One of the things I always struggled with when we started trying to conceive was making sure we did everything right, and at the right timing. It never crossed my mind that we wouldn’t be able to do this naturally. For the first six months, we had this naive belief that once we stopped preventing pregnancy, it would happen fast. We started planning around it: what we needed to do before my wife got pregnant, travel plans, even names for boys and girls, as if we might have to make that call in nine months. There’s something almost beautiful about being that naive. It’s like being a kid again, seeing the world simply: if you do X, then Y happens, without any of the complexity underneath it.
After a couple of months of trying, we figured it was time to get a little more scientific about the timing. We started using ovulation sticks to figure out when my wife was ovulating, and timed things around that. Something funny happened to me when I started looking for reasons it wasn’t working. You ask yourself serious, but sometimes funny, questions: maybe the position wasn’t right? Maybe we should have done it yesterday, or twice in two days? Maybe I should’ve had more water this week? You build your own little theories, and even when they don’t pan out, you’re still sure next time will be different, because it still hasn’t crossed your mind that you might be one of the couples this doesn’t work for.
By month nine, six of them with sticks in hand, it stopped being fun. The theories turned out to be nonsense. Nothing worked, and it turned into a task you had to complete rather than something you wanted to do.
From the man’s side, aside from staying healthy and in good shape, about all you can do is check in with your wife on the timing, and make sure that two or three days beforehand, you don’t finish. At some point that becomes its own source of tension. Asking those questions too many times might feel like you don’t trust your partner, but not asking at all makes you look like you don’t care. As a couple, when something comes up and you end up skipping the chance for sex, you feel ashamed for missing the window. Other times, it’s shame mixed with annoyance: having sex like it’s homework for your math teacher, already sure you’re going to fail no matter what, like the whole effort was for nothing.
We ended up solving some of the scheduling stress with a Mira hormone monitor. It helped us know the hormone trend ahead of time, and gave us a heads-up on what to expect over a few days, instead of the one or two days you get with regular sticks. It was great, but I have one complaint: the wands are expensive and expire fast, and there’s nothing more annoying than realizing four boxes of them are now useless. Mostly, though, it just meant more time to mentally prepare for having sex you don’t want, at a time that usually doesn’t work for you.
That was my side of all of it. Even though we’d talked about not wanting to treat it like homework, I always felt like I had no idea what she was actually carrying. And honestly, looking back, sometimes I just didn’t want to know. I felt like I’d lost the power I thought I had as a man: to just solve the problem. It wasn’t up to me anymore. What am I even worth if I can’t find a practical solution?
I felt like I’d lost the power I thought I had as a man: to just solve the problem. It wasn’t up to me anymore. What am I even worth if I can’t find a practical solution?
What it does differently to each of you
On my wife’s side, she felt all of this in a stronger, more frequent way than I understood at the time. For her, there was a physical presence to it that made her think about it and expect it. She’d count the days until her period. If it was late, she’d let herself hope, and then feel the disappointment when it arrived anyway. For me, it was just an update from her that it didn’t work again this month. I also felt less pressure to have kids immediately, so every month that didn’t work, my reaction was closer to “okay, it’ll happen next month.” For her, it was closer to: are we in trouble? Is something wrong with me? What am I doing wrong?
For her, it was closer to: are we in trouble? Is something wrong with me? What am I doing wrong?
I’m not sure if that’s a gender thing or a cultural one, but when something doesn’t work in this area, people often seem to assume the woman is the reason.
I’m not sure if that’s a gender thing or a cultural one, but when something doesn’t work in this area, people often seem to assume the woman is the reason.
If I could go back to that first year, I’d ask her every month how she was actually feeling about it not working. And later on, if I saw even a hint of her blaming herself, I’d have made it clear, directly, that we don’t know why it’s not working, and that even if it turned out to be one of us, it doesn’t matter. Our love was never conditional on our ability to bring kids together.
After about a year, we decided it was time for a deeper look, and found out quickly how frustrating the fertility system in the US can be. Just to start testing, you have to tell them you’ve been trying for at least twelve months, then get a referral from your regular doctor to a fertility center, and then wait for that center to have an opening. So on top of the stress of not knowing what the actual problem is, and racing your own biology, you lose a month or two to logistics before you’ve even started.
The day it became medical
Even once my wife started some basic testing on her own, I hadn’t really registered that we’d officially started a fertility journey. The fact that she went by herself, and that I hadn’t had to do anything logistically yet, let me stay in my own bubble a little longer.
The first time I actually walked into a fertility clinic and saw a few other couples sitting in the waiting room is when it hit me: Shit, we’re like those people sitting here. From that moment I started to let in the idea that maybe we had a problem.
If this is where you are right now — I wrote more about what I wish I’d understood once things got medical, here. And on what the secrecy around all of this eventually cost us, here.