"In five years, I earned a Masters in Biomedical Engineering. And in five+ years I navigated through infertility, I had to unlearn every systematic, data based, functional way of thinking: I could not problem solve my way out of this. I had to surrender this journey and just wait. And that shifted and crushed everything about my faith and belief in myself.
For years, I had excelled at work and school, and in areas where I lacked the natural talent, I dedicated the time and energy to achieve. My entire existence was a rolodex of achievements, accomplishments and stories of attaining what I sought after. I started to believe the old, but false adage “anything I put my mind to I can achieve”. WRONG. It doesn’t work like that at all.
As a high school teacher, I taught students the scientific method. By identifying facts and observing the evidence, we are taught that we will arrive at the correct conclusion. It’s concrete. It’s simple. And in many ways, “it’s guaranteed.” In hindsight, I recognize that I fully expect that when I set out to do something, I am able to successfully complete it. And that’s not a guarantee for me or anyone else. And that reality check started to shift my mental health and humbled me.
Although I occasionally play the lotto, in vitro fertilization (IVF) has been the most expensive bet I’ve ever placed. Yes, there’s science. Yes, there’s routine. But if someone doesn’t receive grace and favor, it simply won’t work. I’ve seen families conceive without intervention, and I’ve seen women retrieve ten times the number of eggs I did and still long for motherhood. That inconsistency—that refusal to follow any set formula—is what makes IVF especially brutal on your mental health.
So, where does that leave someone like me, raised on structure and logic, trained to believe that every problem has a solution if you just work hard enough? What do you do when your best effort still might not be enough?
That’s where I had to shift. Not just in strategy—but in mindset. Here’s what helped:
Run your own race. When I first got my medical diagnosis and was told I needed fertility treatment, I did what many people in STEM do: I dove into the research. The statistics were dismal, and the more I read, the more discouraged I became. That was the last time I read an article. If I was going to try, I needed to at least believe I had a shot.
Set mental boundaries. I joined Facebook support groups but set timers on Instagram. My phone locked me out after 30 minutes. Sure, I’d sometimes override it—but just having that boundary reduced the doom-scrolling that pulled me into comparison and despair.
Get professional support. I couldn’t logic my way through IVF. Once I committed to the process, I knew I’d need emotional tools too—so I brought my therapist into the journey. It wasn’t about solving the problem; it was about surviving it.
Write things down-- and reflect on the journey. While I was waiting for two lines to show up on a pregnancy test, I needed something to feel good about. So I made a spreadsheet: comparing med prices, tracking clinic distances, creating a tax reference guide. It might sound small, but organizing the chaos helped me feel a little more in control.
Infertility broke every system I relied on—but it also taught me a new kind of strength: the kind that doesn’t come from solving the problem, but from staying in the fight.
So, I’ll ask you what I had to ask myself again and again: where do you place your faith when effort isn’t enough?"