Gazing into the eyes of your dream baby after years of traveling down that impossible road makes appreciating the journey that much easier.

But what about those of us still on the journey? Do we have to wait until the end until we can go back to loving our life? What about those whose end doesn’t even involve a baby? Then what?

For myself, as I am sure many, focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel blocked me from appreciating the joys right in front of me.

I was exhausted at living a life with the thought that I would only be happy once I delivered my baby. I felt paralyzed and riddled with anxiety. So, I decided to do the work needed to change the narrative.

Finding Strength Through Adversity

These past two years have been brutal, to say the least. In October of 2019, when I was six months pregnant with our second child, my husband and I lost our baby girl, Ruby. Exactly two weeks later, my father passed away and my world, (which was already crumbling before my eyes), completely fell apart.

Fast forward two years of trying unmedicated (during COVID might I add), one IUI, and three IVF rounds resulting in two fresh embryo transfers and one ectopic pregnancy causing the removal of my right fallopian tube — a mouth full right — I find myself in the midst of another big decision on what to do next.

"Focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel blocked me from appreciating the joys right in front of me."

I am sure the details of my fertility story sound intense, sad, and lonely, and I’m not going to lie, it is all those things and more. But it has also been empowering, eye-opening, and inspiring all in the same breath and I can say this not having reached my goal YET.

Sure, there are moments when I can’t see the light, when I ask why this is happening and when my dream feels impossibly far away. But I keep coming back to how, without this experience, I wouldn’t have evolved into the person I am today, and for that I am grateful.

Working to Shift the Narrative

However, this new perspective did not come easily. I attribute much of this shift to the mindset work I have been doing over the past year, which consists of working with a mindset coach, learning about the spiritual laws of the universe, and a daily journaling routine.

Fertility protocols tend to focus on hormone injections, cycle monitoring, and supplements. But I believe mindset is the missing piece needed in every protocol — I’ll have a side of mindset coaching, with 75 units of Menopur, please.

I used to look at Ruby as only a painful memory, representing the life I should have had. But now, l look at her as giving me the gift of purpose, propelling me forward in a new and beautiful direction.

What if everything is working out exactly as it should be? It might sound a bit woo-woo, but what I’m trying to convey is that you have a choice on how you view your story, your life.

Growing from Loss

Emily Getz wearing the Knix Waffle Robe, Good to Go Seamless Bra, and BlissFit Maternity Leggings

Putting my mindset work into practice, in May of 2021, I launched Day 1, a one-of-a-kind fertility network, comprised of an engaged community, a podcast, marketplace (fertility support gifts), and an exclusive membership program (which will be available to join in January 2022).

Day 1 is the baby that grew from my loss. It represents my calling and a purpose that in helping others has, in turn, helped me in ways I never could have expected.

"I keep coming back to how, without this experience, I wouldn’t have evolved into the person I am today, and for that I am grateful."

If I read this article two years ago, I probably would have rolled my eyes at the idea of mindset and manifestation, but then again I had not suffered any real loss up until that point.

Now here I am ordering myself a pair of Knix Maternity Leggings to manifest that I will be pregnant soon.

The idea of only being able to appreciate my journey once I was at the finish line didn’t work for me, so I shifted my own paradigm. If you’re open to experiencing the ups and the downs of the road you’re on rather than focusing solely on the outcome, you may just find a strength in yourself you never knew existed.

It’s hard to admit that out loud when you are childless and not by choice. There’s isn’t even a nice way to say childless because the word denotes a sense of lacking something.

My husband and I started officially trying to get pregnant when I was 31 years old. Since then, I’ve gone through artificial inseminations and IVF. I’ve experienced two miscarriages—both before and after my fertility treatments. After being diagnosed with low AMH (Anti-Mullerian Hormone) levels at 33, it essentially meant that I had a very low egg count for my age. After that, my entire outlook on life changed. The image I envisioned of my future self as a mother was up in smoke.

Photo via Ariel Ng Bourbonnais

Can you be proud of a body that has failed you at the most basic of human functions? It’s something I’ve struggled with for years, but my answer is finally...

YES.

We often see stories of women who are proud of their stretch marks and stomachs that have birthed babies. Although I will never bear those amazing warrior woman markings, my body remembers the (now) invisible places the hormone injections went into. The bruises have long since healed, but I can still see the map of failure I designed in my mind and marked all over my body. These scars are real.

I felt like less of a woman for years. When I found out I had low AMH, I spent almost $1,000 on hair extensions, as if that would solve the problem; it didn’t. Humiliation ate at my core being and I hated my body that wouldn’t do what I wanted it to do. Over the past year, I’ve reclaimed a more positive body image and relinquished the associated shame. Infertility can go to hell! I love my big biking butt that developed over the summer and my yoga arms are strong and motivated for more work. I’m proud of this body that challenged me. I’m challenging it back now in different ways.

It’s time to normalize failure or change what we even consider failure to be. I am no less of a woman because I can’t procreate. I’m not a failure as a human because I can’t have a child. My body is still a wonderland (in case John Mayer happens to read this!).

Infertility inspired me to co-launch The 16 Percent, which is a site dedicated to sharing stories of infertility to make other people feel less alone when they are going through their own experiences with pregnancy loss and infertility. I know that sharing my story and being proud of my body for many other reasons outside of making babies will help others heal from their own journeys. I’m defining what I consider to be womanly to be beyond what I look like.

Moving forward, I know it’s not always going to be easy. There will be harder days ahead but I know I’ll continue to tackle them with as much grace and self-acceptance as I can. This post is for all my ladies who have seen the other side of infertility in an unexpected way. You are one badass woman too.

Help knix the stigma by sharing your story. Join the conversation on social media with the hashtag #FacesofFertility and show your support with a custom-designed semi-permanent tattoo. 

Living with infertility is isolating.

Family and friends, despite their best intentions, don’t understand what you’re going through. Hearing things such as, “If you just relax, it will happen” or, "Have you tried getting drunk first?”. There are no emojis that can illustrate how these words only make you feel more alone.

Where you may not think of the isolation, however, is with your partner.

Generally speaking, men and women have been conditioned to react differently to stressful situations. Taking the kitchen sink as an example: as a man, if I'm on cleanup, I'll leave the dishes to soak. My wife? She's washing them by hand, carefully stacking them after drying them—or neatly loading them into a dishwasher.

So it's not surprising that men and women react differently when infertility becomes an issue in a relationship. And just like those dishes soaking, I plunged underwater, keeping my feelings of sadness and despair submerged.  

For a long time.

All told, I was open about my feelings for maybe 14 months out of the six year infertility journey that my wife and I went on before we had our daughter in 2015. I'll save you the quick math: that's less than 20% of the time.

To give you a window into how a male feels during infertility, let’s look first at the thought process of men—using myself as the example– think as they go through struggles.

When it comes to guys of a certain age, the topics of conversation among our friends go into a few select buckets– sports and entertainment, home repair, jobs/finance and the things our kids do. If you come up short in any of these areas, you’ll instantly feel left out.

It certainly was the case for me when my buddies would start talking about their kids – the milestones I longed for: their first swim class, playing catch. My mind often wondered how my offspring would react if I brought them into the press box to watch a hockey game. But it seemed like such a distant dream.

So while I was internalizing that side of the isolation, I assumed I was doing the right thing at home. I was listening to my wife. I was there for her. But because I was suffering silently, it affected us together. Shutting my feelings down to support my wife was only accomplishing so much, and actually hurting our efforts. Yes, I was hurting and feeling inadequate – but rather than open up, I went silent. This only grew the feelings of both of us being isolated.

My opening up came partly when we joined Fertility Matters Canada (then known as the Infertility Awareness Association of Canada). It was rare for guys to attend the local support group, and at first I was hesitant to come with my wife; but I went, and it was the best decision I ever made.

As we began to talk about our infertility journey together among other struggling to find their path to filling their family, I felt less like I was on an island and now had a community around me. It gave me strength in the moment and it carried forward— to an extent. Even amongst the newfound community, I was still feeling reserved, and amid the tribulations of daily life, I sunk back into a shell. 

It took a big step to get me to truly open up – speaking in media. As I had a history of public relations, I was asked to do a local radio segment on behalf of my support group. I did so anonymously the first time around, but felt so much more comfortable in my own skin afterward.

Speaking in this forum was emotional and I felt vulnerable; but I also felt inspired. As I got reactions from various places, I felt I was finally properly talking about my story. I began talking with my wife more, and prepping for what ended up being a cross-country journey to bring home our daughter.

This is what worked for me, but every male is different – some will talk openly, some will want as much anonymity as possible, and thankfully there are outlets such as ivf.ca and dontcookyourballs.com that provide this confidentiality.

Opening up is crucial. In order for a couple to soldier through the various impacts of infertility, they must do it together. Success comes when both are on board, conversing about options and opportunities. So it’s important to add support where possible, and keep the open ear and eye to the opportunities and watch for the cues that your partner is ready to start opening up.

Ultimately, the best support comes when both are engaged. Being in a positive environment and frame of mind will help you tackle the important infertility journey.

Together.