We never imagined we would be here, sharing our heartbreak publicly and asking for help to build the family we have fought so hard for.

For months, friends and acquaintances alike have been encouraging us to set up a GoFundMe for IVF, and honestly, I resisted it hard. There are children battling cancer, families rebuilding after losing homes, people facing tragedies far greater than ours. Asking for help to build a family felt uncomfortable and honestly a little embarrassing.

But after a lot of prayer, processing, ugly crying, spreadsheets, medical appointments, and selling random household treasures like Facebook Marketplace pirates, here we are.

And the truth is… this matters to us.

For those who don’t know our story, having a family has been anything but straightforward.

Before we met, my husband was previously married, and kids were not part of that chapter of his life. Since we’ve been together, he has gone through TWO vasectomy reversals trying to make this happen. Both failed. That was painful in more ways than one, and I will never look at peas the same way again (if you know, you know).

As for me, I waited intentionally to have children. I grew up in a home that was unstable financially and emotionally at times, and I made a promise to myself very young that if I ever became a parent, my child would grow up safe, loved, emotionally secure, with lights that stayed on and food in the fridge. I waited for the right partner, the right stability, and the kind of home I never wanted a child to question.

And then life reminded us that timing is both important and incredibly annoying.

Earlier this year, we almost became parents through adoption. We had prepared our hearts, our home, and our lives for a baby we truly believed was coming home to us. In the end, the birth mother chose to parent. We completely respect her decision, but it broke our hearts in ways I still probably cannot fully explain.

And honestly, the empty nursery in our home has been hard. Really hard. There’s something uniquely painful about walking past a room that was supposed to hold so much joy and now just quietly holds hope, grief, and a lot of unanswered prayers.

After that, we explored every possible path forward.

Traditional IVF costs around $45,000-ish once medications, monitoring appointments, egg retrieval, embryo creation, testing, embryo transfer procedures, and specialist care all get added in. Unfortunately, while we are incredibly thankful to have otherwise excellent insurance coverage, IVF is not covered under our plan.

We are financially stable, and we fully understand the long-term financial responsibility that comes with raising a child. This is not about being unable to provide for a family. It’s about navigating a very large, time-sensitive medical expense that falls almost entirely out of pocket.

We looked into embryo donation, which lowers the cost significantly, but because apparently fertility medicine likes to humble people, we are not eligible due to age. We are also not candidates for traditional adoption in the U.S. for the same reason.

And yes, there is financing available for fertility treatments. We know that. But after spending years working hard to build stability in our lives, we are trying to be thoughtful about not starting this chapter buried under overwhelming medical debt if we can avoid it.

The reality is that I am 39, turning 40 next month, and fertility timelines are not exactly known for being emotionally gentle. This really is a now-or-never season for us.

Ironically, the encouraging part is that my preliminary medical testing came back really positive. Apparently my “lady parts” are thriving. My hormone levels, egg counts, and overall reproductive health were described as looking more like someone in their early 30s. Our fertility specialist is optimistic enough that they are even offering us a limited-risk IVF option because they feel strongly about our chances of success.

But we also know fertility can change quickly, especially at my age, which makes the clock feel very loud right now.

So… here we are. Somewhere between hopeful and exhausted.

Infertility can feel incredibly isolating, and being vulnerable about it publicly is honestly terrifying. But in recent weeks, while explaining to people why I was selling treasured things like my beloved Crisloid mahjong set, something unexpected happened.

Women — some close friends, some acquaintances, some practically strangers — started sharing their own fertility journeys with me. Some successful. Some heartbreaking. Some still unfinished. The raw honesty, kindness, encouragement, prayers, and willingness of complete strangers to open their hearts and continue checking in on me has meant more than I can properly explain. It has made this feel far less lonely.

We’ve truly tried to fund this ourselves first. I sold my beloved mahjong set (which honestly hurt more than some of the medical testing). My husband has sold some of his favorite “toys.” We’ve cut expenses, rearranged priorities, etc.

I have always found so much joy in blessing other people, through gifts, homemade food, opening our home, giving people a place to stay, helping however I can. Receiving those same kinds of love and support in return has always been much harder for me. Allowing people to help feels vulnerable in a way I am still learning to be comfortable with.

But giving up on the dream of having a family feels worse.

So if you feel led to support us, financially, by sharing this post, through prayers, encouragement, fertility advice, funny memes, or simply checking in on us along the way, we would be incredibly grateful.

And if you cannot give, please truly do not feel bad. We know times are hard for many people right now. Your kindness, messages, support, and well wishes already mean more than you probably realize.

Thank you for loving us through this weird, painful, hopeful, beautiful journey.