Saying Yes To Joy, Despite It All

There’s this quiet narrative that can take hold when you’re in the middle of infertility, the idea that joy should wait. That you have to pause things, say no, hold off, just for a little while… until it works.

I have said no to so many things over the years. I missed my sister’s wedding. I skipped out on trips that, looking back, wouldn’t have made a single difference in the outcome. I turned down glasses of wine, dinners, experiences, all in the name of “just maybe this is the month.” But those months turned into years, and the truth is, none of those sacrifices changed what was going to happen. All they did was take pieces of my life with them.

I’ve been dealing with infertility and IVF for 6 years now, so I can tell you with certainty that we don’t get that time back.

This last spring, I had my eighth miscarriage from an embryo transfer. She was barely there for a moment, and then she was gone. I had put everything into that transfer. Every protocol, every supplement, even the experimental things because I needed to know we tried it all. And now I find myself in what I can only describe as my healing era (yet again!). We’re still in it, still grieving, still trying to figure out what comes next, but also trying to figure out how to keep living in the middle of it.

My husband and I had some hard decisions to make. We have spent so much money already without results, what do we keep spending on? Do we try again and hope the spaghetti thrown at the wall finally sticks? Forgo some of the more costly add-ons that aren’t yet proven but we hoped would make a difference? Move onto another route entirely? So much to consider, and amid so much pain.

Instead of having all of those hard conversations at home, surrounded by reminders of everything we’ve been through, we decided to step away for a couple of days.

We took a short trip out to Russian River and stayed at The Stavrand in Guerneville, just a bit outside of San Francisco, and from the moment we walked up, I felt that this was going to be a healing place.

Tucked into the redwoods, it’s quiet in a way that you don’t realize you’ve been craving until you’re in it. The air felt clean, all we could hear were birds, and everything about the welcome felt calm and intentional. We were shown to our room and surprised with an upgrade to one with a private hot tub (I spent quite a bit of time there!). I saw this as a sign, a reminder that there is joy in moments outside of pregnancy, like hot tubs!

Of course, we needed somewhere dog-friendly so Row could come with us, and I always say there’s a difference between “dog permitted” and truly “dog friendly” - this was absolutely the latter! Row was probably the most popular guest at the hotel, unsurprisingly.

What I loved most about the stay was that it allowed me to exist in both spaces at once. I did spend a little time researching our last protocol, because that’s just where my brain goes, but I was doing it by the pool, surrounded by trees instead of stress.

We took a hike through the redwoods and I learned how to identify poison oak (not the hard way, don’t worry). We also enjoyed the bikes available to guests for a ride into town -I wanted to move my body since I was finally feeling more comfortable in it again, and especially because a huge amount of the trip included plenty of wine and food. Like I said, I’m in my “yes” era!

Speaking of food and wine… There’s a complimentary breakfast each morning and wine tasting in the evenings, and one night we treated ourselves to a five-course dinner. They were incredibly accommodating with my dietary restrictions, which is so rare with a pre-fixed menu, and everything felt thoughtful without being fussy. I also discovered chrysanthemum blossoms, which are now my new favorite thing and something I will absolutely be searching for at home!

We spent our evenings by the fire, talking, resting, just being together. This trip gave me was a reminder that we are allowed to feel joy, even when we are deep in grief. Even when things are uncertain. Even when it feels like everything is heavy.

Infertility asks so much of us - our time, our money, our bodies, our relationships. And while there are sacrifices that come with it, it cannot be everything. Because our lives are still happening, and the years will pass by whether you are enjoying them or not.

Sitting there, in the quiet of the redwoods, I was reminded that we are already a family. Just Bob, Row and I. And that is something worth honoring, worth experiencing, worth saying yes to more joy.

So this is me, gently encouraging you (and honestly, reminding myself!) to find those moments where you can. To say yes when it feels possible. To let joy in, even if it sits right alongside the ache.

Because we deserve that too.