Infertility breaks your heart in places you didn’t know could crack. It’s the quiet disappointment after each cycle, the sadness that shows up in moments that were supposed to feel happy, and the way it creeps into your thoughts when you least expect it. If you’re reading this, you already know the pain. What you may not know is how much your mental health matters while you carry this cross.

It felt like it vanished without a trace. I went from having periods to no periods at all. Yes, I knew I was in perimenopause. Yes, I...

Nearly 10 years later, I still think about that version of myself that had to sit there and begin to process the reality of my complete infertility. There is still a part of me that has been frozen, stuck in that doctor’s office. And I avoided that 19 year-old as much as I could over the near decade. My fertility was gone and, with it, my worth. Or, at least that’s the lie I told myself.

I sat down to write a piece on Easter Sunday and inevitably I am brought first to Good Friday. For just as Venerable Fulton Sheen wrote, “Unless there is a Good Friday in your life, there can be no Easter Sunday,” without the painful cross of infertility, our family would not be the miracle that it is. My womb never bore children, I remain infertile almost eight years after my husband and I said “I do”. This might look like an abject failure, like the absence of a miracle, bu