As a little girl, I didn’t dream about my wedding or becoming a mom—I used to practice award speeches in front of the mirror. I imagined myself curing cancer and being the first Black woman to break some random barrier in the scientific world.
But as I got older and met my husband, things began to shift. My interests and desires changed as I envisioned a future that included both of us. My career goals began to evolve too—but the bigger shift, the harder one, came later: when my body and my personal plans didn’t follow the path I had imagined.
At work, I’ve always been flexible. I used to travel 75% of the time. And yes, I was paying wayyy too much rent for an apartment I barely lived in, but I loved the freedom. I reconnected with old friends across the country, explored new cuisines (on the company dime ;)), and kept saying yes to the next opportunity. I volunteered for stretch projects, joined strategic teams, pushed into international markets—because no matter how much the path shifted, I trusted that it would all lead somewhere good.
But when it came to personal pivots—especially fertility—I struggled to keep that same faith.
I’ve realized something hard but true about myself: I find it easier to go all in for something that benefits a company than something that benefits me.
Going through fertility treatments was mentally exhausting. The coordination of appointments, staying hopeful, managing results, and learning how to pivot when things didn’t go as planned—that’s literally what I do at work. But applying that same resilience to building my family? It felt impossible. I couldn’t see past the step directly in front of me—and even that felt blurry most days.
The transition to in vitro fertilization (IVF) required physical, emotional, and mental shifts I wasn’t always ready to embrace. Unlike my career, I couldn’t convince myself this would “all work out for my good.” I didn’t have a clear roadmap or predictable outcome. I just had to keep going.
Looking back at notes and journal entries from my egg retrieval and embryo transfer, I’ve realized there are a few things I wish I had done differently:
Build a stronger support team at work.
I wish I could have vented to someone about coordinating appointments or even just tracked things for me. Maybe that’s not realistic, but it would’ve freed up so much mental space. Having a forum to discuss what worked for others would have helped me more quickly find a solution and pivot back to the task at hand. At work, I know I’m one part of a larger team that contributes to success. But when it comes to my body, it feels harder to believe in that collective support. It feels personal. Isolated. Like my body just didn’t get the memo.
Delegate more.
When it was time for medication, I did most of it myself. Even though my husband was with me for every nightly injection when I was home, I still set up each vial and double-checked the instructions. I felt like that one the one thing I could "control". Maybe it helped calm my nerves. But I could’ve asked for more help. Especially when I was overwhelmed.
Say the hard stuff out loud.
I vented to my husband a lot—and maybe my sister—but when friends asked, I stayed upbeat. I was positive. Excited. I didn’t want to “go negative” because I feared spiraling into a hole I couldn’t climb out of. So I just kept most of the truth to myself.
I’m still learning how to trust unexpected paths. I’m still working on extending grace to myself for the detours.
How do you find peace when the path shifts from what you planned?