Category: infertility

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Learning to Embrace My Life – Focusing on the Positives of Having an Only Child

Erica2 Comments

Emotions are so very strange – I realized I think I am at a point where I no longer want another child. If I could snap my fingers and magically be pregnant today, I don’t think I would do it.

I’m not sure it would be the best choice for our family. I’m not sure we could afford it. I’m not sure my mental health could take it. I’m not sure it would be the best thing for my son, or for my marriage… I don’t know that I could still have the energy to be the type of mother I want to be…the list could go on.

It’s strange to say, but struggling with infertility has allowed (or forced) me to have the opportunity to evaluate my needs, my family’s needs, and our available resources. And the more I am truly honest with myself about it, the more I am beginning to slowly wonder if having one child may be the best thing for our family…

But I’m still sad about it. Bitter and spiteful about it on my worst days… It still occasionally feels like a gut-punch when yet another friend announces they’re pregnant (which seems to keep happening constantly…)

I’m sad that I’ll never experience being pregnant again. I’m sad that my family won’t look like an idealized version of something I’ve seen on t.v. (even though having more kids wouldn’t have guaranteed that anyway…)

I’m frustrated that it seems like everyone else got to choose exactly the life they wanted and didn’t have to suffer through infertility like my family did (I KNOW this is not a true statement – but it feels like it is sometimes – especially if I hang out on social media for too long…)

There are days when I’m so happy with our sweet little family of three – and I find myself feeling overwhelmingly grateful. And yet there are still days when I’m sobbing about the loss of this hypothetical child I’ll never get to meet.

All that to say, it’s a LOT of feelings. Some of my feelings seem like they are in direct conflict of one another, which is a bit confusing. I’m happy, yet sad… grateful, yet bitter… I’m trying to find space to hold and honor ALL my emotions at once. But it’s exhausting.

The first post I wrote about trying to get pregnant with a second child was back in 2019 – almost 5 years ago. I can’t believe I’ve been thinking about trying to conceive another child for that long. My son was only three years old at the time (*now he’s almost 8!)

At that point I hadn’t yet realized we were dealing with secondary infertility – that would be confirmed in early 2021.

We spent another year and a half vacillating between optimism and despair. It seemed like some treatments would potentially be promising, but then in January of 2023 our journey came to an abrupt end, and it was the beginning of really trying to process that we would probably never have another child.

2023 was a difficult year. I had been so afraid of starting the true process of grieving – I knew it would hurt a lot. And it did. I made the choice to start taking antidepressants again because I was struggling so much with everything.

I’ve done a lot of thinking and processing over the last year and a half through the feelings that have accompanied my infertility journey – and a few realizations recently came to the surface for me. Some of them are embarrassing realizations, but I don’t want to be ashamed of them – my feelings make me human, and it’s okay to admit my humanity. And Brené Brown says it’s good to be vulnerable and not live in shame (and she’s a smart lady!)

One major realization was that I found myself ready to start moving into a place of acceptance – I think I’m finally heading into that final stage of grief – which is wonderful, because it means healing has happened. It’s a very SLOW process, and I definitely have setbacks (aka. look up the term “grief burst”)… But I want to start focusing more on the positives of having an only child. I’ve heard a lot of the negatives, a LOT of the stigmas, but I hadn’t really researched the positives until recently.

Realizations About Myself, Secondary Infertility, and Having an Only Child

1. I was struggling with feelings of loneliness. The average number of children a family has differs depending on where you live in the world. Where I live in Texas, it’s much more common for families to have multiple kids, and I realized that I just truly didn’t know very many one-child families. Now if I lived in a place like New York or Seattle, according to Pew Research, my family of three would look more like the norm. Unfortunately, I have no plans to move to New York or Seattle, or other places where one-child families are becoming more and more common – so it can be pretty easy to feel like the odd one out.

“It can feel isolating if you’re the only one in your friend group who has an only child, especially if you are one and done, not by choice. You might feel left out when your friends discuss sibling relationships or baby/toddler stages (if your child is older). Feeling excluded by your friend group can be rough!”

excerpt from One & Done by Rebecca Greene (2023)


I wish I could say that I was more confident in being “different,” but I realized there is a huge part of me that just wants to fit in. It can be painful to not feel like anyone else shares your experience, or even desires it. And to be honest, I’m really tired of painful feelings.

2. My anxiety about being a “bad mom” was majorly triggered. When my son Calvin was about 3 or 4 years old, the “when are you going to have a baby brother or sister?” questions started. People would actually tell me that Calvin would be lonely as an only child. I began to feel like a bad mom because I couldn’t provide him with a sibling. I have a lot of insecurities and previous struggles regarding being a bad mother, so I’m pretty easily triggered when anyone insinuates that I’m not a good parent. Obviously, this is a personal thing that I need to work through (shout-out to my therapist!), and people’s uninformed comments and opinions do not have to make me feel lesser. But it’s hard to stand tall and proud when you are constantly being bombarded with ignorant comments from friends or family, or even random strangers!

3. I bought into a lot of the unfounded stigmas of only children without actually doing my research. When my husband and I first began talking about having children, having one wasn’t even an option because we didn’t want a “spoiled” child. I hate to admit that I bought into that stereotype so easily, but I did. Having siblings does not guarantee anything about how a child will turn out. I know some super down-to-earth only-child adults, and I know some pretty selfish adults who had siblings.

As far as the stereotype that onlies are lonely, that also does not have to be true. From the time Calvin was very young, he has been around many other kids at daycare, school, and church. I have tried to be more intentional lately to invite friends over to play at our house, and I think that has been a good thing for all of us. Calvin also has a more introverted personality, and honestly does not desire to be around tons of kids all the time. Each kid is different, and their relationship needs also differ.

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Struggling with Faith: How Infertility Permanently Affected What I Believe (pt. 5)

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Grief is a cocoon from which we emerge new.


Untamed (p. 271)

So what now? Where do I go from here?

I could stay mad at God, I could give up on faith because it doesn’t make sense and life is generally unfair…

But I just can’t. There is some small part of me that refuses to give up on faith. I experienced the same thing when I went through postpartum depression. It felt like my world was turned upside down, and nothing made sense, but there was the tiniest ember of faith inside me that just refused to be extinguished. And all I can do is try to fan that flame into life again.

So here are the things I’m focusing on right now:

  1. Trying not to be bitter – pregnant people are everywhere. Babies are everywhere. It’s so easy to assume that everyone else “has it all” and is living your dream life. But they aren’t. Despite what you’re seeing on social media, no one’s life is perfect – no one “has it all.” But at the moments when it seems like everyone else is luckier than me, I don’t want to be bitter or envious. I want to be happy for others, genuinely happy. I’ve had to do a lot of pretending the past three years – a lot of gritting my teeth and saying “Congratulations!” I’m practicing holding space for my own pain AND space for joyfulness for others at the same time.

  2. Being grateful – part of trying to not be bitter is working on gratitude. One of the good things that has come out of dealing with secondary infertility is being able to appreciate the kid I do have. He feels more like a miracle to me now. We don’t know why we were able to get pregnant so quickly with our son, and our doctor said that maybe it had been a “one-in-a-million lucky shot.” Besides my son, there are a lot of other really good things happening in my life right now. I have the greatest friends – I have people who consider me a best friend, and that was something I had been desiring for a long time. Adult friendships are difficult, and I feel so thankful to have met the right people at the right time.

  3. Accepting uncertainty – there is no avoiding this one, unfortunately. I’ve had to work hard to just accept uncertainty. I’ve realized that faith isn’t really faith if there is no element of doubt or uncertainty in it. Glennon Doyle in her book Untamed says, “control leaves no room for trust – and maybe love without trust is not love at all” (p. 316).
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Struggling with Faith: How Infertility Permanently Affected What I Believe (pt. 4)

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Right in the middle of trying to process all of my feelings and the overwhelming sense of doubt, I was helping my church plan a women’s retreat, scheduled to take place in April.

I was asked if I might consider being a speaker at the retreat, sharing a story about how God had worked in my life. Initially I said I wasn’t sure, and I briefly mentioned that I was going through a difficult time, and I didn’t think God would resolve it by the time the retreat came about. “It doesn’t need to be resolved,” the other women assured me.

I told them that I was having a bit of a struggle with my faith, and that I didn’t want to be a downer at the retreat. But again, I was encouraged that being honest and openly sharing my faith struggle could be a really powerful thing for people to hear.

So I agreed to share my story. That April, in front of many of the women at my church, I shared what had taken place over the past few months – how I was angry at God, and how it didn’t feel like He cared or even noticed me.

Usually when I hear a story or testimony at a church event, it wraps up nicely with something like, “and God worked it all out in the end” or “it took a long time, but God had a plan for me the whole time…” I had rarely heard testimonies where people ended it with, “I still don’t really know why this happened, and I’m not sure anything good is coming from it.” But that’s how I ended mine.

It ended up truly being a blessing for me to be able to share my story, because I had multiple women come up to me afterwards to share how they had also struggled with infertility. Some of them had suffered pregnancy losses, some had eventually given up on their dream of having children… for many of them, their stories, likewise, did not wrap up nicely in a tidy bow. Some were still dealing with grief years later.

It’s interesting to ponder why God seems to answer some prayers and not others. There are so many stories in the Bible of God having compassion on barren women, and eventually granting them a child: Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, and Hannah – but I wonder how many godly women were never granted a child? And why aren’t their stories told in the Bible?

I’ve heard a similar pondering about Jesus – in the stories told about him, he is often seen healing someone – but he doesn’t literally heal every person in every situation. So how do those overlooked people feel? They watch Jesus miraculously bless someone else’s life, and then are left to continue to deal with their own suffering. Can you imagine what that would feel like?

Maybe you can… maybe you know exactly what that feels like.

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