Perhaps one of the reasons that conversations about infertility are so difficult is that people are often encountering the experience for the first time without a shared language (Infertility: at a time when we need the right words, some are unable to find them, 21 March). In many ways, what people need is not just support, but a vocabulary for what they are going through. When someone loses a loved one, we have a go-to phrase: “I’m so sorry for your loss”. It’s not enough, but it’s something. With infertility, we don’t even have that.
When people don’t know what to say, they often reach for reassurance or positivity. This is usually well-intentioned, but it tends to reflect the discomfort of the person speaking rather than the needs of the person going through it.
If you don’t know what to say, it is often more helpful to say exactly that. Saying, “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here and I want to support you. Help me to understand what would be helpful” can feel far more genuine and containing. Ultimately, this is not about getting the wording “right”. It is about being able to tolerate discomfort, both in yourself and in someone else, and staying in the conversation.
Dr Louise Goddard-Crawley
Chartered member of the British Psychological Society
Nuala McGovern’s piece captured the emotional toll of infertility so acutely that it moved me to tears, despite the long time that has passed since I went through those experiences. I am now in my late 50s, but I well remember the clumsiness of “well-meaning” comments, the invasiveness of questions, and the projections of some weird hierarchy of effort and suffering that McGovern described. I also recognised her description of coming to the end of the road, and the mixture of grief and acceptance. Thank you for writing so beautifully on this topic.
Claire Nixon
Colchester, Essex
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