My name is Charlotte, and I’m from New Zealand. I’ve been trying to become a mum for six years. When I first started trying, I was 30. I honestly thought it would just happen eventually. I never imagined I’d be sitting here at 36, still hoping, still waiting, and still wondering when it will finally be my turn.
For a long time, IVF just wasn’t something we could afford. In New Zealand, it isn’t covered for everyone, and for us it felt completely out of reach. So we kept trying naturally. Every month I convinced myself maybe this would be it, and every month I found myself staring at another negative test, trying to figure out how to pick myself up and do it all again.
The hardest part wasn’t just not getting pregnant. It was what it slowly did to the way I saw myself. I started wondering if something was wrong with me. I questioned everything. I blamed my body. I blamed myself. Even though I know now that infertility isn’t something anyone chooses, I carried so much shame. I felt like I was somehow failing at the one thing I wanted most.
It’s strange how something you never talk about can become the loudest thing in your life.
My partner has been incredible through all of this. He’s never made me feel like I was too emotional or too much. He’s been patient, supportive and endlessly hopeful, even on the days when I couldn’t be.
But this journey is different when you’re the one living it in your body. Every month I noticed every symptom, every change, every disappointment. I was the one constantly wondering what I’d done wrong or what I could do differently. I don’t think anyone can completely understand that unless they’ve lived it themselves. I stopped expecting him to fully understand and instead became grateful that he never stopped standing beside me.
There was a point where I realised trying for a baby had quietly taken over our whole relationship. Everything revolved around tracking ovulation, timing intercourse and getting through those long two weeks, hoping this month would be different. Then came the disappointment when it wasn’t. We weren’t laughing as much anymore. We weren’t just enjoying being together.
I knew I didn’t want infertility to become the whole story of our relationship. We had to choose each other as much as we were choosing this dream of becoming parents. I honestly think making that decision helped us find each other again.
One of the hardest parts has been watching my sisters become mums. I love them, and I love my nieces and nephews more than I can put into words. But there were times when I could see the sadness in their eyes when they looked at me. They wanted this for me just as much as I did, and I know it hurt them to see me hurting. I hated feeling like people felt sorry for me, even though I knew it came from a place of love. There were moments when I was genuinely happy for them while also going home and crying because my heart was breaking a little more. Both of those feelings existed at the same time.
People sometimes ask if I’ve ever thought about giving up. The truth is, no. There have been days where I’ve been exhausted. Days where I’ve wondered how much more disappointment one person can take. But something inside me has always said, “Keep going.” I can’t really explain it. I just haven’t been ready to let go of this dream.
Now, after years of saving and with the incredible support of my family, we’ve finally managed to afford one IVF cycle. Just one. It’s hard not to think about everything resting on this chance, but I’m trying not to put that pressure on myself. I’m trying to remind myself that all I can do is show up, trust the process and hope.
I’m scared, but I’m hopeful. And after six years, I still believe it’s possible. Whatever happens, I know I’ve given everything I have to this journey.
I’m ready to take this next step. And I’m not done yet.
With a hopeful heart, Charlotte
@Charlotte, thank you for letting us into such a personal part of your journey. Six years of trying, waiting, and carrying so much quietly — yet you’re still here, still hoping, and still moving forward.
