World Childless Week: What It’s Like Being A Member In The Worst Club Ever

In December of 2019, something happened to me that I never expected: a positive pregnancy test. This wasn’t my first positive pregnancy test, but it was my first positive since 2015. I had already entered into the acceptance phase of grief: I’d never conceive naturally and our calling was adoption. It had been so long since we had intentionally tried to conceive that pregnancy didn’t even cross my mind as a reason for my constant hunger and sore breasts. To satisfy the process of elimination, I took a pregnancy test with the expectation of the control line popping up solo in all its smug glory. Being a seasoned pregnancy test pro at this point, I used my trusty urine cup, dipped the test in, and sat it down flat on the counter. Usually, I would walk away from a pregnancy test to give myself the same pep talk: It’s going to be negative Kayla and you’re going to be okay. Then, I'd come back in a few minutes. But this time, as quickly as the control line revealed itself, so did the horizontal line displaying a positive test. I stared at the test feeling completely gutted. What a cruel joke that I would get some broken pregnancy test, even though in reality I knew that false positives don’t happen. So, I ripped open another wrapper and dipped the next test. Another bright positive revealed itself as quickly as its predecessor. One might think I’d be convinced at that point. But no. These are blue dye tests, I told myself knowing they were notorious for faint false positives, even though these were anything but faint. I need pink dye tests . My husband and I scurried to the nearest general store while I chugged water with the determination of a freshman frat bro. There’s something wrong with my urine. That has to be it. The next tests I would need to take with a fresh sample. This is the kind of crazy infertility produces in a person. Once home with a full bladder and armed with every brand of pregnancy test from digital to the dollar store brand, I started the process over. Within sixty seconds, my bathroom counter was lined with a beautiful row of two lines, plus signs, and digital tests reading “Pregnant.” We stood there stunned. Would this really be it? Did God finally deem me worthy to be a mother? I collapsed into my husband’s arms crying and celebrating. I called my mom and made her watch on Facetime as the unused tests would show positives within seconds. It was as if I needed her to believe it, too. If she believed, it was real. That was the best night of my life. I no longer feared my old “Baby Norris Nursery” Pinterest board. I could look in my baby box and peek at the sweet items I’d collected over the years. I knew deep in the back of my mind there was a strong chance we’d never meet this baby on this side of Heaven. But for that evening, I got to be like my peers. I got to be an expectant mother. We crammed an entire pregnancy’s worth of conversation into one night. We both knew this could be fleeting. Jack for a boy, I said proudly. Yeah we’ve always agreed on that. But what about a girl? My husband queried. I don’t know. Everyone is naming their girls Evelyn now. It doesn’t really matter, though. I’m positive this is a boy. We prayed, planned, and dreamed all night until we fell asleep in an alternate reality where those dreams came true. It was true bliss. It was perfect. We prayed, planned, and dreamed all night until we fell asleep in an alternate reality where those dreams came true. A week and a half later, we were back in this reality. Our baby was gone, again. My husband was unfairly forced to be strong for us, again. The dreams were dead, again. Part of me died, again. That was five years ago. Since then, we’ve had one more natural miscarriage, two failed adoption attempts, and lost two IVF pregnancies. This week is World Childless Week: a week dedicated to awareness of those that are childless not by choice (CNBC). We are the ones that scroll our newsfeeds and see stories of parents harming their own children and think, Why do they get children, God, and not me? We’re the ones who throw baby showers and cry after cleaning up. We’re the ones with boxes of baby items hidden in our closets. We are left out of friend groups because we don’t have anyone to bring to playdates. We are the guinea pigs of the medical community, self-injecting hormones and spending tens of thousands of dollars to be poked and prodded to ultimately end up with our doctors and nurses having their fingers crossed that it worked this time. We are the community of people judged for not fostering every child whose birth parents failed them. We’ve struggled with thoughts of self-harm because our bodies didn’t do the one thing it was supposed to do. We’ve left our husbands because we convinced ourselves they’d be better off without us and with someone who can get pregnant. We have been scammed by birth mothers, preyed upon by surrogates and adoption agencies, but more than anything, we’ve been failed by our own bodies. Those are the ugly realities of involuntary childlessness. I, of course, have to caveat that thousands of people have positive experiences with adoption and surrogacy. Those options can be the beautiful finish line for an incredibly hard fought battle. But once a couple that has struggled with infertility finally meets their baby, those are just some of the many challenges they may have faced along the way. Everything I listed has happened to us. No, infertility and involuntary childlessness aren’t particularly pleasant topics. But by the grace of God and the peace that passes understanding, the woman going through it learns to find new meaning in life. Walking Through Infertility With Someone You Know If you know someone who is walking this road like my husband and I are, I know it can be hard to know how best to comfort them. For some reason, we believe that when a person is opening up to us that they want our opinion. Trust me when I tell you, a woman going through infertility just wants you to listen and let her feel everything she needs to feel. Every single thing you could possibly say she has already tortured herself with, from medical and nutritional advice to positive thinking to prayer. She just needs you to comfort her and if she wants your opinion or advice, she will ask for it. Here are some practical do’s and don’t’s for being the best friend you can be to your childless-not-by-choice loved one: Don’t say: It’ll happen when it’s meant to. This seems harmless on the surface and I think a reasonable person would agree that it’s true. But it doesn’t help how we’re feeling today. Don’t say: Maybe it isn’t happening because you don’t believe it’ll happen. Someone actually said this to me. They’re no longer someone I open up to. The empirical evidence presented to me after thirteen years of infertility is that my body doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to. By all scientific methodology, I’m actually insane for continuing to try. Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is, in fact, the definition of insanity, right? But this isn’t like every other science experiment. There is only one way to get pregnant: sperm + egg + uterus = baby. I can’t control that is my only option. A person’s infertility is absolutely not the result of their lack of expectation and to suggest it is cruel. I hope I get pregnant someday. I don’t really expect to. And you don’t get it unless you get it. Don’t say: My hairdresser’s cat sitter’s daughter and her husband adopted and then they got pregnant. We have heard a million of these stories. But my story isn’t theirs and that might not be my outcome. I found peace in infertility when I accepted it may just be me, my husband, and the animals until the end. That is a life to celebrate. Not to endure. Don’t say: It’ll happen the moment you relax and stop trying. We stopped trying for a couple of years, got pregnant, and miscarried again. There is really only one thing you can say to those experiencing infertility. These may sound like the bitter ramblings of a woman scorned, but I assure you, I’m asking out of a place of self-preservation on behalf of my sisters in the same boat. There is really only one thing you can say to those experiencing infertility: I’m so sorry you’re going through this right now. Thank you for trusting me with your pain. I love you and I’m here for you. Do: Treat her to a brunch date. Overcoming infertility is very lonely and expensive. The sweetness of your company and the added surprise that you covered the bill for mimosas and brioche French toast could truly make her whole week. Do: Ask her how she’s doing with it and give her grace if she doesn’t want to talk about it right now. And if she doesn’t want to talk about it, ask her if she’d like to go kickboxing, plate smashing, or axe throwing to get out some of that anger. Do: Be her spa buddy. Chances are you need to relax, too. Unwind together. Do: Understand if she can’t plan or go to a baby shower. Your friend going through this isn’t unhappy for anyone who is having a baby. She’s just so deeply sad for herself and in the interest of protecting her heart, she chooses not to go into environments that could cause her to break. Do: Pray for her. Keep her on your prayer list, because when she does get to hold her baby for the first time, you will have the joy and honor of being part of the team that made it happen. I’ll leave you with this: a voicemail my best friend left me once I got the call that we lost our little girl in August of 2025. She knew I wasn’t ready to talk but she was there for me. And now I get to listen to this whenever I need to in this battle. Hey, I figured you probably didn't wanna talk, but I just wanted to call you anyway just to see. Just in case. Let me just pray for you… I'm just at… Kayla, I'm sorry. I love you so much. My God, thank you for Kayla. Thank you for her heart and how much she loves you and trusts you and just wants to do what you want for her life. We have no idea what you're doing, Lord. This is just another one of those times where there's hope that was crushed and I pray that you would be close to her and David… That you would help them to just rely on your comfort and your peace and your understanding in this impossible situation; in this situation that doesn't make any sense, Lord. We have no idea what you're doing and we have no idea why and what you're going to make out of this. I know David and Kayla are cherished by you, God. I pray that you would let this be a time that they can feel your presence and your love. Please be with Kayla and give her your unconditional love and peace. In your name we pray, Jesus, amen.