When Everyone Around You Seems to Be Getting Pregnant (Except You)

You're in the middle of fertility treatment and, if you're being honest, you have no idea what the future holds. Your calendar is filled with appointments, bloodwork, ultrasounds, medications, and waiting. Soooo much waiting. You're trying to stay hopeful while also protecting yourself from getting too hopeful because you've learned how quickly hope can turn into disappointment.

And then your best friend tells you she's pregnant.

Oof.

You're so happy for her, and it also hurts. You give yourself some time to process and try to keep moving.

Then your coworker announces she's pregnant.

Okay. Another one.

Then your cousin.

Seriously?

You decide you need a break from thinking about pregnancy and fertility treatment, so naturally, you open Instagram and start doom scrolling. A few minutes in, someone you haven't spoken to since high school pops up on your feed holding an ultrasound photo.

At this point, it can genuinely start to feel like everyone is pregnant except you.

And maybe the next morning, you're sitting in your fertility clinic waiting room wondering exactly that: How is everyone getting pregnant except me?

For many of us, this experience is especially confusing because of what we've been taught about pregnancy for most of our lives. The messaging was pretty simple: sperm meets egg and boom, pregnancy. We spend years learning how not to get pregnant, often with the underlying message that pregnancy can happen incredibly easily.

Then one day, you decide you're ready.

And it doesn't happen.

Suddenly, something you were taught was supposed to be simple becomes anything but.

Months of trying turn into doctor's appointments. Appointments turn into testing. Testing might turn into diagnoses, medications, procedures, fertility treatments, or even more questions without clear answers.

And somewhere along the way, you may start wondering:

Why isn't my body doing what it's supposed to do?

Why does this seem so easy for everyone else?

What am I doing wrong?

What if this never happens for me?

When you're surrounded by people seemingly moving effortlessly into the next stage of life while you're working incredibly hard just to get there, it's easy for disappointment to turn inward.

You might feel like you've failed.

You might feel like your body has failed you.

You might feel embarrassed, inadequate, inept, angry, jealous, or wildly confused.

But infertility isn't a personal failure.

You didn't fail a test everyone else somehow passed. And the fact that someone else's path to pregnancy looks different from yours doesn't mean they did something "right" that you did "wrong."

Still, knowing that intellectually doesn't always make it feel true.

When Everyone Else Seems to Be Moving Forward

One of the most painful parts of infertility isn't only wanting a baby. It's watching life continue to move around you while yours can feel painfully stuck.

Maybe you always imagined you and your best friend would be pregnant together.

Maybe you pictured your children growing up alongside your sister's or your cousin's.

Maybe you assumed you'd be the one announcing a pregnancy by now.

Instead, you're watching other people reach milestones you thought you'd be experiencing alongside them.

And with every announcement, the distance between the life you're living and the life you imagined can feel a little wider.

That's grief, too.

You may be grieving the timeline you thought you'd have. You may be grieving the experience of trying to conceive without medical intervention. You may be grieving the idea of being pregnant alongside someone you love. You may even be grieving an imagined future where your children would have been close in age.

These aren't always losses that other people can see.

But you can feel them.

You Can Be Happy for Them and Sad for You

This is something worth repeating: two things can be true at the same time.

You can love your best friend and wish you were pregnant too.

You can be excited to become an aunt and cry after your cousin’s announcement.

You can celebrate your coworker and need to excuse yourself from the conversation when everyone starts talking about baby names.

You can double-tap someone's pregnancy announcement on Instagram and then close the app because you can't look at another one.

Your sadness doesn't erase your happiness for someone else.

And their happiness doesn't erase your sadness.

You don't have to choose one.

Give Yourself Permission to Protect the Tender Parts

If pregnancy feels like it's everywhere right now, you don't have to force yourself to absorb every reminder of it.

Mute the account.

Skip the baby shower if you need to.

Leave the group chat for a little while.

Tell your friend, "I love you, and I might need some space from pregnancy talk right now."

Cry in the car after the announcement.

Talk to someone who understands.

You don't need to prove that you're supportive by repeatedly putting yourself in situations that leave you emotionally depleted.

There may be seasons when you can show up for every celebration, and there may be seasons when you can't.

Both are okay.

Because underneath the jealousy, anger, sadness, or urge to pull away is often something much simpler:

You want something deeply.

You don't know if or when you're going to have it.

And you're watching other people experience it all around you.

Of course that hurts.

You don't need to shame yourself. You deserve the same compassion you would offer someone else navigating an uncertain and deeply meaningful loss.

Everyone else's pregnancy is not evidence of your failure.

Their timeline is not a measure of yours.

And even when it feels like the entire world is moving forward while you're standing still, your life is still moving, too. It just may not be moving in the way you hoped or expected right now.