Shame and Infertiity

I just read an article in the Fall, 2013 issue of Brain, Child about a woman's experience with IVF vs. adoption. She recounts receiving very little support and quite a bit of judgement when going through IVF, but tons of affirmation and support when pursuing adoption. She has two children, one from each avenue, and admits that her motives for adopting were not altruistic, she simply wanted to build a family. I have watched a few families move from fertility treatments into adoption, and whereas many folks are private and secretive about infertility, adoption often becomes a hugely public event with blogs, fundraisers, and an outpouring of community support.

I am very lucky in that Cameron and I have received tons of support in regards to our decision to pursue IVF. I like to think that in this second round of infertility, I have worked through and let go some of the self loathing and shame that the first round of infertility caused. I do not feel like an inferior or defective woman this time around; this could be because I have surrounded myself with so many sub-fertile compadres this time that it just seems normal to me that people need to go to great lengths and spend tens of thousands of dollars to make babies, but no matter. I have noticed, however, that although I am quick to share and come clean about our history of miscarriage,  I am not so quick to own up to the fact that we have not had a lot of luck conceiving on our own. At this point, it truly is fear of judgement more than shame in my body that causes me to keep this information private. I do not want to care about what people might think of me because I am pursuing IVF at forty. I want to be open about all of this so I can help lessen the shame for those women and couples shrinking alone in the shadows because they are so humiliated that they can't make a baby without help. I want to be part of the group of brave souls that speak openly about infertility so the stigma can be lessened. And yet, the other day I told a bold faced lie to a former client. She told me that a friend of hers had contacted me to see if I would be interested in being her doula, and that her friend had shared with her that I was taking a break from doula work for health reasons. I loved this client. She had spent years trying to conceive the baby I helped her bring into the world, and in those years had suffered a number of miscarriages. She knew my history of miscarriage as well, but not my history of infertility. So, when she asked if I felt comfortable sharing what was going on, instead of saying "Right now it's private," or "I don't want to talk about it, but I'm perfectly fine," I lied and said, "I was pregnant." She looked at me surprised and scanned my body, "it didn't work out," I added. Her face fell, "I'm so sorry."
"But I'm pregnant again!" She looked a little bewildered. I felt my face heating up and my brain smoking in confusion. What was I doing? If I was willing to share this tenuous new pregnancy with her, why not just tell her we had been going through infertility treatments? To make up a pregnancy and miscarriage? Come on. I know better.

Infertility can cause a host of scars, some easy to identify, others more subtle. If I think that I am somehow all healed up and above the shame of infertility,  I better think again. It may be a life long process.