Adam Boxer and his wife have just welcomed new baby Orly, after suffering secondary infertility. He writes about the struggles to conceive in a culture which is often centred around children and babies
December 24, 2025 17:28
Just a few short weeks ago, our third child, Orly, entered our lives and brought light and joy to our home. We’re completely besotted and so proud of how well she is doing and of what wonderful older siblings our two other children, Sofia and Rafi, are becoming.
It is traditional at this point to thank the amazing staff at Watford General Hospital for all of their help and support in bringing Orly safely into this world. We do, however, also want to extend our thanks to the IVF London clinic in Borehamwood. Many of you may know that Orly was a long time coming, and Shifra and I struggled with unexpected and unexplained secondary infertility.
The last few years have been tough. Infertility is an extremely lonely process, and for no justifiable or rational reason, it brings with it feelings of guilt and isolation. The pathway to and through IVF is long, and places a substantial emotional, mental and financial burden on whoever is going through it. The horizons of your life become narrowed to a series of appointments, scans, treatments, consent forms, loan applications, injections, phone calls and negative pregnancy tests. Time has weighed heavily on us.
We have learnt much about ourselves. We have learnt how hard it is to struggle with infertility in a social context dominated by babies and children. You experience genuine feelings of love and blessing at the fruitfulness of your wider family, your friends and your community. However, those feelings are tarred by the irrational and guilt-inducing resentment from being in that context. Sharing your struggles then feels somehow inappropriate, as if doing so would dampen the joy of others, and perhaps even make them feel guilty or awkward around you.
The natural response then is to bury them and to hide your feelings and burdens. You then carry this thing within you, unspoken and uncommunicated but ever present, and the strain of hiding it and pretending it doesn’t exist places unbearable stress on the heart and mind. But you fear to vocalise it, because, in a sense, that makes it more real. You fear the emotions and vulnerabilities that will inevitably surface, and you worry how others will react.
We have learnt that our lives are understandably dominated by conversations about families and children. School places, drop-offs and pick-ups, birthday parties, crazy parent WhatsApp groups...
We have learnt that there are things that can intensify this emotional pain. For example, we have learnt to never ask anyone about their family plans – how many children they want, or whether they want them at all. We have learnt to never comment on the size of the gap that parents might have between children or to ask them if they’re waiting for the right time. We’ve learnt not to ask someone holding a newborn if they’re feeling broody, and we have learnt to hold a disposition that says: “If I knew the person I’m talking to was struggling with infertility, would I say what I am about to say?”
We have learnt that our lives are understandably dominated by conversations about families and children. School places, drop-offs and pick-ups, birthday parties, crazy parent WhatsApp groups, tax-free childcare, after-school clubs, swimming, gymnastics, and how we can’t afford to also send to ballet and music lessons. These are normal topics of conversation, and we are not for a second saying we shouldn’t have them. But we should also be ready to talk about other things. For many of us, a detailed discussion about local family farms and their relative merits and pricing structures might be a way to pass the time, but for someone struggling with infertility, it conjures mental images of longing, desperation and isolation. So yes, we continue to talk about such things, but we’ve learnt to also ensure we can talk about other things too.
We mention none of this to berate or to chastise. As I’ve tried to make clear, these are errors of insensitivity that we ourselves have been guilty of.
But equally, speaking openly and honestly is the only way to communicate what people might be going through. And as such, we have also learnt the value of talking and being able to share our difficulties.
An extreme reluctance to expose our inner worlds is, for so many of us, deeply natural, and a part of the human condition. But overcoming it is essential if we are to calm ourselves and approach the world with mental balance and fortitude. Shifra found that opening up to a small group of friends was a tremendous relief, and we are deeply grateful to all those who offered us their support. We hope to pay that support forward, and our door is always open to anyone who wants to talk.
And finally, we have learnt that if someone does honour you by sharing their struggles and entering into a dialogue with you, that dialogue is a two-way street. Express sympathy but then discuss. There’s no need to be shy or awkward or hesitant as you wait for further initiation. Check in and ask questions if you have them. If someone starts talking to you, they want to talk to you – they want to feel seen and heard by you, so help them feel seen and heard.
We are extraordinarily grateful and lucky to have Orly in our lives, and we hope that by sharing these struggles we might help others feel less alone.
The charity Chana provides support services to members of the Jewish community who are struggling with fertility: chana.org.uk or click here
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