. And replace them with a few that give you strength (or a good laugh).

Holding onto hope is a beautiful aspect of the human spirit, but it must be balanced with the recognition that not all stories have the same ending. In embracing this more nuanced perspective, we can acknowledge the richness of the human experience, and honor each unique journey with the dignity and compassion it deserves.

Deciding when to stop

Facing the decision of when to stop trying for a second child can be the single hardest choice in this journey. And I want you to know this: either path you take is valid and courageous. The continued pursuit of expanding your family (while simultaneously finding peace with whatever may transpire), or the decisive acceptance that it's time to celebrate and engage fully in the life you already have.

Either way, you are more than your longing for another child. You are a whole person, vibrant and alive, with desires, ambitions, and values that transcend this single aspect of life. Choosing when to stop isn't merely a decision about family size; it's a step towards reclaiming yourself in a broader sense. I personally found stopping fertility treatments and moving on with my life entirely freeing. 

Remember, this is a journey towards peace and self-discovery, not just pregnancy. It's about aligning with what truly matters to you, finding contentment in the present, and embracing a future filled with possibility. You have the ability to navigate this decision with confidence and to embark on a path that honors the full scope of who you are.

Final words

Today, my family is complete. We have fully embraced the one-child lifestyle and the incredible advantages it affords us, from lots of travel to a calm, clean house, to an extremely close and nurturing relationship with our child. This is not the family size I once envisioned, but now I see it's just perfect.

Life is never a straight line, and our ability to navigate its twists and turns with grace, acceptance, and an open heart is a great triumph. Sometimes, the most beautiful things in life are not what we planned but what we discover along the way. That is the magic of existence, the uncharted beauty of embracing what is, and the courage to love it wholeheartedly. It's not just about creating family; it's about creating yourself.

So I hope you get the family size you’ve dreamt of, but more importantly I hope you can find peace with whatever happens. Your worth is not defined by the number of children you have. Your worth is not defined by how hard or long you try before deciding to stop. You don’t have to power through to be powerful. You are loved and worthy no matter what.