What I Wish I Knew Before Starting IVF (After Our First Transfer Failed)
I thought I was prepared.
I’d read the articles, joined the groups, asked every question I could think of. I knew IVF was hard… but I didn’t know it would feel like this.
We had prayed over every appointment, every shot, every result. We walked into transfer day holding onto hope like it was air. And when the call came that it hadn’t worked… it felt like the floor disappeared beneath me.
It’s not just a medical process; it’s your whole heart on the line. And when it doesn’t end the way you’ve prayed, you’re left holding empty hands that feel impossibly even more heavy than before.
The grief no one really prepares you for
I wish I’d known that grief after a failed transfer is more than sadness. If I’m being honest, it feels very much like when we lost our first baby. It’s just a heavy sorrow that you can’t shake, no matter how many times you smile and laugh. Grief after pregnancy loss is all-consuming. It takes over everything in your life.
And this feels just like that all over again, even if we never got a positive test.
We lost one of our embryos. We lost one of our precious little boys that we had so much hope for being able to bring home this time.
I wish I’d known that even though you tell yourself not to “get too attached,” you will still picture them. You’ll still calculate the due date. You’ll still think about how life could have been different.
I wish I’d known that buying baby things doesn’t make it just magically happen the way you imagine it. I have so many baby things because I was buying out of hope. I was buying so that I could use them for our announcement. I was planning spring outfits. I was planning my Halloween costume around being pregnant this year.
I wish I’d known that the waiting doesn’t end when the cycle does. It just changes shape into waiting for your heart to heal, waiting for your body to recover, waiting for the courage to try again.
Because that is the hardest part: trying again.
I was absolutely terrified going into this journey to begin with. But I still had so much faith that this would work for us. Now I feel even more scared because we only have 3 of our 4 embryos left. What happens if the next one doesn’t take either? What happens if we end up using all of them and still don’t get the chance to be parents to earthside babies?
But here’s what I also know
Even in this… God hasn’t left me.
I can’t pretend I understand His timing or His plan in this, but I do know He’s in it. He was there when I gave myself the first injection, and He’s here now as I try to remember how to breathe through the disappointment.
And somehow, I still believe this story isn’t over. I still believe that God is using our story, our journey, and my voice to reach and help other women who are on the same path.
What I’d tell anyone just starting IVF
You are not weak for feeling everything deeply. The hope, the fear, the attachment; it’s all part of being human. Cry about it. TALK about it. Don’t hide it because despite what your mind is telling you, there is a whole community of people who LOVE you and want to pray with you for this child.
Protect your peace. You don’t have to answer every question, join every group, or share every detail. You don’t have to converse with everyone who wants to know more. You can politely decline, and you can remove yourself from groups that you don’t feel comfortable in.
Find one or two people who can hold space for you—not to fix it, but to sit in it with you.
Right now, I’m somewhere between grief and hope. I’m somewhere between wanting to cry until my heart just completely shatters and building a wall around myself so that we can strengthen ourselves to try again.
I’ll always carry the ache of what we’ve lost. But I’ll also carry the belief that God still has good ahead of us; that my womb isn’t the only place He can bring life, and that His promises aren’t shaken by one negative test (or even a 17 of them).
So, we’ll keep going.
One day, one step, one prayer at a time.
