This week is National Infertility Awareness Week, a reminder that infertility is far more common than most people realize. The most recent WHO data suggests that one in six people struggles to get pregnant. It means almost everyone knows someone going through it, even if they don’t realize it. What this number doesn’t account for is recurrent pregnancy loss, secondary infertility, or subfertility.

And yet, infertility and fertility in general remain stigmatized topics and something people experience in isolation. I know because I went through it.

I learned I had unexplained infertility in 2021 after my husband and I had started trying for a baby without any success. In two years, we had experienced one biochemical pregnancy (a loss before five weeks) and then never got pregnant again. We saw doctors, endured procedures, and battled insurance claims, often behind the scenes. Infertility is rarely obvious from the outside. Unless someone chooses to share with you that they are experiencing infertility, it can be impossible to tell. 

We then spent two more years going through rounds of fertility treatments, including IVF, before having a daughter in the summer of 2025. If we continue to grow our family, IVF will likely be in our future. 

My story is just one of many. And while it led to a positive outcome, that isn’t the case for everyone.

During National Infertility Awareness Week, I’ve been thinking about what support actually looked like for me in that season, and what it looks like for those still navigating infertility. Not just what helped, but what I wish more people had understood, too.

As the oldest of four, I’m used to being the person others lean on, which made this season of my life especially difficult when it came to asking for and receiving support. But infertility changed that. It forced me to ask for help and to become my own advocate in a way I never had before. Looking back, there’s so much I never said out loud while I was in it—things that felt too hard to explain or too painful to say aloud.

So, in the spirit of naming those things, here’s what support looked like for me, and what I wish more people understood about showing up for someone going through infertility:

1. Say something, even if you don’t know what to say

Every month for the four years of my infertility journey felt like a cycle of extremes. Ovulation brought hope because I’d convince myself this cycle was the one. I tracked my temperature, cut out alcohol and caffeine, wore socks (iykyk). And then my period would come, and I’d be devastated, exhausted and depleted for at least 48 hours before gearing myself up again.

When someone is in that kind of defeating repetition, presence from family and friends matters more than anything—more than advice, even when it’s well-meaning.

“People usually mean very well when conversing with someone who is going through infertility, but often the phrases like, ‘You’ll get pregnant when you stop trying,’ ‘Don’t stress about it,’ ‘It will happen at the perfect time,’ can unintentionally feel dismissive or invalidating,” says Samantha Diamond, CEO and Founder of Bird&Be. After struggling with pregnancy loss, she founded the fertility brand with personalized prenatals and at-home testing. 

“The same goes for consolation around a loss. ‘At least it was early’ or ‘It wasn’t meant to be’ can feel really unhelpful when your experience feels devastating,” she says.

A simple text like thinking of you, I’m here if you need anything, goes further than you think. You don’t have to pry or ask questions. Sometimes it’s just about showing up after a hard appointment, or just reminding someone they’re not alone. 

2. Practical help matters more than you think

Life doesn’t pause for infertility. My husband and I moved, started new careers, celebrated weddings and baby showers, traveled to new countries. In the day-to-day, I walked the dog, went to the gym, bought groceries. If you saw me on the sidewalk, you would have never known I had woken up at 4 a.m. to commute an hour to my IVF clinic, or that my belly was bruised from injections.

Infertility treatment is both logistical and physical—think injections, bloodwork, monitoring appointments, and recovery from egg retrievals. Anything that removes friction helps. Some of the things I remember most: My mom staying with me after a procedure and just helping me get through the day. A friend showing up with iced coffee. A neighbor leaving homemade granola on my doorstep. A coworker sending me to get a massage after a loss.

“When I miscarried, I had my other young kids at home and it felt really difficult in the days that followed to muster the energy to care for them and also focus on my own physical and emotional recovery,” shares Samantha. “Offers like playdates, carpooling, grocery pick up can be so helpful, and sometimes just offering to go for a walk with a friend who’s in pain, without any pressure to even talk, is the best way to show up for a friend.”

If you’re looking for ways to support your friend, offer a ride to appointments, drop off dinner after a long week, or help with childcare if someone is navigating secondary infertility or repeated IVF cycles. “If she’s up for it, attend appointments with her or be there while she’s getting IVF shots if it would be helpful to have a friend,” says Samantha. It doesn’t have to be grand. Simple acts of kindness matter more than you think.

3. Learn the basics about fertility and stay curious

Just like with any medical diagnosis, it can be exhausting for someone to have to explain everything more than once. With infertility, we’re suddenly learning a whole new language about our bodies and possible causes, things like endometriosis or PCOS. If IVF becomes part of the process, that expands even further into terms like blastocysts, embryo grading, OHSS, and follicle stimulation.

Understanding even a few of these basics is a real gift. It makes it easier to talk about what we’re going through without having to translate every piece of it from scratch. “Be a listener and ask how she wants to be supported so she feels personally seen in the process,” says Samantha. And remember that we’re learning all of this in real time, too, and becoming accidental scientists while still trying to live our lives. It can feel isolating when the people around you don’t really understand what any of it means.

You don’t need to know everything or become an expert. Just be curious. Ask questions. Read a few blogs about infertility. Say you don’t fully understand but want to. That effort matters more than getting it right.

4. Remember that we are more than infertility (and help us to remember!)

One of the things I remember most about my time with infertility is all of the negative pregnancy tests. Even now, walking past the pregnancy test aisle at Target feels like a bad montage. In the darkest months, I spiraled over everything and grasped at control. Was this because I drank from plastic water bottles? Was it the candles? The perfume? Possible mold in our apartment?

What helped most during these times was when friends would pull me back into my life and remind me that infertility was a part of my life, but not my entire life. This didn’t diminish the pain but offered perspective. I could still go to concerts, have wine nights, get a tattoo, and go to the beach. I could still write and laugh and even forget for a few minutes.

If you have a friend going through infertility, help them remember joy and lightness. Similarly, don’t treat them differently because of their infertility journey. Samanthaa puts it best: “There is more happening in her life than just her fertility journey, so do things she loves to do that make her feel like herself!”

5. If you find yourself pregnant

Finally, if you find yourself pregnant while your friend is going through infertility, it’s okay. While I can’t speak for everyone, I can tell you, with complete sincerity, that I was always thrilled for my friends when they told me they were pregnant. Was I still sad for myself? Yes. But was I happy for them? Absolutely.

And now that I’ve been both the friend receiving the news and the one sharing it, I feel like I can say this with even more conviction: be honest and upfront about your pregnancy. Don’t hide it or make us the last person to know. We want to celebrate with you, even as we navigate the complex emotions that come with our own infertility.

A text, email, or letter is often best. It gives space to process, rather than forcing a reaction in real time. More than anything, just be honest, and trust that your friend will be truly excited for you.

If you’re supporting a friend through infertility, thank you. It may not always feel like much in the moment, but it is. The texts, the check-ins, the offers of help, the willingness to sit in something uncomfortable without turning away—all of those things matter more than people realize. 

And if you are the one going through infertility, I hope you feel less alone reading this. Even when it feels isolating, even when it feels like everyone else is moving forward without you, you are not alone. If you are looking for additional support or a space to talk about what you’re going through, please come join us over at the Friedeggs Podcast. Additionally, the Peanut App has been a lifeline for finding support and connecting with others going through similar experiences.