The Silent Weight of Building a Family

I never knew how difficult conceiving could be until my husband and I started trying to build our family. I had my first miscarriage—what textbooks call a “chemical pregnancy.”

My body healed naturally, but painfully. Only later did I learn how uncommon that kind of healing can be, and how many women end up navigating invasive appointments, procedures, or long hospital visits while carrying a grief the world can’t see.

In Canada, infertility isn’t rare. 1 in 6 couples experience it over the course of trying to conceive, and rates have risen over recent decades. That number is more than a statistic; it could be the friend who goes quiet at baby showers, the colleague who books “mystery” appointments, the woman in the grocery aisle counting days on her phone and wishing. The silence around infertility is loud. We’re expected to smile through it, to “stay positive,” to keep news private until it’s safe—which can feel like never. PMC

The questions begin early once you’re married and settled down with your partner: When are you two having kids? Are you trying yet? As though family building is a light switch you just flick on. When it doesn’t happen quickly—or when loss comes—advice and disappointment creep in. I remember explaining my “false alarm.” While I was surprisingly met with positive support, I learned very quickly through my own friendships, this is very rare.

Many women met with false tests and heartache are always hoping for quiet care, instead, they’re  hearing, “What if you try this?” or “I googled and it says you should do that.” Since when did we hand over a woman’s timeline, odds, and body to the group chat?

For many of us, there are real health hurdles—polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS), endometriosis, thyroid issues, autoimmune disease—that can make conceiving harder or, for some, impossible. Even when conditions are managed, the emotional toll is heavy. And when conception finally happens—spontaneously or with help—the mental load doesn’t disappear. Canadian cohort research shows that people who conceive after subfertility or fertility treatment have a slightly higher risk of being diagnosed with a postpartum mood or anxiety disorder within a year after birth, compared with those who conceived without assistance. Which throws another mental curve ball filled with stigma, group chats and Google searches to women who have already endured so much pain. It’s not destiny, but it’s a signal that care and compassion matter. PMC

The pressures from family, friends and society doesn’t affect only the woman—it ripples through relationships. Love can strain under grief, guilt, calendar math, and waiting rooms. One partner may research every test; the other may shut down, unsure how to help. Extended families might hover with opinions or go silent out of fear of saying the wrong thing. Many of us feel that macro-level anxiety trickling into our most intimate hopes. Statistics Canada

Here’s what I wish we all did differently. When someone shares their struggle, resist the urge to fix. Ask what support would actually feel supportive. Sit with us in the rawness. If you’re a partner, remember that care isn’t problem-solving alone—it’s presence, patience, and protecting boundaries. If you’re a family or a friend, trade the search links for a meal, a ride to an appointment, or a promise to keep certain topics off the table for a while.

For all of you in the thick of it: you are not broken, you are not behind, and you are not alone. If your mental health wobbles (mine did), know that perinatal mood and anxiety difficulties are common and treatable.

Silence helps no one. Breaking it makes space to breathe, to grieve, to hope again. The resilience it takes to keep loving through uncertainty—that’s what defines us. And that resilience deserves to be honoured.