Overcoming grief with St. Thomas Aquinas

“Grief is not a state but a process, like a walk in a winding valley with a new prospect at every bend.”— C. S. Lewis

From the moment you wake up until your head finally hits the pillow, grief from infertility can feel like a weight you can’t outrun. Some days you come up for air; other days, it swallows you whole. I had known grief before, and it usually passed. But during a difficult adoption process, grief settled in and refused to leave.

From the beginning, something about the adoption didn’t sit right with me. Everyone reassured me, yet my heart kept bracing for the worst. And then, the worst happened. Without warning, the birth mother chose to parent. We found out through a Facebook post. Within minutes, the lawyers confirmed it. Of course, she had every right to parent her baby, and I understood that intellectually. But emotionally, it was harder to comprehend. It felt as though she had taken our baby away.

I was gutted. Days went by and I could barely function. This grief felt different—heavier, stickier. What if it never left?

A few weeks later, as my husband poured us a glass of wine, he said, “There. I’ve completed my five remedies.” I stared at him, confused, until he explained Thomas Aquinas’s remedies for grief. That night was the first time I had ever heard of them. I’m not exactly an Aquinas fan—philosophy has always felt like a whine-fest to me—but I was desperate. So, I tried them. Slowly, painfully, they worked. To my surprise, the great Italian saint was right.

Six years later, I found myself part of a ministry that accompanies and prays with women facing grief from infertility. During a mentoring session, it struck me: if these remedies helped me, maybe they could help them too.

Before diving in, let’s get acquainted with St Thomas Aquinas. He was born around 1225 in the town of Roccasecca, Italy, the youngest of nine children. His parents, Landulph and Theodora, were the Count of Aquino and the Countess of Teano. At the age of five, he was sent to the Benedictine monastery of Monte Cassino, where it was said he already asked deep questions about God.

Against his family’s wishes, Thomas joined the Dominican Order at twenty. His family strongly opposed this decision and even imprisoned him, but Thomas remained steadfast and pursued his vocation.

He is best known for writing the Summa Theologiae and Summa Contra Gentiles. He died in 1274, was canonized in 1323, and declared a Doctor of the Church. His feast day is January 28.

Aquinas lists five remedies for grief: contemplating the truth, sharing with friends, pleasure, weeping, and—my personal favorite—a warm bath/nap combo. When paired with the stages of grief described by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance), they become a gentle roadmap through this valley.

Here’s how to use them.

1. Contemplating the Truth — Denial

Denial is refusing to accept reality:

“No, I can’t be infertile.”

“There must be a mistake.”

“No one in my family has this.”

To move past denial, we must slowly change our mindset. It won’t happen overnight, but with time, patience, and prayer, it becomes possible. Aquinas invites us not merely to “face reality,” but to contemplate Truth—God’s will, His goodness, His steadiness. His truth is not always comfortable or aligned with our plans, but it is always loving.

Scripture, prayer, novenas, journaling, spiritual direction, and learning from the lives of the saints can realign us with who we truly are: beloved daughters of a loving King. I prayed to St. Anthony, asking him to help us find the child meant for our family. I placed the request in his hands and let go.

Denying what lies ahead prevents us from being open to opportunities that can transform us. It also robs us of the freedom that comes from letting go of constant worry about what may or may not be.

2. Sharing with Friends — Anger

Anger and infertility are like peanut butter and jelly—a perfect match. The anger builds each month because no matter how much you do “right,” nothing changes. It hurts physically, mentally, and spiritually. It pushes you to the edge, wanting to scream, “I can’t anymore!”

Aquinas’s remedy? Share your grief with friends. I know—the last thing you want is pity, judgment, or unsolicited advice. But anger that stays buried twists into envy, resentment, and the belief that life is unfair. That’s a dangerous place to remain. Vulnerability lightens the load and allows others to help carry your cross. Strong bonds are often born in these honest moments.

I walked most of my infertility journey alone. I spoke about it, but it was largely a solitary season. That is why I am so grateful to have found The Fruitful Hollow with the Sisters of Hannah. I promised myself I would not let another woman carry this cross alone. Now I mentor women through this journey, and they honor me by trusting me to help carry their cross when it becomes too heavy.

3. Pleasure — Bargaining

When I taught the Creighton Method, I watched couples bargain endlessly: food, supplements, exercise, prayer routines, diets that made no sense. Deep down, they hoped the right combination would fix everything. I understood. I bargained too. But bargaining only feeds the chaos.

Aquinas suggests something surprisingly simple: pleasure. A small joy that lifts your spirit. For me, it was reading classic literature and blasting Metallica in the car (“Sad But True” is excellent therapy). Find the one thing that makes you smile. Let joy interrupt the bargaining spiral.

After your next doctor’s appointment, plan something fun. Alone, with your spouse, or with a friend. Whatever it is, stop bargaining and choose joy.

4. Weeping — Depression

Depression is a darkness thick enough to suffocate hope. You are tired of fighting. You want to quit, hide, disappear. Aquinas’s advice is simple: weep.

You might think, “I already cry all the time. I need to cry more?” But tears release endorphins and loosen the sorrow lodged deep in the soul. Crying is cleansing—messy, necessary, and holy.

Cry alone, with your spouse, or with a friend. Cry in the car, in the shower, or in someone’s arms. Let the tears come until one day, they don’t.

My weeping moment came after our first infertility workup. I was bruised from blood tests and desperate for answers. Instead, we received a massive bill and had no way to pay it. I collapsed and wept until there were no tears left. My husband stood with me, holding space for my pain. Then I stood up and kept going.

I wept after every pregnancy announcement. Those were brutal. And then one day, a pregnancy announcement came and I felt only joy. It shocked me. My tears had finally become tears of happiness.

5. A warm bath/nap combo — Acceptance

Acceptance is not “getting over” infertility. You never fully do. It becomes part of you, but it no longer paralyzes you. You can live again.

Pregnancy announcements no longer imprison you in days of grief. Aquinas’s final remedy is beautifully simple: warmth and rest. A long bath. A deep nap. Maybe dark chocolate or a glass of wine. Let your body and soul exhale.

When I reached this stage, I waited until everyone was asleep, drew a bubble bath, ate dark chocolate, and soaked in silence. With every bubble that popped, I felt a little more peace return. I put on my pajamas, crawled into bed, and slept deeply for the first time in months.

Grief touches every life, infertile or not. It can rule us, or we can learn to move through it. As you journey through infertility, keep these remedies close. Notice where you are. Move at your own pace. Trust your mind, body, and soul to guide you to the next bend in the valley.

I pray your journey brings you closer to God, your spouse, your family, and the friends who walk beside you. I am sending prayers and a big hug, my dear sister in Christ.

I leave you with this promise from the Gospel of John:

“Now is the time of grief, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.” (John 16:22)