I didn’t begin journaling to process infertility grief. In the early days, it wasn’t even on my radar. I was still debating whether to foster again, still hoping a different agency might open a door that had been closed – the path to adoption.
When my therapist suggested The Miracle Morning by Hal Elrod, I approached it like a structured routine. I followed the S.A.V.E.R.S. steps — Silence, Affirmations, Visualization, Exercise, Reading, and Scribing — without expecting anything life-changing. My early entries were quick notes about how I felt that day. No deep reflection. No grief. No acknowledgment of how exhausted I really was.
The Moment Everything Shifted
Preparing to sign with a third foster care agency forced emotions to the surface. My therapist asked me to pay close attention to what I was feeling. When I wrote those feelings down, the tone of my journaling changed.
I began to see confusion on the page — a tug-of-war between what I truly wanted for my next chapter and what I believed I “should” want. I also wrote about anger — not at myself, but at a system that could give me hope and heartbreak in equal measure.
And then it happened. One afternoon it Italy, while walking to buy chicken for dinner, I realized “I don’t want to continue.” That acknowledgement brought immediate relief. Afterward came grief and shame — emotions I had been carrying silently for years. Journaling became the one place I could admit those truths without fear of judgment.
From Private Pages to Public Words
As the writing deepened, so did my awareness that silence only reinforces shame. I wanted to break the secrecy surrounding failed IVF, failed fostering, and the cultural pressure that tells women to keep trying at all costs.
I started a blog but shared it with almost nobody. I wasn’t ready to be fully seen.
Everything changed when my HuffPost article was published. The response from women who had lived similar stories showed me that my honesty had a purpose. It helped others feel recognized. It helped me feel less alone.
What Writing Gives Me Now
Today, writing is a central part of my healing. It helps me make sense of emotions. It gives shape to grief. It transforms pain into meaning. And it allows me to connect with others who also feel invisible in conversations about family and womanhood.
If you’re moving through infertility grief or the loss that comes with ending the pursuit of parenthood, journaling can be a gentle first step. You don’t need to share it publicly. You don’t need to write beautifully. You simply need a place where your truth can exist.
Sometimes healing begins with the courage to put a single honest sentence on the page.
