Navigating fertility decisions can be one of the hardest parts of this journey.

When you’re not sure your heart can stand to break again

When you feel like giving up on everything.

When you start to wonder if this is something that works out for other people, but maybe not for you.

When the only question looping round your mind is:

Do I keep trying?
Or do I say enough is enough?

If I try again, will this finally be the time it works?
Or will I be left gathering up the pieces of myself all over again?

If I stop… will I always wonder what if?

Will we ever be OK?

When the uncertainty feels unbearable, it can seem as though you’re falling apart.

But something important is happening here.

You are coming back to yourself.
You are standing at a crossroads that really matters.

And the decision to continue, to pause, or to change direction altogether is not small. It is layered. It carries your hopes, your grief, your body, your relationship, your future. Of course it feels enormous. Of course it’s terrifying, confusing and near-impossible to figure out.

It would be SO much easier if there were a clear sign.

If we somehow knew that pregnancy was just around the corner with one more IVF cycle.
Or that it was about to happen naturally next month.
Or that our child was waiting for us through a different path entirely.

Or that we could stop, grieve and close this chapter knowing that we get to live amazing, fulfilling lives as we are. 

But instead, so often, we find ourselves wading through the dark.

It reminds me of the book We’re Going on a Bear Hunt — the line that repeatedly says “can’t go round it, can’t go under it, can’t go over it… got to go through it.”

Only this time the obstacles are,

“I’m too old.”
“My numbers aren’t good enough.”
“Maybe it’s just me.”
“It would be safer to stop.”
“I can’t bear to get this wrong.”
“My head is shouting one thing and my heart is whispering something else.”

It’s exhausting.

So how do you move through this?

How do you begin to know whether it’s right to keep going, to pause, or to carve out a different path?

One of the gentlest ways I’ve found is this:

The body-scan

Notice what happens in your body when you imagine each option.

Not fireworks. Not certainty.
Just subtle shifts.

When you picture trying again, does something inside you soften or expand — even by a millimetre?
When you imagine stopping, is there the faintest sense of exhale?
When you think about changing direction, does something open, even slightly?

And equally — is there a subtle tightening? A quiet contraction? A bracing?

These responses are often incredibly delicate. It isn’t dramatic intuition. It’s more like the smallest internal leaning — towards expansion or towards contraction.

This process of body-scanning has a way of quieting some of the chatter and noise, the internal dialogue on ‘what feel we should do’ and listens to what’s beneath that, a deeper sense of what is ever so quietly pulling us. 

Sometimes it gives that tiny spark of knowing a chance to come up to the surface, and with it some direction and relief.

And sometimes — completely honestly — it’s impossible to tell.

It can change from one day to the next. That doesn’t mean you’re flaky or confused. It means you’re human, and this matters deeply.

When everything feels tangled, another thing that can really help is gathering information.

Information Gathering

 

Not from a place of panic — but from a place of clarity.

Test results.
Second opinions.
Conversations with clinics
Exploring options that may have once felt off the radar.
Allowing yourself to look at avenues you previously dismissed or weren’t ready to think about.

Allowing yourself to voice your biggest concerns or fears, name your quiet hunches or the niggles that you keep coming back to but have held back on.

Information has a way of gently crystallising things that have felt impossible to unravel. It doesn’t always give you the answer — but it often shifts the fog just enough to see your next step.

You may not be 100% sure. You might not even be 60% sure.

You don’t need to be.

You just need to notice which option brings even the tiniest fraction more relief than the others. A barely perceptible loosening. A slight drop in the shoulders. That’s enough for now.

You are allowed to take one step.

And you are allowed to change direction if your inner compass shifts.

If your compass feels like it’s spinning wildly and panic is loud — pause. Give it time. Panic settles. Clarity rarely comes when we’re in full fight-or-flight. But it does return.

And please know this.

These decisions are profound. They ask so much of you. Wobbling. Doubting. Putting it down and picking it back up again. Feeling exposed. Questioning yourself. That isn’t weakness — it’s what happens when something matters beyond words.

You do not have to navigate this alone.

Supporting people through these exact crossroads — when intuition feels tangled up with fear, when logic and longing are wrestling with each other — is such a core part of my work.

Even when it feels impossible to distinguish instinct from anxiety, there is usually a way through. A next step. A steadying point.

And we can find it together.

Cath