Throughout my fertility journey, I’ve often had days where despite being surrounded by a lot of love and support, I’ve never felt lonelier. 

The statistics will tell you that it’s sadly common for women to miscarry and for couples to struggle with their fertility. I’m that one in every four people who has experienced the pain and heartache of a miscarriage, and I’m also that one in eight who is struggling with my fertility. Yet, these statistics don’t make me feel any less alone in this than I do. Yes, lots of women and couples face the same struggles and sometimes more than what I’m going through, but we are each our own people with a beating heart and no number of statistics will ever make this journey understandable, fair and less scary.

I have been fortunate enough to connect with others in similar shoes to mine through both the Miscarriage Association and The Fertility Network. I’m connected on a personal level to each and every person who finds themselves leaning on these types of forums for emotional support and guidance through their own rocky journeys. These strangers have become a source of compassion, of hope, of strength and of resilience for me. And I’m grateful that I have a space where I can offload and be true to myself and to my feelings, however ugly they can sometimes be.

But none of us want to be bonded together by the loss, heartache and grief of what we’ve faced and are currently facing. We don’t want to be a part of this community.

And whilst we can support each other virtually as much as we can, there are times when this journey can feel very lonely and isolating.

I can be surrounded by my loved ones and yet still feel so alone. That’s not to discredit the caring and loving support from the army of loved ones I’m lucky enough to call family and friends. But unless you’ve walked this path, you’ll never be able to understand the depth of this loneliness and the heaviness that it bears.

I can’t really make sense myself of why I feel this loneliness given the support I know I have. Maybe it stems from the inner fear I have always had of not being able to bring a baby of my own home. Whilst an unfounded fear, it’s something that has always been there and today that fear is actually very much a reality for me. That fear is now controlling my every day, and it’s not something I can just switch off. Trust me, I’ve tried plenty of times.

But there is no off button when you’re fighting to have a baby. And because of that, it means that a lot of what I feel sits very close to the surface and the weight of it can topple me over without warning.  

When I know I’m fragile, I retreat in on myself. I do what I can to avoid further damage to my already aching chest. I choose not to reach out to friends; I avoid scenarios where I can be exposed and vulnerable and I put boundaries in place to protect myself. The reality of these boundaries is isolating and are what can often make me feel lonely too. For instance, my phone remains on silent mode so I can filter what messages I receive and read. I do this in fear of receiving a text message from a friend and loved one telling me they’re pregnant on perhaps a day when I’m feeling more delicate and therefore unable to process and grace their happy news without tears staining my cheeks. I switch my social media off because it no longer feels like a safe space to browse and is instead a space that reminds me of what I don’t have, and that’s a growing pregnant belly or a smiling bubbly baby in my arms like the many that dominate my feed have. I avoid making plans to see friends and family because truthfully, I just don’t know how I’ll be feeling when the moment arrives and so it’s easier if I just don’t commit or agree to dates.

It’s self-destructive really, but it’s my way of coping and for now that’s all I can do to keep my head above water and to keep myself as calm and as anxiety free as possible through this journey to Baby P.

I know that in time, that loneliness will fade and eventually be gone. And I hope that time comes quickly so that I can feel lighter and free again.

But for now, it’s one step and one breath at a time…

Love, Sophie xx