I’ve always hated the word “failure”. It’s sharp. Final. Heavy. And as a former IVF woman and a perfectionist, I hate it even more.
For years, my life revolved around cycles, medications, numbers, hope. When I finally gave up the pursuit of parenthood, I quietly labeled myself a failure. I didn’t say it out loud, but it sat there — my dirty little secret. Today, I’m realizing that word never belonged to me at all.
When the IVF Cycle Defines You
In IVF, there’s a strange kind of math. You do everything “right,” follow every rule, and still — nothing. They call it a “failed IVF cycle”, “failed fertilization”, “failed transfer”, “failed implantation”. Each word slices into something tender.
But the truth is: biology doesn’t take orders. “IVF failure” isn’t moral or personal. It’s medical. Sometimes it’s just science and luck.
I recall my first attempt. It was supposed to be an IVF procedure, but at the last moment, it was changed to an IUI procedure. I did not have enough mature follicles. The French nurse told me it was a failed round. My heart dropped. I did not understand why. Even when my husband translated what it meant, I still didn’t get it. Why weren’t there enough mature follicles? What went wrong? Where did it fail exactly in the long line of things we did to get to this point? I was crushed.
Even knowing that it was a medical issue, it was hard not to take it personally. The word “failure” clings to you, and suddenly you’re not just a woman who did IVF — you’re the woman who failed at it.
When “Failure” Becomes a Mirror
The emotional impact of “infertility” doesn’t just live in your body — it moves into your mind. You start questioning your worth. You wonder if you could’ve tried harder, waited longer, prayed better. The shame and sadness can feel endless.
For me, it wasn’t only about failing at IVF; we “failed” at fostering and adoption. I failed at the future version of myself — the one who got to be called “Mom.” “Failure” echoed in my head.
Reframing the Word “Failure”
What if it’s not failure at all? What if it’s feedback, or redirection, or survival? What if it’s just life happening differently than we planned?
When I stopped chasing parenthood, I thought I was walking away empty-handed. But now I see I walked away with something else — a kind of freedom. A quiet strength that only comes after you’ve lost the thing you wanted most and somehow learned to keep living anyway.
“Success” doesn’t always look like a heartbeat on a screen. Sometimes success is getting out of bed the day after bad news. Sometimes it’s laughing again. Sometimes it’s writing your story so someone else feels less alone.
The Question I Keep Asking
I’m not sure I’ll ever make peace with the word “failure”. Recall, I am a perfectionist. But I am learning not to let it define me. Maybe that’s the real success?
