'My friends have won the fertility lottery and I can’t shake my own disappointment.'

Today I went into a local pharmacy to buy pregnancy tests. 

I was forward planning and the two tests I have at home aren’t going to cut the daily testing I’m about to do. You see, I’m currently eight days into the dreaded two-week wait – the time between ovulation and the pee on a stick that’ll change my life… or not. 

Days of the week have become 'days until I can test' and every thought that pops into my head somehow relates to my fertility. Every. Thought.

As I went to pay, the cashier looked down at the tests and up to me, with a ridiculous level of elation across her face, especially considering I am a complete stranger. "For you!?" she asked, practically bursting with excitement. When I tell her that yes, it is for me and that I am hopeful that this will be the month, she tells me not to worry. "When you relax, it’ll happen."

Thanks, lady.

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Sharing this is something I have grappled with again and again over the past year or so. I’m an innately private person. My family are all that way, it’s just who we are. 

My husband, on the other hand, is an innate over-sharer. In the sense that nothing is off limits and conversations can go anywhere. It’s why he’s encouraged me to talk about my own struggles openly, a suggestion I initially shut down faster than the welling of tears as another friend announces her pregnancy, but we’ll get to that.

At a recent dinner with my friend Jess, we spoke about real vulnerability being the sharing of an experience without the 'Ta-Da Moment', something she took from Glennon Doyle. The 'Ta-Da Moment' is the time when you finally decide to share your struggles, with the caveat of 'look at me, I’m fine now!!' Real vulnerability though, is the sharing of the hard times without the happy ending.

So here I am, telling you, that I’m struggling with the rollercoaster piece of emotional s**t that is my fertility journey. Welcome.

Part 1: The baby mindset begins.

I woke up one morning in October 2021 ready to have a baby. 

It came from nowhere. My Husband, Phil, laughed in my face – the random proclamation of "let’s make a baby!" was out of the blue and I think mildly terrifying for him. But I was ready. 

I have always wanted kids. It’s never been a question in my mind and something I was completely and wholly sure about. But this sunny morning in October 2021, something clicked, and I suddenly had a deep yearning to fall pregnant, like yesterday. 

The problem was, one month later we conceived a business, Nala, one that Phil and I co-founded and one that would kick the fertility can down the road. My desire for a baby was so strong that I didn’t care that I was now running two businesses, my husband had recently quit his job and we were pinning most of our future finances on the hope of a new business that was only just launching.

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My practical husband wanted to wait. He didn’t want the added pressure of a baby to add to the existing pressure of starting a business. Why put additional financial pressure on us in an already challenging situation? His reasoning was logical, my desires were deep and unexplainable. 

I was pissed. But, marriage is about compromise, so we waited. 

I remember saying to Phil at the time that if we waited and then struggled to conceive, I’d resent him. We waited, and are struggling to conceive, and part of me wants to yell and nipple cripple the man, but what good would that do? Marriage, hey. At least he makes a mean shakshuka.

Part 2: Getting my body baby-ready.

Fast forward to February 2022, when I visited my GP to discuss the removal of my implanon (birth control that is implanted in my arm) to start to prepare my body for conception. Being on birth control almost my whole adult life (and this specific birth control for 4 years), I was apprehensive about getting my body regulated and ready to fall pregnant. 

My doctor advised me to "stay on birth control until I was absolutely ready to start trying". My first mistake was listening to her. You see, when I had the implanon removed four months later, it forced me into the first of the many 'waiting games' of the fertility journey. This one, I’ll name 'where the f**k is my period hiding and will it ever come out to play?'

Luckily it came to the party, but it took about three months. I felt like donning myself in feathers and dancing around a bushfire in celebration of my womanhood. My mind was relieved that after almost 15 years of birth control, I was in fact not broken. 

But then came the next question, will I ovulate? What ensued were months of long, irregular cycles, hundreds of dollars of stick ovulation tests (why are they so damn pricey!?) and a building sense of deep frustration and regret.

Regret for waiting this long to start trying, waiting this long to get off birth control, waiting until I was 30 years old to begin the process.

Frustration for allowing myself to become so out of tune with my body and its cycle. Being in the wellness industry, my job is literally to help people tune into their bodies, and here I was completely out of tune with my own. 

This came to a head when my 18-year-old sister-in-law called me to complain about her terrible cramps one night. The next morning she called to tell me she worked out why she was in pain, "I’m ovulating!" She exclaimed. 

How incredible, I thought, that at 18, she is so in tune with her body. Yet here I am, so desperate to know what’s going on that I pee on a stick every morning, track my temperature obsessively and still have no bloody idea what’s going on. I could do a TED Talk on this topic, maybe I will one day.

Part 3: Getting help.

After months of trying this all came to a head in December, when hysterically crying down the phone to my mum, she suggested I see a fertility specialist and put my mind at ease. 

I’d had enough of hearing 'it just takes time' and 'everything is normal, your body just needs to regulate'. Don’t hold my hand and tell me everything is going to be okay. These words, which put emphasis on patience and faith, provided me no comfort in this scenario. I needed science, tests and a plan.

I booked in with a psychologist and I booked in with a fertility doctor. Both launched me into the next phase of this journey.

We did all the tests, including Phil doing his part by jizzing in a cup (you should ask him about this story, it’s a cracker). Everything was normal, but my doctor didn’t stroke my hand and sing lullabies to me. She did what I needed – she gave me a solid plan. I love my plan. My little Planny Plan. 

This plan involved help in the ovulation department, through medication and a self-administered trigger injection. Oh, and a sex schedule. Cause nothing gets you in the mood more than a dedicated sex schedule. 

Month one of the plan was unsuccessful but month two went well. Too well in fact, as conception was successful but unfortunately ended with a chemical pregnancy, where you have a miscarriage in the first few weeks of pregnancy. 

The roller coaster of emotions of that experience was intense. On the one hand, it was completely heartbreaking that we got so close and lost what could have been our baby. On the other hand, part of me was relieved that it could happen. And while it wasn’t right this time, we got further than we ever had before. I was a little less broken than I thought.

My psychologist, who I have grown to adore, has provided me with everything I need in this experience: validation. She validates every emotion I feel with kindness and compassion. A Saint. It feels good to share my darkest and innermost thoughts with someone, completely free of judgement. It’s new for me.

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Part 4: An expected obstacle.

The hardest part – and this was completely unexpected – has been the constant pregnancy announcements from those around me. It’s honestly hard to write about this because allowing my mind to go there feels exposing, embarrassing and shameful. But here goes.

Working with prenatal and postnatal women for 10 years, I have seen firsthand the struggles so many go through to fall pregnant. But for some reason, my circle of close friends have won the fertility lottery. 

I mean it when I say I am so deeply happy for each and every one of my friends. But each pregnancy announcement deepens the sinking pit of sadness I feel in my stomach that leaves me asking 'why not me'.

I’ve never been a jealous person and have always been genuinely happy for my friends’ victories in life, however big or small. But this period has opened up a part of myself I truly hate, and I don’t say that lightly. 

Sitting around a dinner table as friends discuss their due dates, mat leaves, reflux and nipple changes, I want to melt into the floor and disappear. I did once. Well, I blamed work, apologised and left dinner early. This isn’t me and I struggle to recognise this side of myself.

It gets worse. The sad part is, that it’s creating a chasm between myself and some of my favourite people because I can’t be there for them in the way I want to. It’s just too hard. And how bloody selfish is that? These women (literally some of the best people in the world) are going through the biggest life event they have ever had. And poor me can’t cop it. I hope they can forgive me when all is said and done. I really do.

The Saint (my psych) has helped me a lot in this area, assuring me it’s normal to feel this way and encouraged me to be open about it. She better give me an A+ in our next session for this article.

Part 5: Today.

In the time since I began writing this, I found out that this cycle didn’t work and I’m left staring at yet another negative pregnancy test (or in this case, five) wondering if it’ll ever happen for us. I wish I knew the answers. I wish even more that I had a 'Ta Da Moment' for you. 

But I don’t. I just have my story. 

They say there’s someone out there with a wound in the shape of your words, Mia Freedman, thanks for that gem. I want to say to that someone, with a wound that looks like mine – like waiting games, sleepless nights, ovulation tracking, needles, fragility, I pray your wound heals soon and you are blessed with a baby soon. A really really cute one. 

Chloe de Winter is a physiotherapist, master Pilates instructor and the founder of online Pilates platform Go Chlo Pilates. Chloe's premium at-home Pilates classes are suitable for all levels and stages of life. Chloe is also the co-founder of sustainable underwear brand Nala, who make wildly better underwear.

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Feature Image: Supplied.