Creating the Silver Lining: To the Men of Infertility

If I had a dollar for every time I said, "you don't understand," then, well, we'd be a lot richer than I'd like to admit.

When a couple is going through infertility treatments, the empathy, concern and support is almost always geared towards the woman in the scenario. And, well - rightfully so. After all, we're the ones who are hopping up on hormones, shooting ourselves in the gut {or butt}, getting blood-draw-after-blood-draw, and bearing the weight of the guilt and pressure on our shoulders.

But, because of those raging hormones, it's the man in the scenario who braves the storm, and really, at the end of the day - shoulders the most. The difference is, we as women get to scream about it—usually at the man—while they have to take the brunt of the hormones, all while simultaneously supporting us and our wild emotions.

While the men of infertility may not be the ones going through the actual treatments, they are dealing with a hardship that may be even worse. He doesn't just lose his chance at a baby—he loses a piece of his wife.

While she's consumed with emotions, he's wiping tears. While she's broken into a million pieces, he's holding you together. While she's losing hope, he's keeping both of you going. While she's losing her childhood dreams of being a mom, he's losing you.

To my man of infertility:

Thank you for shooting me in the stomach when I was a wuss - and acting like "shot time" was always something we were both doing, instead of just me.

I'm sorry for that time I threw a picture frame at your head, when all you were trying to do was talk me off the insanity-ledge.

Thank you for the times you took off work to attend the umptheenth appointment that really had nothing to do with you - just so I could hold your hand.

You're incredible for holding back your emotions when we had a miscarriage, so that you could pick me up off the bathroom floor.

Thank you for finding 87 million different ways to say "we can do this—YOU can do this" when I wanted to give up {because you knew I didn't actually want to give up}.

I can't believe the jabs you would take, the scowls that would bounce right off of you, the "get off me's" you would push right past to hold me - all while I screamed and yelled and treated you way less than you ever deserved.

I wish that while you were busy shouldering all of my fears, anger, and heartbreak - someone was shouldering all of those things for you.

Thank you for acting like "dealing with me" while we tried to conceive for years was something you wanted to do - not something you had to do. Thank you for "dealing with me" - period.

I know that "not understanding" what I was going through was probably just as hard for you, as it was for me. I'm sure you would have given anything to understand - to be the one who could go through it, instead of me.

I had a hunch, but I never knew that you were hurting just as bad, until you stood up there at our gender reveal and choked up while thanking everyone for supporting us for the last two and a half years. In that moment I realized how very thankful you were to not only have our babies on the way—but also to have your wife back.

Most of all - thank you for being strong enough to keep going when I wasn't, because without you, we wouldn't have the two most perfect rainbow babies on earth.

To all men of infertility - the support, shouldering, and frames you dodge doesn't go unnoticed. Keep going, so we can <3