From Fertility Struggles to IVF and Building My Own Business

For more than six and a half years, I lived in the space between hope and heartbreak.

There were months when I was sure this was it. The timing was right. The symptoms felt different. The test line looked like it might be getting darker. Then there were the other months, the ones that ended with silence, bloodwork numbers that did not rise, or a loss I had to process before I even had the words to explain it.

Trying to get pregnant was hard. Trying to stay pregnant was harder.

This is my personal fertility story, but it is also the story of what grew from it. I started with different treatments before I ever got to IVF with CNY Fertility. I went through loss. I learned how lonely infertility can feel, even when people love you deeply. Then, somehow, from the pain and the waiting and the need to make meaning out of it all, I built my own business.

This is not medical advice. Fertility care is personal and should always be guided by a qualified medical provider.

This is simply my story, shared for anyone who needs to feel less alone.

Some seasons are measured in appointments, waiting, and quiet hope.

The years when hope felt exhausting

At the beginning, I thought getting pregnant would be the easy part. I did not understand yet that for me, getting and even staying pregnant would become a deeper struggle.

That kind of grief is complicated. A positive pregnancy test or lack thereof, can become scary instead of joyful. Good news can feel temporary. You start protecting yourself from happiness because you know how fast everything can change.

Over the years, I got used to living by dates:

• The day my cycle started

• The day I needed bloodwork

• The day we tried again

• The day I expected answers

• The day I found out there were no answers

• The day I had to begin again

  
  

I became fluent in the language of labs, appointments, protocols, and cautious optimism. I knew what it felt like to carry hope carefully, like something fragile in both hands. I witnessed early loss often and became too familiar with it.

The hardest part was that life kept moving around me. People announced pregnancies. Babies were born. Holidays came and went. I showed up when I could, smiled when I had the strength, and cried later when the quiet finally gave me room.

There is a specific kind of loneliness that comes with wanting something so deeply and not knowing if it will ever happen. It is not jealousy in the simple sense. It is grief. It is love with nowhere to go. A desire without an outlet.

We tried other treatments before choosing CNY Fertility

Before we moved forward with CNY Fertility, we tried other types of care and support. Like many people, we did not jump straight into the most involved option. We started with the steps that made sense at the time. We gave it our best effort from day one of trying to conceive.

There were appointments, tracking, testing, medications and conversations about what might help. There were plans that seemed hopeful in the beginning and discouraging by the end. There were moments when I thought we had finally found the missing piece, only to end up back at the same place.

That stage taught me that fertility treatment is not one clear straight path. It can feel more like a maze. Sometimes one door opens into another question. Sometimes the next step is obvious and other times, it's not. There is not one single road any of us walks down with fertility that is identical to the next. Each story is very unique.

I also learned that I needed to be an active part of my own care. I had to ask questions, keep records, and speak up when something did not sit right with me. I had to fully advocate for myself, which was the hardest part. That did not mean I knew more than the doctors. It meant I knew my job, my body, my history, and my emotional limits all too well.

After years of trying, loss, and uncertainty, we reached the point where we needed a different path. That is when CNY Fertility became part of our story. In the past, I had patients of theirs with beautiful outcomes. It sat in the back of my mind, but I knew it'd be worth a shot.

Treatment can look clinical, but it becomes part of everyday life.

Starting IVF with CNY Fertility changed the shape of the journey

By the time we reached IVF, I was not walking in with blind excitement. I was hopeful, but guarded. I had already watched hope turn into heartbreak too many times.

CNY Fertility felt like a fresh chapter, but not an easy one. There were still appointments, advocating, medications, monitoring, decisions, and waiting. There was still the emotional weight of wondering whether my body would cooperate and whether this path would lead where we prayed it would.

The process asked a lot of us.

It asked for my time. It asked for energy I did not always have. It asked me to trust a plan while still knowing that nothing was guaranteed. It asked me to keep moving forward one step at a time, even when I was scared. It asked my husband to be patient with me and the hormone shifts.

Some days I felt strong. Other days I felt like I was being held together by calendar reminders, deep breaths, prayers and my husband's loving arms.

What helped most was learning to break the process into smaller pieces and a whole lot of feeling my emotions when they came around. I could not carry the whole outcome every day. I could only carry that day’s task and plan for the next.

Take the medication. Go to the appointment. Wait for the call. Ask the question. Rest. Cry if needed. Try again tomorrow.

That became my rhythm.

Pregnancy after loss is not simple joy

One thing I wish more people understood is that pregnancy after loss or failed tries, does not erase it all. It does not flip a switch and make fear disappear. It does not cancel the loss or erase it from memory, no matter how far along you were.

When you have struggled to stay pregnant, a new pregnancy can feel like standing on thin ice. You want to celebrate. You also do not want to get too attached too soon, even though you already are.

I remember wanting reassurance, then needing more reassurance almost immediately afterward. I remember analyzing every feeling in my body and making a note of it. I remember trying to act normal when nothing about my inner world felt normal. It felt like a mask I had to put on, just to get through things.

I had to give myself permission to feel all of it though. I did not have to perform happiness in a way that made other people comfortable. I did not have to pretend fear meant I was ungrateful. I could be thankful and terrified. I could be excited and cautious.

Both were true. Both were my reality.

That lesson stayed with me long after the appointments ended. It changed how I see people. It made me more tender and sensitive toward hidden grief. It taught me that someone can be carrying a story you know nothing about.

After loss, even hopeful moments can feel tender and complicated.

The part people did not always see

From the outside, fertility struggles can look like a series of medical steps. Appointment, treatment, result. Try again.

Inside, it is much more layered.

There were moments when I felt disconnected from my body. There were times when intimacy felt scheduled instead of natural. There were conversations about money, timing, and what we could emotionally or spiritually handle. There were moments when I wanted to stop talking about it and moments when I needed someone to ask how I was really doing.

I also had to grieve versions of life I thought I would have.

I thought pregnancy would be easier. I thought announcements would feel simple. I thought building a family would follow a softer timeline. Instead, I had to learn endurance before I ever felt ready.

The experience changed my relationships too. Some people showed up in ways I will never forget. They checked in without prying. They remembered hard dates. They did not try to fix it. They let me be sad. They still shared their excitement with me, knowing my heart's desire.

Other relationships became harder. Not everyone knew what to say. Some comments hurt, even when they weren't meant to. I heard things like “just relax”, “everything happens for a reason,” or “have you tried...” and while I know people often say those things because they feel like they can help, it did not comfort me.

What helped was simple honesty.

“I’m here.”

“This is unfair.”

“You don’t have to respond, but I’m thinking of you.”

Those words mattered.

How pain became purpose

I did not set out to build a business from my fertility story.

At first, I was just trying to survive it. Then I started noticing what I had needed along the way. I needed support that felt personal, tailored to my needs. I needed resources that did not make me feel broken or numb. I needed people who understood the emotional side, not just the medical side.

At some point, the question changed from “Why did I have to go through this?” to “What can I do with what I now understand?”

That question became the beginning of my business. Even though I had a desire to start one well before my journey with fertility began.

Building something from such a personal place has been both healing and vulnerable. It means taking the hardest chapter of my life and allowing it to serve someone else. It means using what I learned in the waiting rooms, the losses, the injections, the fear, and the hope.

My business is rooted in empathy because that is what I needed most.

I know what it feels like to search for answers late at night. I know what it feels like to dread another pregnancy announcement and then feel guilty for dreading it. I know what it feels like to keep going when every part of you is tired. I know what it feels like to cry out to God for an answer and hear only silence.

That lived experience shaped the way I create, serve, and connect with my patients.

It also gave me a different definition of success. Success is not only growth or sales or recognition. For me, success is when someone feels seen and comforted. It is when something I make, say, or offer helps another person breathe a little easier.

Building a business while healing

Starting my own business and having a child, did not mean I had fully healed. Healing does not always happen first. Sometimes it happens while you are building.

There are days when working on the business has felt empowering. It's given me a place to put the love, grief, and knowledge I had collected. It has helped me feel like my story has roots, not just scars.

There are also days when it feels tender. Sharing personal pieces of my experience means revisiting them. I had to learn what to share, what to keep private, and how to protect my peace.

That boundary mattered and it still does.

Not every part of a fertility story belongs to the public. Some details can stay sacred. Some memories can stay within the family. I learned that I could be honest without giving everything away.

As my work grew, I also saw how personal stories can support a local business in a meaningful way. People connect with people. They can feel when something is built from real life, not just an idea on a piece of paper.

My story became part of the foundation, but it did not have to be the whole building.

A business can grow from lived experience without losing its heart.

What this journey taught me

I would never pretend that infertility made me stronger in a neat or easy way. I did not need pain to become more valuable. I did not need loss to become more compassionate.

But I can say that the journey changed me.

It taught me to listen more carefully. It taught me that grief and hope can exist in the same breath. It taught me that medical journeys are not only physical. They touch identity, relationships, faith, finances, and the future you imagined for yourself.

It also taught me that people need more tenderness than we think.

If someone you love is going through fertility struggles, you do not need perfect words. You do not need to understand every medication or test. You can simply be steady. Check in. Remember that Mother’s Day, baby showers, holidays, and due dates can be complicated. Let them talk when they want to talk. Let them be quiet when they need quiet.

If you are in the middle of your own story, I hope you know this: your feelings make sense. The fear, anger, hope, bitterness, gratitude, numbness, and exhaustion can all belong. You are not failing, because this is hard.

For more than six and a half years, I wondered how my story would turn out. I could not see then how much it would shape me, or how it would one day become part of the work I do in the world, but here we are.

I still carry the losses. I still remember the waiting. I still honor the version of me who kept going appointment after appointment, month after month, year after year.

And now, I also carry purpose beyond motherhood alone.

That does not erase what happened. It gives me a way to hold it. Fertility is one of many pillars here at Sweet Pea Imaging.

This is Sweet Pea Imaging