Apollo Blog Series- From Fertility to Menopause: The Mental Health of Motherhood
Becoming a Mother, Becoming Yourself
By: Lindsay Kate Skinner LPC,NCC
The mental and emotional journey of trying to conceive and infertility
I remember what it felt like to wait. When we were trying for our first, it took seven months. And even writing that, I feel the tension of knowing that is a small amount of time in many journeys, but to others, it feels like everything. What I remember most wasn’t the timeline, but the quiet emotional weight that came with it. I remember sitting on the beach accepting I was not pregnant again, beginning to travel years into the future where I may never experience pregnancy. Each month carried hope. And each month that didn’t end the way we hoped it would, there was a subtle kind of heartbreak.
At the same time, I was walking closely with friends whose stories held even more grief. They had spent years of trying, and years of loss. They had pregnancies that ended in miscarriage, and tears that didn’t always have words. Sitting with them changed me. It started to give me language for something I had only begun to taste myself.
Research in reproductive psychology consistently reflects this lived experience. Studies in journals such as Journal of Psychosomatic Obstetrics & Gynecology and Human Reproduction have found that individuals trying to conceive often experience clinically significant levels of anxiety and depression, even prior to fertility treatment. One large study found that rates of distress which included anxiety and “infertility-specific distress”, are comparable whether someone is just beginning to try, considering treatment, or actively undergoing treatment, highlighting that emotional burden is present from the very beginning of the journey.
This season of trying, waiting, and not knowing, is often much heavier than people expect.
Before a pregnancy test turns positive, before a baby is held, there is often a quiet, tender space filled with hope, waiting, and questions. Trying to conceive can be deeply meaningful, but it can also feel emotionally complex in ways many don’t expect.
Holding hope and disappointment at once
A theme I feel comes up in so many stories in therapy, is sitting with two emotions at once. We see this in many seasons of motherhood, but I think we become more aware of it in these months of trying to conceive. Each month can carry its own emotional rhythm. There may be hope at the beginning of a cycle, careful optimism in the middle, and anxiety as you wait. When a cycle ends without pregnancy, it can bring a quiet kind of grief. This is one that isn’t always acknowledged by others, but is deeply felt.
This can be referred to as disenfranchised grief or ambiguous grief. Grief that does not have clear social recognition or ritual, even though the emotional experience is real and significant. Qualitative research in infertility populations describes this grief as both persistent and cumulative, often intensifying over time with repeated loss experiences such as negative tests or miscarriage.
It brings questions like:
Why is this so hard for me?
Why does it seem easier for everyone else?
Am I doing something wrong?
These thoughts are not uncommon. They are part of a nervous system trying to make sense of uncertainty and perceived loss.
The pressure to “do everything right”
Trying to conceive can quickly become something that feels like it needs to be managed perfectly. Being human… makes this pretty hard to attain. Tracking ovulation, researching supplements, adjusting routines. It is easy to see that what begins as intention can slowly turn into pressure.
Clinically, this aligns with what research identifies as intolerance of uncertainty, a strong predictor of anxiety in individuals experiencing infertility. Studies in reproductive mental health have shown that higher uncertainty is associated with increased depressive symptoms, anxiety, and obsessive tracking behaviors, even when medical prognostic factors are normal.
With that pressure often comes anxiety:
Hyper-awareness of your body
Constant mental calculations
Difficulty “turning it off”
Fear of missing something important
Weight that each choice you make is in control of the outcome
For individuals already prone to anxiety or perfectionism, this stage can feel especially consuming.
The impact on identity and relationships
This season can also quietly shape how you see yourself.
You may feel like your life is “on hold” or that you’re waiting for the next chapter to begin. Social situations can feel harder, especially around pregnancy announcements or conversations about children. Comparison can creep in, even when you don’t want it to.
Research on infertility distress consistently highlights a theme that often surprises people: demographic or medical variables (how long someone has been trying, or how “medically severe” infertility is) do not always predict emotional distress. Instead, psychological factors like coping style, self-compassion, and relationship satisfaction tend to be more strongly linked to emotional outcomes.
In other words, this experience is not always “about how bad it is on paper.” It is about how deeply it is lived.
Relationships can feel the impact too. Partners may process this experience differently, which can lead to disconnection or misunderstanding. What one person feels deeply, the other may not express in the same way.
None of this means something is wrong. This means something important is happening.
You are allowed to feel all of it
One of the most important things to understand in this season is that your emotional experience is valid.
You can feel:
Hopeful and discouraged
Grateful and disappointed
Patient and overwhelmed
All at the same time.
Finding ways to stay grounded
While this season can feel consuming, small practices can help create space and steadiness:
Create boundaries around tracking and research
Name what you’re feeling without judgment
Stay connected to identity outside of TTC
Limit comparison where possible
Psychotherapy research consistently supports that interventions like mindfulness, self-compassion, and reducing experiential avoidance are associated with lower depression and anxiety in infertility populations, suggesting that emotional regulation (not control over outcomes) is often where relief is found.
You don’t have to do this alone
Support during this time can make a meaningful difference, but many people aren’t sure how to ask for it, or feel like others won’t fully understand.
It can help to:
Share openly with a trusted friend or partner
Communicate specific needs (even simple ones, like “just listen”)
Seek counseling support if the emotional weight feels heavy
Research consistently shows that individuals experiencing infertility actively report a strong desire for emotional and psychological support, yet many are not routinely screened or supported within medical settings.
You deserve care in this season, not just when a baby arrives, but now.
This is part of your story, too
Trying to conceive is not just a medical process, it is an emotional and psychological experience shaped by hope, uncertainty, identity, and meaning-making. If this season feels heavier than you expected, you’re not alone in that.
And if no one has said it yet, you are allowed to be supported here, too.
About the Author
Lindsay Kate Skinner is a dedicated professional at Apollo Counseling, where she combines her expertise in mental health with a genuine passion for supporting individuals on their journeys to well-being. Her approach emphasizes empathy and understanding, creating a safe space for clients to explore their thoughts and feelings. Lindsay Kate is committed to empowering those she works with, helping them to develop resilience and coping strategies that promote personal growth and healing. With a focus on holistic care, she strives to guide her clients toward achieving their goals and finding balance in their lives. Get Connected!
