Infertility After 35: The Sadness of Your Fertility Journey No One Talks About
When the doctor tells you your hormones are too low. When they say you're "not a good candidate for IVF." When another month passes, and your body doesn't do what you desperately want it to do.
What do you do with that information?
The world tells you to fix it. To research protocols. To optimize everything. To try harder, do more, and find the solution.
But what if the first—and most radical—thing you could do is nothing?
What if you gave yourself permission to sit with the grief, the anger, the confusion, the fear? What if, instead of immediately moving into action mode, you paused and asked your body: What do you need from me right now?
My Infertility Journey
I'm currently navigating infertility while in perimenopause. My hormones are too low. I'll likely need IVF. The doctor has already told me I may not be a good candidate.
And you know what I'm doing with that information?
I'm sitting with it.
I'm giving myself permission to feel all the emotions that come with this diagnosis. The sadness. The anger toward my body for not cooperating. The resentment that this is even something I have to navigate. The fear of what it means if I never become a mother.
I'm not rushing to fix it. I'm not letting the doctor's timeline, my spouse's hopes, or anyone else's whispers dictate my next move.
I'm listening to myself first.
And in that listening, I'm discovering something profound: This season isn't just about trying to conceive. It's about learning to mother myself before I can mother anyone else.
What Your Body Actually Needs
When you're facing infertility, your body doesn't need another protocol or supplement regimen (though those can be part of the journey).
What she needs is your presence. Your compassion. Your love.
She needs you to stop judging her for what she can't do right now and start honoring her for everything she IS doing—breathing, healing, carrying you through life.
Here's what I'm doing while I sit with my infertility diagnosis:
Investing in my nutrition. Not to "fix" my fertility, but to nourish my body because she deserves it.
Moving my body through exercise and yoga. Not to optimize outcomes, but to come back into relationship with her.
Practicing mindfulness and journaling. Letting myself feel everything without trying to make it go away.
Speaking affirmations over my womb. Thanking her. Honoring her. Releasing the anger and resentment I've been carrying.
Giving myself womb Reiki. Holding sacred space for this part of my body that's under so much pressure.
Doing past life regression work. Connecting with the pieces of me that feel inadequate, unworthy, broken—and healing those wounds.
All of this isn't about getting pregnant. It's about coming home to myself.
Reframing the Journey
Here's what I want you to hear, especially if you're in the thick of infertility right now:
It's okay to do nothing with the diagnosis. It's OK not to have a plan. It's OK to sit with your emotions and not know how to fix it or find a solution.
This is a time to reset. To reconnect with yourself and your body. To honor her exactly as she is.
And here's the truth that nobody talks about: You are not less than a woman if you never become a mother.
If that's your journey—if your path leads somewhere other than biological motherhood—you carry a deep medicine within you that women with children do not have. An untapped potential. A different kind of power.
Your gifts and energy might be needed in another child's life until you have your own. Or maybe mothering takes a completely different form for you. Or maybe you discover that your work in the world IS your baby.
All of it is sacred. All of it matters.
The Shift
I'm working on shifting my internal dialogue from:
"She can't do this for me." → "It is possible if it is divine will."
"I can't do this." → "This is my journey, and I honor it."
"My body is broken" → "My body is wise and knows what she needs"
I'm releasing expectations and embracing ease. Softness. Acceptance.
It's okay not to be OK. It's OK to fall apart. And then, when you're ready, you find yourself back to you. You pivot. You move forward again.
And underneath it all—beneath the grief and the fear and the uncertainty—you are worthy.
Not because of what your body can or cannot do. But because you exist. Because you're here. Because your life has meaning exactly as it is.
You Don't Have to Navigate This Alone
Infertility can be one of the loneliest experiences a woman goes through. Everyone has opinions and advice, but very few people offer what you actually need: a held space to just BE with all of it.
That's what we offer in the Soft Hearts Society™.
This isn't a fertility program. This isn't about protocols or optimizing your chances or toxic positivity.
This is a sacred container where you can:
Cry without anyone trying to fix you.
Rage at the unfairness of it all
Process the grief that comes in waves.
Practice loving your body even when she's not doing what you want.
Receive Reiki transmissions for womb healing.
Join guided meditations designed to help you release anger and resentment toward your body.
Sit in circle with women who understand what you're going through
Learn rituals for honoring your body and your journey exactly as they are
You don't need to be fixed. You need to be held.
If you're ready for a space where you can mother yourself while you navigate this journey—where softness and rest and self-compassion are the medicine—I invite you to join us in the Soft Hearts Society.
Also, check out our free resources, such as the Gentle Release: Releasing Family Guilt & Shame Workbook and the Self Love Journal for teens.
Whether you become a biological mother or not, whether you pursue IVF or adoption or a child-free life, whether this journey takes months or years, you deserve support. You deserve tenderness. You deserve to come home to yourself.
Come sit with us. We're here.
With love and softness,
Allonia
