“Just relax”: How to navigate unsolicited advice

It still amazes me how many people, with zero medical expertise, feel compelled to offer unsolicited advice. During our infertility journey, I soon learned that any sentence that starts with “you just” is never good. I lost count of how many times I heard, “Just relax.” I also heard: “You just need a big night out”, “You just need a holiday”, “Just adopt” and the classic, “It’ll happen when you stop trying.” And of course, everyone knew someone who stopped IVF and magically fell pregnant. I’ve yet to meet this unicorn, but apparently, they’re out there.

Infertility is a reproductive disease, a medical condition.

Relaxing is not a medical cure. Millions of people worldwide experience infertility for a range of medical reasons. And let’s not forget that forty per cent of infertility cases are due to male factor. Yet when a couple struggles to conceive, the assumption almost always lands on the woman. I often wonder how many men have been told to, “Just relax.” Hardly any is my guess.

Our son was born through gestational surrogacy because of my thin endometrium lining. The endometrium — the inner lining of the uterus — is essential for implantation and sustaining a pregnancy. After years of failed transfers and pregnancy losses, our second IVF specialist delivered the hard truth: thin linings are rare, often genetic, and usually impossible to treat. Surrogacy was our strongest chance of having a baby.

But I wasn’t ready to let go of the idea of carrying a pregnancy myself. So I tried everything: acupuncture, Chinese medicine, special diets, medications, supplements and even a stem cell procedure. Nothing worked. And while our specialist knew these approaches were unlikely to help (aside from the stem cell option), he also knew I needed to reach that understanding myself.

So why is unsolicited advice such an issue?

Because it made me feel awful. It made me feel like it was my fault. Even though I knew — then and now — that infertility is outside my control, self-blame creeps in when you’re in the thick of it.

Before my diagnosis, people often described me as calm and balanced. At one workplace farewell event, a colleague said, “Has anyone ever seen Kirst flustered? I haven’t. She’s one of the most measured and patient people in our team.” Measured, steady, patient — not exactly the traits of someone incapable of relaxing. I’ve known friends with infertility who are some of the most resilient, grounded people I’ve ever met. And I’ve known anxious, highly strung people who have fallen pregnant without trying. Why? Because the two are not related.

In my book This is Infertility, Dr Russell Foulk puts it perfectly: “People will say, ‘It was easy for me to get pregnant, just stop thinking about it, stop stressing about it.’ Which is really difficult information to get. It’s like if you’re diagnosed with cancer and someone tells you to stop thinking about it or get past the stress and you’ll get better — which is a ridiculous concept.”

My advice? Advocate for yourself.

I wish I’d done it sooner. Eventually, when someone offered “advice,” I started responding with facts: Infertility is a reproductive disease that affects millions worldwide. And on bolder days, I would say: “I’m not sure how relaxed women in war‑torn countries are. They fall pregnant every day,” or “Relaxing is not a medical cure. Imagine telling someone with cancer to ‘just relax’ and they would be healed. It would be hurtful and insulting. Infertility is no different.”

Like most medical conditions, infertility is indiscriminate and outside your control. It is not your fault. And the strength, resilience, and determination people show on the path to parenthood is extraordinary.

*Also featured in Wish for a Baby Australia

The weight of pregnancy announcements

A friend called me in tears today. “Yet another friend just told me she’s pregnant” she cried. My friend has been doing IVF for years, but this friend fell pregnant quickly and easily. It hit her like a punch to the chest. “It’s not fair. It only took her a couple of months.” I understood instantly. Her pain took me straight back to the years before we finally welcomed our son through gestational surrogacy. I remember every pregnancy announcement from that time with absolute clarity. It didn’t matter whether it was a work colleague, a relative or a friend – there was always someone. One year, four of my close friends were all due with their second babies at the same time. At Christmas, no less. And every one of them had started trying for their first child after we had already begun our journey. None of it felt fair.  

Each announcement was its own kind of heartbreak. It was a relentless emotional roller coaster, and during every round of treatment, one thought screamed through my mind: When will it be our turn?

I felt sad, angry, upset, and yes – jealous. Jealously is a rotten emotion but talk to anyone going through infertility, and they will tell you they’ve felt it. Many times. It sits right alongside profound sadness. With every announcement, I cried. Sometimes I sobbed for hours.

My close friends were always gentle and supportive. They told me privately before sharing their news publicly, and I could feel their empathy – and their nervousness – every time. Some dreaded the conversation so much that one friend even cried while telling me their happy news. And while the sting of jealously was always there, I was genuinely happy for them too. They weren’t getting pregnant to hurt me. They wanted a family as deeply as I did. It’s just that for some people, building a family is easy. For others, it’s incredibly hard and painfully unfair.

Infertility is hard. It’s all consuming. When you’re in the thick of it, all you see and hear are pregnancy announcements. It feels like everyone is pregnant except you. After one of our losses, I stopped going to the supermarket because every aisle seemed filled with glowing pregnant women or parents with babies. It was too much.

What helped me cope:

·      Acknowledge your feelings. They’re valid. And know that’s it’s OK to not be OK.

·      Feelings can co-exist. You can be happy for someone else and devastated for yourself at the same time. All feelings are valid.

·      Cry when you need to. A good cry was often the only thing that helped me breathe again. It was therapeutic.   

·      Talk to someone about how you are feeling. Whether it’s someone else going through infertility and IVF; the #ttc community; a fertility coach; or a counsellor. Sharing the weight can help.

·      Prioritise self-care. Be kind to yourself and do something just for you, something you enjoy. For me, that meant long walks, a massage or losing myself in a good TV series.

·      Meditate. If it works for you, meditation can really help. There are some fantastic meditations through @thisisalicerose (Meditation for pregnancy announcements). I also find meditation apps like Calm and Smiling Mind are helpful.

·      Take a break from social media. Early on in our IVF and surrogacy journey, I deactivated my Facebook account. It was liberating. I was tired of seeing one pregnancy announcement after the other. It was too much. I remained on Instagram but during the harder times, I limited my use. 

If you have ever felt this way, please don’t add guilt on top of everything else. It is completely human to feel sad, angry, jealous or overwhelmed. You’re navigating something incredibly difficult and deeply unfair. For anyone struggling with a pregnancy announcement right now, be kind to yourself.

Breaking the silence around secondary infertility

I once heard a woman describe secondary infertility as, “the black sheep of the infertility world.” She had fallen pregnant naturally with her daughter within a couple of months. But when the time came to expand her family, and to give her a daughter a sibling, she faced infertility. Because she already had a child, she was often asked, “Why do you want another child? You already have one.” And then the guilt would set it. Yes, she already had a child. She knew how fortunate she was. Yes, she knew she had something thousands of women longed for. But did that make her selfish for wanting a second child?

If only it were that simple. She adored her daughter. She loved being a Mum so deeply that she longed to experience it again. She also wanted her daughter to have a sibling. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Secondary infertility is defined as the inability to conceive or carry a baby to term after previously giving birth without fertility issues. It can feel confusing and emotionally heavy, especially when the first pregnancy happened without trouble. But if you’re experiencing secondary infertility, there are options like IVF, sperm and egg donation, and surrogacy.

I was once read on Instagram, “Secondary infertility is isolating. It feels like you don’t belong anywhere.” That feels spot on. Unfortunately, there is a stigma around secondary infertility. Many women I’ve spoken to have struggled to fit into the infertility community and haven’t received the empathy or support they deserve. There’s sometimes this perception of secondary infertility that you should just be grateful for what you have.

There are many reasons secondary infertility can occur. Age is a key factor. For some couples, secondary infertility comes as a consequence of getting older. As women get older, egg quality and quantity decline, especially after thirty-five. A woman who conceived easily in her twenties, may find that after thirty-five, she has fewer good-quality eggs. Some of the other reasons may include ovulation issues such as PCOC, which can cause irregular or absent ovulation. Medical conditions or medications can also contribute to secondary infertility, such as thyroid issues, autoimmune conditions or treatments that affect hormones. And finally, sperm quality can also decline with age, even if the change is more gradual than egg quality.

As featured in Wish for a Baby Australia