Grieving Infertility After Failed IVF: How I’m Finding Strength Again

Written: June 29, 2025

Maybe I’m a Fucking Mess, But I’m Still Here

Understanding the Journey of Grieving Infertility

Grieving infertility is brutal. It’s not just the needles and hormones. It’s the silence, the rage, the feeling of betrayal by your own body and sometimes even by God. This is my truth: the heartbreak after failed IVF, the emotional fallout, and the slow, uncertain climb back toward hope.

Yesterday, my cousin said something that hit a raw nerve:
“You shouldn’t be angry at what holds you up.”
And I just… went silent.

Because how the fuck do you explain rage that’s wrapped in grief, betrayal, and silence from the same God you once trusted with your whole heart?

The truth is: I am angry.
Furious.
Because I was promised something.
Told to trust. Told to pray. Told to believe.
That if I did everything right, if I didn’t give up, I’d become a mother.

But here I am.
Empty.
Exhausted.
Bitter.
Betrayed by the same faith that once kept me breathing.

I’ve survived infertility treatments that tore my body and soul apart.
Every cycle, every fucking injection, every “maybe next time”… chipped away at me.

No one tells you how hope becomes a heartbreak machine, building you up, just to shatter you again and again. That’s the quiet trauma of infertility no one prepares you for.

Then, out of nowhere, while driving, I heard a song.
“Vuela Águila” by Tercer Cielo.

I wasn’t looking for comfort. I wasn’t in the mood to feel anything remotely spiritual.
But the lyrics found me anyway:

“Fly, God has given you strong wings
To recover your faith…
Because in the middle of your trials, He has been faithful.”

And I broke.
My breath caught. My body froze.
It felt like someone whispered a truth I didn’t want to hear.

Maybe I’m not as alone as I think.
Perhaps there’s still something left inside me worth fighting for.

Later in the song, another line struck like lightning:

“Maybe people judge you because they can’t see your feathers…
They don’t understand that your wings will grow back,
That this is part of the process, before you emerge.”

And holy shit… that wrecked me.
Because that’s what it feels like.

People judge what they can’t see.
They don’t see the broken pieces.
They don’t see the bruises from every failed cycle, or the nights I cried into my pillow, begging the universe for mercy.

They don’t see the version of me who smiles in public while dying quietly inside.
They just see “fine.”
They see functioning.
But I’m not fine.

I do have feathers.
They’re bruised.
Dirty.
Weak.
But they’re still fucking there.
And that counts for something.

There’s a story about eagles, how, at 40, they fly to the top of a mountain, rip out their own claws, pluck their feathers, and smash their beak against a rock…
Bleeding. Alone.
All so they can grow.
So they can survive.
So they can fly again.

And maybe…
Maybe that’s where I am.
Maybe I’m that eagle.
Completely fucked up.
Wings in pieces.
Forgotten how to fly.

But maybe, just maybe, this is my mountain.
Maybe this pain is the death before the rebirth.
Maybe this is where I shed the version of me that couldn’t keep going.

At the start of the song, it says:

“You look different from the one I once knew,
But I know deep down you’re still the same.
You’re beaten… but you haven’t given up.
Because giving up was never in you.
And these trials, they’re just another reason to learn how to live.”

And that…
That feels true.

I’m still angry.
Still lost.
Still fighting with my faith.
Still grieving infertility in waves I don’t always see coming.

But something stubborn, messy, and wild in me still wants to rise.
Still wants to fly.
Still believes that maybe I can come back to life.

Like the eagle, fly again.
Like the phoenix, come back from the ashes.
But human.
But real.
But alive.

And as the song says, maybe one day I’ll look up and see the sky again.
Clear. Bright.
And realize that while I thought the storms would never end…
I had grown new strength.

That the only thing holding me back was the story I was still telling myself.
And maybe then,
I’ll finally fly.

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