…someone struggling with infertility

How to be a good friend to...

Dusk, London, October. I’m meeting my old friend for a walk on Parliament Hill Fields. I’m nervous. Sara has had a successful round of IVF; she is finally pregnant! But I’ve just had my seventh round of failed fertility treatment. I have no idea how to heal the chasm that’s opened up between us since her news, while doing my best to share in her happiness.

When we meet, there’s a weird tension, but it’s gentle. There’s a sort of dual telepathy between us. We both understand the enormity of it all, because we both know the torment of infertility.

We walk together and she tells me what it’s been like, how the IVF cycle went and how she’s feeling. I nod and listen and feel a swirling mix of indescribable sadness and genuine joy for my friend. In the end, we sit on a bench overlooking the city and I cry and tell her about the swirling of mixed emotions. The chasm becomes smaller almost immediately – being open and honest means, suddenly, even though our paths have taken different turns, we are just friends again, sharing how we are feeling.

I know now that those feelings were normal and valid because I hear from people every day who also experience them. I was grieving for all of my failed attempts to conceive and for the loss of the camaraderie – the difficult but shared experience of trying to conceive was now my own, lonely one. I was not a bad person for feeling anything less than sheer delight. I was a human being, going through a hard, misunderstood journey.

So many friendships break down completely if one or both parties are going through fertility struggles. And I think perhaps if we learned a bit more about the experience, those friendships could be saved. Everyone is different, of course, but here are a few pointers to help you support a friend if they are in this position:

• When we were in the middle of all our treatment cycles, I wished more people understood that we were on a relentless rollercoaster of hope and grief. All I really needed to hear from my friends was: ‘I’m so sorry. Are you okay?’

• One friend sent me flowers and a card that simply said, ‘I’m thinking of you.’ I cried with relief; someone had recognised how hard it all was, and that gentle gesture made me feel seen.

• I tried everything to get pregnant, and threw myself into a lifestyle overhaul. Nutrition, vision boards, all of it. My

‘All I really needed to hear was, “Are you okay?”’

friends who supported me in this – like the one who made sugar-free treats for me – will always stay in my heart. Try to support someone’s choices instead of questioning them.

• The people who asked sensitively if there was anything they could do were the people I ended up confiding in the most. I needed support, but sometimes, I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. Knowing I had people around me offering an ear if I wanted it, but understanding if I couldn’t share right then, was amazing.

• Pregnancy announcements can be incredibly hard to cope

with, but it’s the shock of receiving it that’s often the worst part, so a little heads-up about a text message, or checking in with your friend afterwards if a mutual friend has shared happy news with a group, will go such a long way to help them feel supported.

The social narrative around us is slowly changing, but it starts with one person at a time recognising that infertility cannot be fixed by relaxing, putting your legs in the air after sex, or going on holiday. Showing kindness, support and empathy is the best way to help your friend. These things really won’t go unnoticed.

‘Checking in with your friend will go a long way to help’