When infertility first reared its ugly head, I thought I knew what to expect. I would be heartbroken. I’d have lots of bloodwork and visits to the doctor.

But what I didn’t anticipate was the way infertility would affect my relationship with my husband. 

Right from the start, I thought our experience of infertility would be the same. After all, we’d had many conversations about how we both wanted children. I reasoned that since we were both on the same page about having kids, we’d have the same reaction to infertility. 

How wrong I was. 

Infertility opened a huge identity wound for me — a deep existential pain. I wondered if we were carrying this cross because I wasn’t good enough to be a mom. I felt left out of a fundamental experience of womanhood. Pregnancy announcements sent shards of envy through my heart. As months of infertility stretched into a year and then two, I felt like I was drowning in crushing sadness and depression. 

My husband, meanwhile, approached infertility as a problem to be solved. He was disappointed that things hadn’t worked out yet, but not brokenhearted. Although he treated me with great kindness and gentleness, I could tell that he did not completely understand what I was feeling. 

I felt so alone. After all, if my own husband couldn’t understand my pain, who could? Even worse, I felt resentful. I didn’t understand why it was seemingly so easy for him to “get over” our infertility—why didn’t he struggle with it? From my perspective, it looked like he didn’t care that much if we had kids or not. My husband, meanwhile, struggled to see me suffer. He felt guilty for not experiencing the same heartbreak that I did.   

If you and your spouse have similar struggles, know that you’re not alone. We’ve spoken with other couples about this, and learned that it’s common for men and women to have different experiences of infertility. It’s also common for that difference to be a point of tension. 

When we bear the cross of infertility together as a married couple, it can be a powerful path to sanctity. So it makes sense that Satan would try to use that same cross to tear married couples apart. And how sad that is, because the unity of the married couple is one of the most fundamental and beautiful parts of marriage. 

I’ve found that one of the most important things to do in this situation is to be open with your spouse about how you’re feeling. I was scared to tell my husband that his reaction to our experience of infertility upset me. But saying it out loud sparked a conversation in which my husband could express what he was feeling and show me that he cared deeply, even if his reactions weren’t the same as mine. It made me confront some of the unfair assumptions I’d been holding onto about his heart. 

Couples counseling can also be very helpful in this type of situation. And it’s immensely helpful to talk to other married couples, too. At our infertility support group, my husband has been able to get the perspective of other guys on how they process infertility as men while making space for their wives’ experiences. These conversations were helpful for me to hear, too. I began to see that it’s not bad that my husband experiences infertility differently. It’s helped me realize that the way he deals with this cross isn’t a dismissal of my pain.  

Remember to ask Saints Joachim and Anne to intercede for you and walk with you on this path. They know well how heavy this cross is, and they are rooting for you and your marriage. 

No matter how your path of infertility looks, never take your unity as a married couple for granted. You’re on the same team for life—and that’s an amazing blessing.  

Written by an anonymous Springs in the Desert Contributor.