Taking Care of Yourself During Infertility — And Why It's Not Selfish

There was a point in our journey when I stopped doing the things I loved.

Not consciously. It happened slowly. Our whole life began to revolve around appointments and cycles and waiting and hoping and bracing for the next disappointment. I was so focused on trying to become a mother that I forgot to take care of the person I already was.

I don't think I'm alone in that.

Infertility has a way of consuming everything — your time, your headspace, your emotional energy, your relationships. It can feel almost irresponsible to step back from that. Like if you're not completely focused on the goal, you're somehow giving up on it.

But here's what I know now: taking care of yourself during this journey isn't a distraction from it. It might be the most important thing you do.

What the Research Actually Says

The psychological weight of infertility is real and it is significant. Studies show that between 20 and 56 percent of women undergoing fertility treatment experience clinically significant levels of anxiety or depression — rates substantially higher than the general population. Men are affected too, with research showing up to 50 percent of male partners report infertility-related distress.

And here's something that surprised me when I learned it: addressing that psychological weight isn't just good for your mental health. Research suggests that managing stress and anxiety during fertility treatment may actually support better outcomes. Not because stress causes infertility — it doesn't — but because when you're not completely overwhelmed, you make clearer decisions, you communicate better with your care team, and you have more resilience for what comes next.

Taking care of yourself isn't separate from your treatment plan. In many ways, it's part of it.

What Self-Care Actually Looks Like During This

I want to be careful here, because "self-care" can sound like bubble baths and scented candles — and while there's nothing wrong with those things, that's not what I mean.

It looks like setting boundaries. Saying no to the baby shower you genuinely cannot handle right now. Stepping back from the family gathering where you'll be asked about kids for two hours. Muting the pregnancy announcements on Instagram for a while. These aren't failures. They are acts of self-preservation, and they are completely okay.

It looks like staying connected to who you are outside of this. One of the hardest parts of our journey for me was watching infertility slowly take over my entire identity. I had become someone whose whole sense of self was tied to whether this month's cycle worked. Finding small ways to stay connected to the other parts of yourself — the things you love, the work you're proud of, the friendships that fill you up — matters more than it might seem.

It looks like talking to someone. We waited too long to seek outside support, and I wish we hadn't. Professional counselors who specialize in infertility, peer support groups, communities like RESOLVE — these exist because this journey is genuinely hard and you shouldn't have to figure it out alone. Asking for help isn't weakness. It's the most practical thing you can do.

It looks like being honest with your partner. Partners often feel and cope very differently during infertility — and that's normal. What matters is giving each other permission to feel what you actually feel, and asking for what you actually need. Not what you think you should need. What you actually need.

It looks like giving yourself permission to take a break. We took one. There came a point where we were broken — mentally, emotionally, physically — and we needed to pause. We spent two years just rebuilding ourselves before we were ready to try again. I felt shame about that for a long time. I don't anymore. It was the right decision for us, and it saved our marriage and our sanity.

The Guilt That Comes With Stepping Back

Here's the thing nobody talks about: the guilt.

The guilt of enjoying a normal evening when you're supposed to be consumed by this. The guilt of laughing at something when you're in the middle of a painful cycle. The guilt of taking a break when you feel like every month matters.

I felt all of that. And what I've learned is that the guilt usually isn't telling you something true. It's telling you that you've internalized this idea that suffering harder somehow means wanting it more. It doesn't. You can want something with your whole heart and still protect yourself along the way.

You are allowed to have a good day. You are allowed to step back. You are allowed to be a full person while you're going through this.

For the People Who Love Someone Going Through This

If someone in your life is navigating infertility, the most helpful thing you can do is make it easier for them to take care of themselves — not harder.

Don't push them to stay at the gathering if it's too much. Don't press for updates on their treatment timeline. Don't offer silver linings. Just ask how they are. Actually listen. And show up in whatever small, consistent way you can — a text, a meal, a phone call that doesn't require them to explain anything.

Presence is the whole thing.

You Deserve to Be Taken Care of Too

I started Pursuit of Rainbows because I believe no one should have to navigate infertility alone — financially or emotionally. The grants we provide matter. But so does this: the reminder that you are worth caring for, right now, in the middle of the hardest part of the journey.

Not after a positive test. Not once the treatment is done. Now.

If you're an Ohio resident and financial support could help you move forward with treatment, learn more about our fertility grants at pursuitofrainbows.org/grant-application. And if you want to help another family get the support they need, a donation goes further than you know at givebutter.com/mhUFS5.

You are not behind. You are not failing. You are doing the best you can in one of the hardest seasons of your life. That deserves to be honored. 🌈