Latest / The Dating Files: Dating, Breakups, Love & Relationships / Infertility & Love: How to Hold Each Other When the Future is Unclear | The Dating Files
Transcript
- There is a specific kind of silence that falls over a kitchen table when two people are trying not to cry in front of each other. It’s heavy, isn’t it? The kind of quiet where you can hear the refrigerator hum and feel like you’re drowning on dry land. Let’s look at the evidence, because I know exactly where you are right now. You might be scrolling through this on your phone during a break at work, or maybe you’re sitting in your car in the driveway, too tired to go inside. You are carrying a weight that no one else can see. And here is the truth that nobody tells you about infertility: it is not just a medical issue. It is a relational earthquake. It shakes the foundation of who you are as a person, and it shakes the foundation of how you relate to the person you love most. I want you to take a deep breath with me. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Good. Now, let’s talk about what happens when you try to support a partner while you are simultaneously falling apart yourself. It feels like you are walking a tightrope made of wet tissue paper. On one side, you have your own grief—grief for the pregnancy tests that come back negative, grief for the appointments that drain your bank account and your soul, grief for the timeline that keeps slipping away. On the other side, you have your partner. They are hurting too, but their pain looks different. It looks like helplessness. It looks like watching someone they love suffer and feeling like there is nothing they can do to fix it. This creates a strange distance. You might find yourself pulling away from them because you don’t want to burden them. Or you might get angry at them because they seem to be coping differently. Maybe they are trying to be optimistic, which feels dismissive to you. Maybe they are withdrawing into silence, which feels like abandonment to you. Let’s look at the evidence of these moments. They are not signs that your love is failing. They are signs that you are both navigating a trauma that doesn’t have a manual. One of the most common mistakes couples make during fertility treatments is assuming that their partner’s way of grieving is the same as theirs. But human beings process loss in wildly different ways. Think of it like two people trying to describe the color blue to each other using only words they’ve never heard before. One of you might need to talk about it constantly. You need to vent, to analyze, to dissect every detail of the day. The other might need distraction. They might turn on the TV, go for a run, or focus intensely on work to keep the thoughts at bay. Here is where things get tricky. If you are the talker, you might interpret their silence as coldness or lack of care. You might think, 'If he really loved me, he would sit here and cry with me.' If you are the distractor, you might interpret their constant talking as nagging or obsession. You might think, 'Why can’t she just let this go for five minutes?' Neither of you is wrong. You are just speaking different languages of survival. Your nervous system knows what it needs to stay safe. For some, safety is connection through words. For others, safety is peace through distraction. The danger comes when we pathologize our partner’s coping mechanism. We start to believe that their way is broken. But it’s not broken. It’s just different. I had a client once tell me that her husband’s attempts to make her laugh felt like he was minimizing her pain. She didn’t realize that his humor was his way of showing her that life still existed outside of the clinic. He was reminding her that she was still whole, even if she wasn’t pregnant yet. Once she understood that his laughter was an act of love, not dismissal, the tension in their home shifted. It didn’t disappear, but the sharp edges softened. Now, let’s talk about the social world. Because infertility does not happen in a vacuum. It happens in a world that is aggressively celebrating motherhood. You walk into a coffee shop, and everyone is talking about baby showers. You open Instagram, and your best friend just posted photos of her toddler’s first steps. It is exhausting. It is designed to make you feel less than. But here is the harder part: comparing your journey to others’ journeys. You might look at another couple who conceived quickly and feel a surge of resentment. You might look at a single woman choosing to adopt and feel confused about why you are still fighting so hard for biological children. These feelings are valid. They are human. But they can become toxic if you let them dictate your self-worth. I want you to ask yourself a question today: Are you supporting your partner, or are you competing with them for who is hurting more? This is a subtle trap. Sometimes, in our desperation to be seen in our pain, we inadvertently compete for sympathy. We wait to see who gets comforted first. We keep score of who sacrificed more. This competition destroys intimacy. It turns your partnership into a courtroom where you are both prosecuting each other’s failures. Instead, try this radical idea: assume positive intent. When your partner says something insensitive, assume they didn’t mean to hurt you. When they withdraw, assume they are trying to protect themselves, not reject you. This doesn’t mean you stop setting boundaries. It means you approach conflict with curiosity instead of accusation. Ask, 'What do you need right now?' instead of 'Why are you doing this to me?' The shift is small, but the impact is massive. You mentioned earlier that you struggle with saying no to family gatherings. This is such a common pain point. Society expects you to perform happiness. It expects you to smile when asked when you’re having kids. It expects you to pretend that you aren’t dying inside. But you cannot pour from an empty cup, and you certainly cannot support your partner if you are depleted. Setting boundaries is not selfish. It is an act of self-respect. It is telling the world, 'My healing matters more than your curiosity.' This applies to your partner too. You need to create a sanctuary in your relationship where the outside world cannot enter. Maybe that means having a code word you use when you need to leave a party early. Maybe it means agreeing to have one night a week where you do not discuss treatment schedules or medical results. Just pizza and bad movies. Just being humans. When you set these boundaries, you protect the space where your love can breathe. Infertility thrives in chaos and uncertainty. It feeds on stress. By creating structure and safety, you starve the anxiety. You give yourselves room to remember why you fell in love in the first place. You remind each other that you are partners in crime, not just co-pilots of a medical crisis. It’s messy, it’s human. You will slip up. You will say the wrong thing. You will have days where you just want to scream. That is okay. Perfection is not the goal. Connection is the goal. And connection requires vulnerability. It requires letting your partner see the parts of you that are scared, angry, and fragile. It requires trusting that they will hold those pieces gently, even if they don’t know how to fix them. We live in a culture that defines success by outcomes. Did you get pregnant? Did you have the baby? Did you achieve the dream? But when you are in the thick of infertility, defining success by outcome is torture. Because the outcome is not fully in your control. And that lack of control is terrifying. So, let’s redefine success. What if success is simply showing up? What if success is holding your partner’s hand during a painful procedure? What if success is laughing together over burnt dinner after a long day at the clinic? What if success is choosing kindness when you are exhausted? These moments matter. They build a resilience that lasts long after the pregnancy test results. They build a marriage that can withstand anything. Because you are learning how to love each other in the dark. And that is a skill that serves you well in all areas of life. I want you to write down three things you appreciate about your partner this week. Not things related to the treatment. Things related to who they are. Their humor. Their patience. The way they make coffee. Remind yourself that they are more than their fertility status. And remind them that you are more than yours. You are complex, beautiful, worthy human beings. Your value is not determined by your uterus or your sperm count. It is determined by your heart. And your heart is full. As we wrap up today, I want to leave you with this thought. You are not alone in this. There is a whole community of women who understand the ache in your chest. Who know the disappointment of the second line that never appears. Who know the fear of the unknown. Reach out to them. Find your tribe. Let them carry some of the weight so you don’t have to carry it all. And please, be gentle with yourself. Healing is not linear. Some days you will feel strong. Other days you will feel weak. Both are okay. Trust the process. Trust your partner. Trust yourself. You are doing better than you think. Remember, this chapter is difficult, but it is not the whole story. You are writing a narrative of love, resilience, and hope. Keep going. One day at a time. One breath at a time. You’ve got this. Thank you for letting me into your day. I’m June Anderson, and I’ll be here next week with more truth, more tenderness, and more files to open. Until then, be kind to your heart. Bye for now.