Beyond The Wait...
A Newsletter for Those Navigating the Complex Emotions of Infertility
Issue #31 15th June 2026
Dear Reader,
June is here which means the days are long, the sun is making an appearance, and everywhere you look the world seems to have collectively decided to be happy about it.
The pub gardens are full, the social invitations have ramped up, everyone's Instagram is all sunshine, rosé, and long evenings with friends. There is Wimbledon, festivals, beach trips, and the collective mood is lifting as it always does when the weather turns.
And if you are navigating a fertility journey right now, you might be reading all of that and thinking, “I just can't get there”.
This month, I want to talk about just that. The painful differences between the summer everyone else is having, and the one you are.
Deep Dive: When Everyone Else Gets a Summer
The Exhaustion of Summer
There is something really hard about struggling in summer. In winter, it feels like you have permission to be a little quieter, a little more inward. Nobody questions it when you'd rather stay home.
But summer is different. There is an expectation that you should be out being social and having fun. And when you’re not in the mood for that, there's an added layer of difficulty, because the gap between your life and everyone else’s feels even bigger.
The fertility journey doesn't pause for summer. The two-week wait doesn't care that it's a bank holiday weekend. Grief doesn't lift because the sun is out. And the contrast between what you're carrying and what everyone around you is doing, can make everything feel lonelier.
The Triggers
Of course, summer also brings lots of triggers. For some reason it feels like there are pregnancy announcements and bumps everywhere. Increased socialising means navigating questions about your plans and your drink choices. And it’s baby shower galore.
Each of these are incredibly hard. They are not something to push through, to be positive about, to manage with a fake smile and a quiet word to yourself in the bathroom.
Even the happiness of summer itself can be triggering. The colleague who keeps saying "isn't it glorious." The social media feeds full of holidays and sunsets and people who seem, from the outside, to be having the summer you were supposed to be having.
None of these people are doing anything wrong but, when you are grieving, being surrounded by happiness that you cannot access is so painful
It can also bring up something that feels uncomfortable to admit, a resentment toward the general cheerfulness of everything. A weariness toward people who are unburdened enough to just enjoy a warm evening without being dragged down by fertility dread.
And then guilt often follows. Guilt about feeling that resentment, because you “shouldn’t” begrudge people their happiness.
There is not something wrong with you. This is what grief does. Holding the pain around not being in the same place as friends (both milestone and emotion wise), surrounded by bunting and prosecco, is exhausting.
What Might Actually Help
Trying to match people’s energy when you don’t have any, will exhaust you further. Giving yourself permission to be where you actually are, even when the sun is out, is not giving up. It leaves you space to stop fighting your feelings.
That might look like being selective about what you say yes to this summer. It might look like finding one or two people who can hold space for you being meh without trying to fix it. It might look like letting yourself sit in the garden and feel whatever you feel, rather than pretending all is well when it isn’t.
And it might mean allowing yourself some genuine moments of lightness when they come.
This Week's Self-Care Exercise: One True Thing
This is a short grounding practice for moments when the gap between your mood and others feels particularly big.
When you notice that contrast, at a gathering, scrolling your phone, or simply sitting in the sunshine feeling nothing like you're supposed to, pause and gently ask yourself: what is one true thing about how I actually feel right now?
Not how you think you should feel. Just one honest, specific thing. I feel tired. I feel left behind. I feel sad that this is so hard. I feel angry. I feel okay, actually, just for this moment.
Say it quietly to yourself, or write it down if that helps. Acknowledge it as valid, because it is.
Then ask: is there one small thing, right now, that I can do to support myself? It might be stepping away from the gathering for a few minutes. It might be a text to someone who gets it. It might simply be a quiet of course this is hard acknowledgement.
Let me know your thoughts
How are you finding summer so far? Whether it's the social calendar, the ambient cheerfulness, or something else entirely, I'd genuinely love to hear. You can reply directly to this email.
Remember Reader: You did not choose this, it is not your fault, and you are not alone.
With compassion,
Dr. Grace 💕
@thenotsofertilepsychologist
