There’s a quiet grief that comes with being told you have to pursue IVF.
For me, it wasn’t just about the medical reality—it was the loss of the “traditional” path to parenthood I had always assumed would be mine. As I’ve shared before in “Man Plans, God Laughs,” infertility has a way of forcing comparison. Even knowing that no pregnancy journey is guaranteed, I still felt a deep sense of loss. I was grieving control. I was grieving time. And I was grieving the version of motherhood I thought I’d experience.
My husband and I always knew we would be parents—we just didn’t know how. Adoption was immediately on the table. Surrogacy made a brief appearance before one Google search quickly removed it from consideration; financially, it simply wasn’t feasible. So we did what many hopeful parents do: we researched IVF clinics and adoption agencies at the same time.
In 2021, we even made a pact—if parenthood didn’t happen for us, we’d spend the rest of our lives flying first class everywhere. It was half humor, half self-preservation.
As I worked through the grief of releasing the life plan I had carefully drafted in my head, a few unexpected sources of support grounded me and helped me move forward:
Facebook groups. There truly is a group for everything. I found communities centered on becoming a mother—one in Atlanta, one for Black women navigating infertility, and one for women with a little more seasoning (aka aspiring moms over 35). These spaces offered honesty, solidarity, and reassurance that I wasn’t alone.
IVF clinic forums. Platforms like FertilityIQ provided real, unfiltered insight—cost transparency, physician personalities, clinic culture, and the small but critical details you don’t always get during a consultation.
Google reviews. While reviews often skew extremely positive or extremely negative, patterns emerged. Those patterns helped me feel more informed, more empowered, and better prepared to ask the right questions—and avoid the wrong providers.
After joining a few Facebook groups, gathering information, and giving myself space to grieve what I was letting go of, I felt steadier.
Armed with questions, research, and a clearer sense of what we needed, I was ready to start calling clinics—not with blind hope, but with intention.