The Fruitful Hollow is an international ministry and can only advise on generalities. Adoption requirements and options vary widely depending on your country and your state/province/region. When considering options and requirements, it is important to consult resources specific to your region.

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 knew my periods would become far less regular. Yes, I knew my egg reserve was diminishing. Yes, I knew it was a rite of passage that I could not avoid. Still, I could not believe it was already here: menopause. I was only 48! I had been infertile for a number of years and had grieved every milestone I didn’t get to reach: becoming pregnant agai

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

Then, Easter changed. It became a season of darkness and perpetual death. This darkness settled in my heart after we miscarried our first and only biological child. I was left barren and fruitless. Although Jesus died and resurrected, I remained dead inside because my fertility was dead and would never resurrect.

There's a beautiful juxtaposition on this night between anticipation and dread, the not yet and the soon-to-be; the long-awaited and much-feared, a holy tension.

As his wife, I vividly recall the day his words about IVF made me realize that pursuing it might create an unbridgeable gap

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