How Infertility Shifted My Perspective in the Midst of Grief

My journey through infertility left me tattered, beaten, and unsure how to navigate life. The grief associated with infertility can be difficult to define. Simply put, it’s the sorrow of a future that may never come to be—grief before grief happens, if that makes sense. There were countless moments that made my heart ache and my chest tighten, but one in particular stands out—a moment when I couldn’t help but think that there had to be another way. I remember feeling so confused and even angry at Jesus for allowing so much pain. This particular experience happened during Christmas, a time when everything feels amplified.

By this point, I had been on my infertility journey for a couple of years and was pretty burnt out, with my hope waning. But it was Christmas, and despite everything, I let a bit of hope creep back in. We were staying at my in-laws’ house, and I had slipped away to take a test. It was negative, but I remember still having the slightest bit of hope because it might have been too early to test. I wondered if this could be my Christmas miracle. I clung desperately to that small bit of hope, even after years of disappointment. It’s funny how hope works when desperation is at an all-time high; you cling to the smallest amount of anything. I remember the crash of my hope hitting the floor when, later that day, I found out I wasn’t pregnant. My stomach dropped, and I can still feel the ache in my heart. I cried downstairs and tried to compose myself. I had to walk back upstairs and participate in a gift exchange with my chest tight and my throat hurting.

The next day, my brother-in-law and his wife announced they were pregnant. I couldn’t stand up. I managed to muster a “congratulations.” Thankfully, my husband could be more celebratory, but I was frozen in my own grief.

I was covered in a constant cloud, and my cloud was beginning to cover others. As I struggled to cope with a life that seemed to be standing still while the rest of the world moved forward, my only solution was to withdraw. Despite being told not to dwell on it, I had to attend baby showers, witness pregnancy announcements, and hold other people’s children at family gatherings. Each passing year felt like I was leaving my potential children behind, stuck in the present while being urged to hope for the future. In these moments, I saw others turning to Jesus or becoming bitter—often experiencing both. I was angry and seeking Jesus, but mostly I was quietly crying outside a room full of people, knowing that something had to change.

A Change

I knew I was seeking Jesus, but I started to feel that I was approaching him the wrong way. I couldn’t find the joy or peace he offered. After some time, I came across a Christ-centered group of women who seemed to be experiencing grief differently. This community brought truth, offered outside perspectives, provided kinship that helped ease the ache in my heart, and, most importantly, helped me realize that I was part of a much bigger picture. Realizing that we’re part of a bigger kingdom story can lead to a profound shift in perspective. It’s not just about us. Every pregnancy is a testament to God’s ongoing miracles and his power. Even if a miracle isn’t happening in our own lives, we can still praise God for the miracles occurring around us.

We can get so caught up in our own stories and ask, “Where is God?” when we don’t see the miracles we’re hoping for in our own lives. But what we need to realize is that we are part of a much larger narrative: the kingdom story. God is present and performing miracles throughout this grand story, even if they’re not happening in the way we expect. It may feel like he has left us, but he has been active all along.

I never thought I’d be able to publicly celebrate another woman’s pregnancy while dealing with infertility, but eventually I did—many times. It was beautiful to shed the armor I had been wearing and to connect with both those in the midst of infertility and those blessed with pregnancy. Unfortunately, our natural inclinations as humans often lead us to be mad, jealous, or hurtful towards each other.  In fact, society often even endorses this. This isn’t to say you shouldn’t take space when needed—sometimes that’s essential—but there was a profound shift in my perspective when I was pointed back to Jesus.

The Hope

This brings me to the most challenging hurdle I faced and by far the hardest to overcome. Even as I started to see myself within the broader story of God’s kingdom, I couldn’t shake the deep longing for a baby as the ultimate fulfillment of my journey. Wanting a baby is perfectly natural, but when that desire begins to define my self-worth and dictate my happiness, it’s clear that something has gone awry. I was putting the hope of a child in the place that belongs to Jesus. I was idolizing the idea of a baby, expecting it to provide the significance and joy that only Christ can offer. Jesus is the one who saves, who fulfills, and who gives us our true worth—not the child I longed for.

I had to face a hard truth: I needed to confront where I was placing my self-worth and fulfillment. If control wasn’t mine to wield, then neither was the outcome. This reality was stark. If I couldn’t control when or even if I would ever have a baby, and yet I pinned all my hopes on that one desire, I was destined for a life of perpetual disappointment, potentially stuck in an unfulfilled life if my desire never happened. That’s where I was—bitter and putting my hope in a baby to save me from it. When I had to face the possibility that a baby might never come, or that it could be years before it did, I knew I couldn’t let bitterness define the rest of my life. The only way to move forward was to allow Jesus, not a baby, to save me. What did this mean? This meant that I had to find my value in Jesus, not in whether my desires were fulfilled. It meant trusting that if a baby never came, Jesus would still be there to comfort me.

I know that no matter what happens in this life, he will make everything right in the end. He knows the end; I am a part of the larger kingdom story. It’s not about me. It’s not about you. It might feel like Jesus is failing you because he’s not following your plan. But maybe the real issue is that you’re not seeing the bigger picture—the larger plan that he is executing perfectly.

The truth is that he’s not failing at all. The challenge is in our ability to have faith in a plan we can’t fully see, one that doesn’t revolve around our own desires. Reading this, I can almost hear the voice in my head saying, “But what kind of life is that, where I have to let go of my desires?” And yet, where did my desires and need for control lead me? To bitterness, anger, and emptiness.

When I opened my eyes to being part of the kingdom story instead of just my own story, I saw God’s work all around me. Even if it wasn’t my miracle, it was a kingdom miracle. My suffering revealed that I couldn’t remain in bitterness forever, and the only way out was to recognize Jesus, and him alone, as my savior.

There will come a time when you face a situation that reveals just how little control you truly have, and your carefully laid plans will crumble. But there is one plan that will never falter, and that is God’s plan. Will there be suffering and pain? Yes, because we live in a broken world. God never promised to shield us from suffering. I can assure you that whether you follow your own plan or his, suffering will come.

The difference is, in his plan, God is there to comfort you and save you.