You’re genuinely happy for them, the friend who just announced a surprise pregnancy, the cousin expecting twins, the colleague who "wasn’t even trying." But somewhere inside, a lump rises. It might be grief. It might be rage. It might be the kind of sadness that makes your chest feel heavy and your eyes sting while you're still smiling and saying “congratulations.”
Infertility isn’t just a medical journey. It’s emotional. It’s social. And it can make your relationships, even your closest ones, feel quietly difficult.
Let’s talk about it. Not the neatly wrapped version, but the real stuff: jealousy, grief, guilt, distance. And how to stay afloat through it all.
Jealousy isn’t bad. It’s information.
Jealousy gets a bad rap. But actually, it’s just a sign. A signal that something you deeply want feels out of reach. That someone else is living the version of life you’re aching for. It doesn’t make you petty or unkind. It makes you human.
If you're feeling this, try reframing it: “Their pregnancy isn’t taking mine away. But it does remind me that I’m still waiting. And that hurts.”
Grief comes in waves, and it doesn’t always look like crying
Infertility grief can sneak up in unexpected ways. A pram on a footpath. A baby name in a book. A scan photo shared on social media.
And it’s not a one-time grief. It’s a monthly cycle. Hope, followed by disappointment. Waiting, followed by wondering. Every “no” feels a bit like a tiny goodbye.
You’re not broken if you’re struggling. You’re grieving something that deeply matters, the ease of it, the timeline, the dream you thought would be simple.
The emotional maths of friendship changes
You might find yourself drifting from friends who are pregnant, or parenting young children. Not because you don’t love them. But because it's hard to be around what you’re missing.
That’s okay. You don’t have to go to every baby shower. You can mute stories. You can send love without being the first to hold the baby.
Some friendships stretch and hold through these times. Others go quiet for a while. That doesn’t mean they’re over, just that you’re giving yourself space to breathe.
What to say (or not say)
If you do want to stay close to someone who’s expecting or just had a baby, it’s okay to name how complicated it feels. You don’t have to pretend it’s all fine.
Try: “I’m so happy for you, and this is hard for me too. Please know I care, even if I go quiet sometimes.”
And if you're on the other side, the one who's pregnant or parenting, you don’t need to fix it. Just listen. Say: “I can’t imagine how that feels, but I love you and I’m here.” That’s enough.
Protect your peace
In hard seasons, your job is not to be the most gracious version of yourself. Your job is to get through with as much gentleness as you can manage.
That might mean saying no. Cancelling plans. Letting texts go unanswered. Spending less time on Instagram. Tuning in to what feels good, and stepping back from what doesn’t. You're allowed to protect yourself, without guilt.
A reminder
You’re not bitter. You’re hurting. You’re not selfish. You’re grieving. You’re not weak. You’re navigating one of the hardest things a person can face, hope, disappointment, waiting, and the strange loneliness of it all.
