Beyond The Wait...
A Newsletter for Those Navigating the Complex Emotions of Infertility
Issue #25 22nd December 2025
Dear Reader,
As we move through the Christmas season, I've been reflecting on how complicated this time of year can be when you're navigating fertility challenges.
Christmas is meant to be joyful, family-centred, and full of hope. But when you're on this journey, it can feel like the weight of everything you don't have becomes impossibly heavy.
For many of those I work with, the last few weeks have been filled with watching others prepare for Christmas with their growing families. Each pregnancy announcement at family gatherings, each "can you believe they're already this big?" comment, each excited discussion about Father Christmas visits, lands differently when you're still waiting for your longed-for child.
And then there's the guilt that comes with these feelings. "It's Christmas. I should just be happy. I should be grateful for what I have."
But, if anything, the grief of infertility is bigger at Christmas.
Deep Dive: When Christmas Highlights Everything You're Missing
Christmas brings its own specific grief when you're struggling with fertility. It's not just the absence of the baby you'd hoped to be celebrating with. It's layer upon layer of loss that this season makes impossible to ignore.
What Makes Christmas Grief Different
During the rest of the year, you might be able to compartmentalise your fertility struggles. You go to work, meet friends for dinner, have weekends that don't revolve entirely around treatment or the two-week wait. But Christmas strips away those distractions.
Christmas is family-focused in a way no other time of year is. Every tradition, every gathering, every festive event seems designed to highlight what's missing. The stocking you'd imagined hanging. The child who should be helping decorate the tree. The "first Christmas" you'd planned for.
And beyond the absence of your hoped-for baby, there's the loss of what Christmas used to be. The carefree Christmas you can’t have because of the weight you’re carrying. The innocence about pregnancy and family building that's been replaced with painful awareness. The ability to enjoy this season without your mind constantly calculating cycles, treatment schedules, and "maybe next year."
The Layers of Christmas Grief
When you're going through fertility challenges, Christmas grief compounds in ways that can feel overwhelming:
There's grief for the Christmas you're having versus the Christmas you'd imagined or hoped for. Perhaps by now you thought you'd be heavily pregnant, preparing a nursery, buying tiny festive outfits. Or maybe you'd planned to have a toddler opening presents, experiencing the magic for the first time.
There's grief watching others experience the family Christmases you desperately want. Seeing your siblings' children grow, watching friends share "baby's first Christmas" photos, navigating family gatherings where everyone else seems to have what you're longing for.
There's grief for the person you were before this journey started. The you who could enjoy Christmas without this constant undercurrent of sadness. The you who didn't have to prepare yourself before opening social media or walking into a family gathering.
And there's often grief that no one else seems to understand the weight you're carrying. Well-meaning family members asking, "any news?" over Christmas dinner. Friends assuming you're just busy rather than actively avoiding situations that hurt. The loneliness of carrying this pain through what's meant to be the most connected time of year.
Why This Grief Is Valid
I want to be clear that this grief is completely valid and understandable. You're not being negative or ungrateful. You're not ruining Christmas or being difficult. You're experiencing a genuine loss that happens to be most acute during a season that centres around the very thing you're grieving.
Of course, Christmas is hard when every carol, every tradition, every family gathering reminds you of what you don't have yet. Of course, it's painful watching others take for granted what you'd give anything for. Of course, you feel robbed of the carefree Christmas joy you once knew.
This isn't about lacking Christmas “spirit”. It's about carrying a profound loss through a season that offers no space for that loss.
What Can Help
While nothing makes this completely better, there are some things that might ease the weight:
Give yourself permission to do Christmas differently. You don't have to attend every gathering or maintain every tradition. It's okay to say no to the Christmas Eve service if pregnancy announcements are likely. It's okay to skip the family gathering if being around children feels too much right now. Protecting yourself isn't selfish.
Be honest with trusted people about what you need. Maybe that's your partner knowing you need an exit strategy at family events. Maybe it's telling a close friend you can't do the usual Christmas catch-up this year. Maybe it's asking family not to ask about your fertility journey over Christmas dinner.
Create moments of genuine rest and kindness for yourself. This might mean a quiet walk away from the festivities. A favourite film that has nothing to do with families or babies. Time with your partner doing something that feels like your own, rather than everyone else's Christmas.
And perhaps most importantly, acknowledge what you're grieving. Not to wallow, but to honour the reality of your experience. You're allowed to love Christmas and find it painful. You're allowed to feel joy in moments and deep sadness in others. Both are true. Both deserve space. You’re also allowed to not find a single piece of happiness this Christmas – that’s valid too.
This Week's Self-Care Exercise: Writing What You're Grieving
This Christmas, try writing down what you're grieving. Not in a way that keeps you stuck, but in a way that honours these losses.
You might write:
"This Christmas I'm grieving the carefree joy I used to have during this season."
"This Christmas I'm grieving the baby I hoped would be here by now."
"This Christmas I'm grieving the version of our family I'd imagined."
After you've written your griefs, read them back to yourself with compassion. You might even say to yourself: "Of course this is hard. These losses are real."
You don't need to do anything with these griefs except acknowledge them. Sometimes that's enough to ease the weight just slightly.
Let me know your thoughts
How are you navigating Christmas this year? I'd love to hear what you're finding helpful, or what you're struggling with. Your experiences matter, especially during seasons like this.
Remember Reader: You did not choose this, it is not your fault, and you are not alone.
With compassion,
Dr. Grace 💕
@thenotsofertilepsychologist
