Receiving an infertility diagnosis can bring a profound and often unexpected sense of grief. There is the grief many of us recognize—the grief of loss: the loss of a pregnancy, an embryo, or the hope that comes with a failed transfer. But infertility can also create a more complicated kind of grief: the loss of how you once understood yourself and your future.

Many of us grow up being taught how not to get pregnant, which can leave us with the assumption that conceiving and carrying a pregnancy will be easy when the time is right. We focus on our education, our careers, and our relationships, trusting that starting a family will happen when we’re ready. So when we’re told that it may not be so simple, it can feel like the ground shifts beneath us. The future we imagined suddenly feels uncertain. Worry, anger, and deep sadness often follow—and all of these emotional responses are valid.

For Black women, this grief is often intensified by additional layers of social and cultural pressure. Harmful stereotypes about Black women being “extra fertile” can make infertility feel isolating or shameful. There may also be stigma around pursuing fertility treatment, particularly as a single woman, alongside strong cultural or community expectations about motherhood. When these expectations aren’t met, the emotional toll can grow heavier, compounding the grief that already exists.

There has been meaningful progress in addressing the unique needs of Black women in perinatal health. Organizations such as the Black Maternal Health Collective of Canada, MinoCare, and Women’s Health in Women’s Hands have led important work in this space. New organizations, like the Black Fertility Agency, are also emerging to support Black individuals and families navigating the trying-to-conceive journey. While culturally competent medical care is essential, emotional and mental health support remains just as important.

Therapy cannot take away the pain of an infertility diagnosis, but it can offer relief. Individual therapy can provide a safe space to process grief, name difficult emotions, and feel seen and validated in your experience. It can act as a pressure release—helping you carry the weight of this journey with more support, compassion, and care for your mental health.

You do not have to navigate this grief alone, and needing support does not mean you are failing. It means you are human.

If you wish to connect with Nakema to process your experience, please book here.