Have you had a day like this? You finally feel like your head is above water. You have some relief, some room to think about the rest of your life. And then your partner turns to you and says, in so many words, "I'm drowning. I need to talk about this right now."
Some of the hardest moments for couples in infertility and loss are not the big ones. They are ordinary evenings like that, when one partner is coming up for air and the other is going under.
Ginny Lupka and I talked about this after our conversation with Johnny and Susan, a couple who shared their story on the podcast. As Ginny summarized it, they lived through the loss of triplets, the loss of twins, failed adoptions, and serious health trauma, one loss after another. They have had decades to look back on it. What struck both of us was that they seemed to go through it together.
Listening for "we"
One thing I noticed right away was how much Johnny and Susan used "we" and "us" instead of "I," "me," or "you." That is something I actually listen for when I do an initial assessment with a couple. John Gottman calls it "we-ness." It is a tough word. (John, if you're listening, could you fix that word in your spare time, please?) But it points to something real: the sense that together we can navigate this as a couple, and that we prioritize our relationship and how we care for each other, no matter the outcome of our efforts to become parents.
That does not make the road to parenthood any less hard. Infertility, loss, adoption, and surrogacy are difficult, and they deserve space. And we can hold that space with each other.
When couples are more attuned to each other, there is more room to turn down the heat in conflict. I think of it like a scale. When we raise connection and attunement outside of conflict, the heat in the conflict goes down.
Why attunement is so hard when you are grieving
What makes this tricky during infertility and miscarriage is that our brains lean much more on the survival system. We run on adrenaline, and adrenaline is about survival. Adrenaline is about me. It does not care whether I am in a relationship.
What we need for attunement is the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that lets us be curious, rely on our values, and assume goodwill. I tell people that if there is a lion in the corner of the room, I am not going to be curious about it. I am not going to wonder whether it eats skinny white guys. I am going to get out of there.
Ginny added something important here. With reproductive trauma, the lion keeps showing up. There are appointments, cycles, treatments, and losses, and it is hard to find space for attunement when the threat is ongoing rather than behind you.
The metaphor I use for grief is a rock in your pocket, and I think it applies to trauma too. When you first put the rock in your pocket, you feel all of it: the edges, the cold. It is the same when you see the lion for the first time. That third failed pregnancy test. The message from the doctor that IVF is your best route. The ultrasound where they cannot find a heartbeat. Your body reacts, because your fight-or-flight response is trying to keep you safe. Over time, going to appointment after appointment, your body becomes a little desensitized. And it keeps coming up anyway.
Hold the space instead of solving the problem
In those moments, the most helpful thing is to avoid problem-solving, because it is not a problem to be solved. It is about holding space for the grief, the hopelessness, whatever the emotion is. Your partner can simply say, "Babe, this is hard."
Then they can add what I call a meta comment: saying what you want for your partner and how you want them to feel from you. Something like, "I really want you to feel supported by me right now," or "In this moment, when you feel so hopeless, I want you to feel like I'm with you." It lets your partner know your intention, what you want for them and what you want for the two of you.
I want to be honest that these moments are intense. Some of the most intense conversations my wife and I have ever had happened during our infertility experience, and that holds true for the couples we serve. It is hard. It is also not impossible to just be there for each other.
Different waves, same ocean
Every couple I have worked with through infertility, miscarriage, adoption, or surrogacy has experienced waves of grief that wash over each partner individually. One of you might be riding a wave that is going up. You feel hopeful, or grateful, or like you finally have some relief. The other is riding a wave going down and feels like they are drowning.
If you are a couple going through infertility or loss, that will happen. It does not have to mean anything about either of you.
What I often see is that the partner who is feeling hopeful will say something like, "You're dragging me down." That will be heard as criticism, and it is something we want to avoid. Instead, step into each other's experience with open hands and humility.
It helps to have the conversation outside of the intense moments. With genuine curiosity, ask:
When I'm having a hopeful day and you're feeling like you're drowning, how can I be there for you?
What do you really need from me?
Is there anything I'm doing that's unhelpful?
Then be humble enough to take the feedback. That is one of the defining things I see in the couples who manage those intense moments well.
If you are listening to this and thinking it sounds impossible, I hear you. It truly is overwhelming. When Marjorie and I were going through infertility, I wanted to rescue her out of her bad days. I would say things like "Just be positive" or "Our doctor has a lot of hope in this treatment." That is not what she needed. She needed me to just be there with her.
The fact that she was feeling despair and I was feeling hope did not have to mean anything for my hope. I could still hold it. It takes work to step outside yourself and say, "I'm holding hope, and I'm also holding my partner's despair, and I'm going to be here for both."
It is okay if you are not ready to share yet
Johnny and Susan now use their story to support other people, and Ginny pointed out how meaningful that is. She also said, and I agree, that not everyone has the capacity to do that while they are in the thick of it, and that is okay.
Early in our own experience, there were times when people told me they were going through infertility and I did not share back. I would just say, "Oh, that's so hard. I'm so sorry." I did not have the space or bandwidth yet.
Today it is different. Not long ago, someone I know mentioned she was having a miscarriage. I closed my eyes and said, "I am so sorry. My wife and I know intimately what that's like." I could tell from the way she looked at me that she felt seen, and we talked about it for a while. For some couples, being able to do that comes years later. It has been eight years since Marjorie and I started trying to build our family, and we have done the work in our relationship to get here. When it comes, that kind of shared meaning can become a deeply bonding part of your relationship.
One practical tool: gentle startup
Here is the tool I usually start couples with. It is called a gentle startup, and it is paired with taking ownership.
The opposite of it is what John Gottman calls the four horsemen: criticism, defensiveness, contempt, and stonewalling. The first two often go together. Someone makes a critical "you" statement, or something that implies criticism. It can even be a question, like "Why did you load the dishwasher like that?" The other person receives it defensively and dismisses their partner.
The antidote is to bring up your emotional need gently, and for your partner to receive it by taking ownership. The structure I use is simple: I feel ___, about ___, and I need ___.
For example: "I feel really hopeless today about where we're at with treatment, and I really need you to just be with me." Or, "I need to take a break." Or, "I need us to go take a walk. Will you hold my hand while we walk?"
Taking ownership sounds like: "Wow, I see you, babe. That makes sense. Let's make that happen."
Ginny added a helpful point about differentiation. A gentle startup lets the listening partner hear their partner's emotions without feeling like those emotions are theirs to fix. You are a team, and you are still individuals within it. You can feel your partner's emotions through empathy while knowing they are still your partner's.
I think of it this way: my emotions are part of me, and they can ride in the passenger seat, but they do not get to drive when I am talking with my partner. The driver's seat is reserved for me, with compassion and care for my partner. I can feel disappointed that my partner is not in the same place I am, hold space for that, and also step back and simply observe it without judgment.
Try it this week. Be curious about how it comes up for you and how it lands. You might even invite a conversation with your partner: When is this hard for you to do? When is it hard for me?
