Choosing your team

In my community, starting a family is deeply tied to faith and tradition and I worried that IVF might be seen as ‘unnatural’ by my mosque community or my extended family.

But when I shared my journey with my parents and close relatives, the response surprised me. My mother offered to accompany me to appointments, help manage my medications, and prepare comforting meals. My father shared practical advice from his own life and reminded me to stay hopeful. My auntie and cousin checked in daily, helping me navigate the ups and downs of treatment.

When the first IVF cycle didn't succeed, the community didn't turn away. They prayed, offered meals, and sent messages of support. With this network of empathy and religious kindness, my partner and I felt seen, supported, and strengthened. Months later, I learned I was pregnant and the joyful news rippled through our circle. The mosque even hosted a small celebration!

Liam and I had been trying to grow our family for years without success when our doctor recommended IVF. It gave us fresh hope, but when we told our families the response was cold. My mum asked “Why can’t you just relax and let it happen naturally?” and Dad joked about ‘not needing all this science’. Liam's brothers just changed the subject like it was taboo or something.

Instead of comfort, I felt dismissed; instead of support, I got ignorance and subtle judgment. Liam tried to be strong, but without family in our corner we both felt so isolated. Conversations about appointments, medications, injections, and infertility were all met with either silence, vague reassurance, or avoidance.

The hardest part of the journey wasn't the treatment. It was feeling unheard by the people we loved most.

I made the decision early on not to involve lots of people. I've done the research, I know the statistics, and I'm pragmatic about the outcomes.

What I've learned is that telling people just creates more work for me. Managing their expectations, fielding their well-meaning but exhausting questions, dealing with their positivity being projected at me when I'm just trying to get through the day. I don't owe anyone anything from this process.

Working remotely has been a godsend. It's given me space to focus on other things, to read, to swim, to walk the dog, to keep myself calm without having to perform for anyone. I've set my boundaries, kept it vague, and spent time only with people who actually lift me up. I have enough to deal with without also managing other people's feelings about my fertility treatment.

“When I first started IVF, I thought I needed to handle everything on my own. I didn’t want to burden anyone. I felt like I had to stay strong and private but over time I realised how important it was to allow the people closest to me, my friends and family, to support me. I didn’t always need them to fix anything, just to be there, to check in, or to sit with me when things felt overwhelming.

I also learned that it helped me to talk about my journey, even when it felt uncomfortable. Sometimes that meant opening up to friends or family, and other times it meant speaking honestly with the clinic nurses and doctors. Sharing what I was going through made me feel less alone and reminded me that I didn’t have to carry everything by myself.

Looking back, social support became one of the most important parts of my IVF experience. Having social support made the journey feel more human and more manageable.