Trying to Conceive: Hope, Pressure, and the Quiet Strength of Waiting

When we decided we were ready to try for another baby, I imagined a few quiet months of anticipation and then a sweet little line on a test. I didn’t expect the rollercoaster of hope, disappointment, obsession, and vulnerability that would take over my life.

Today’s world doesn’t make trying to conceive (TTC) any easier. We have fertility tracking apps, ovulation strips, wearable tech, hormone tests at home—and while all of that is empowering, it can also turn the process into a full-time job. Add in TikToks about “what worked for me,” headlines about declining fertility rates, and the pressure to “not stress too much,” and it becomes a cocktail of anxiety and shame.

The truth is, many of us are trying to conceive while juggling work deadlines, toddler tantrums, relationship fatigue, and lingering pandemic-era mental health struggles. This is modern parenthood. And TTC today feels like a quiet club no one talks about loudly unless you’re already in it.

The Hidden Emotional Labor of TTC

The constant calculation – tracking, testing, timing

The emotional whiplash – hope one moment, grief the next

The pressure to stay calm – as if stress alone could break or make your chance

The social exhaustion – fielding questions like “When’s the next one?” when you’re quietly aching inside

Find Your Support Community.

Increased awareness around fertility health is leading to better tools and earlier intervention, which is amazing. But access still isn’t equal, and insurance coverage for fertility treatments remains patchy across the U.S. Many are turning to online communities for support—both a blessing and a double-edged sword when every scroll brings either success stories or heartbreak.

The conversation around fertility is expanding, but so is the pressure to manage it perfectly. And no one talks enough about how long the middle can feel—the months (or years) of trying and not knowing.

If You're in It Right Now, Here's What I Want You to Know

You’re allowed to feel both hopeful and frustrated – They can coexist.

You don’t need to earn rest or peace – TTC is exhausting. You’re doing enough.

You’re not behind – Even if it feels like everyone else is posting bump pics.

Your worth is not tied to your ability to conceive – Read that again.

Find your people – Whether it’s one close friend or an online support group like Parenthood Together, having someone to say “me too” can carry you farther than any tracker ever will.

Trying to conceive is one of the most tender things we can do. It requires so much faith, patience, and gentleness with ourselves. And if no one has told you lately: you’re doing an incredible job navigating it all. Really.

Mom Rage

There’s a kind of anger that bubbles up in motherhood that I never expected. It’s not about being mean or unkind—it’s a primal, overwhelming rage that hits when your cup is empty and someone spills their juice for the fourth time in an hour.

For a long time, I didn’t talk about it. I thought I was the only one. But the truth is—mom rage is real. You’re not alone.

The Pink Picture Frame

There was a season in my life when I looked fine on the outside—put together, productive, even thriving. I was running my own business, juggling a million things, and to the world I probably seemed like I had it all under control.

But inside, I was not okay.

I was exhausted—physically, emotionally, spiritually. I was overworked, overstimulated, and stretched paper-thin by the demands of motherhood, work, and just… life. I didn’t know how to rest. I didn’t know how to be still in my own skin. I didn’t know how to ask for help.

And in the middle of all that quiet unraveling, there was a moment I’ll never forget.

My son was seven. He was chattering away, asking question after question, just trying to be near me. I was half-listening while frantically cleaning my room and scanning my phone for work notifications. He didn’t need anything urgent—he just wanted me. My full presence. My undivided attention.

But I was too depleted to give it.

Instead, I snapped.

On the dresser sat a pink picture frame he had made for me at school. It was decorated with beads and love, with a smiling photo of him in the center and the word “MOMMY” spelled out in crooked, colorful letters.

I picked it up and slammed it back down.

The beads from the pink handmade frame flew off on impact, scattering across the floor.

I still remember the sound of them rolling away. Tiny, bright pieces of something he made with his whole heart, now skittering into corners like they didn’t matter.

He flinched.

And just like that, his joy dimmed. His spirit folded in on itself.

I didn’t rush to repair it. I didn’t hug him or tell him I was sorry. I doubled down, raised my voice, and told him he needed to be more considerate of me being busy. I was the adult—but I didn’t act like one.

I carry that moment with me.

I apologized later, of course. And my son, in the way only children seem capable of, forgave me with his full heart. But that memory is etched in both of us. A moment of pain I can’t undo—but one I’ve tried to learn from.

Now, when I feel myself on the verge of spiraling, I remember the pink frame. I remember the beads. I remember the look in his eyes. And I try—really try—to pause. To breathe. To soften before I shatter something again.

To every parent who has found themselves in that kind of moment: I see you. I am you.

Mom rage is real. It doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from what we battle— like exhaustion, isolation, hormonal issues and the weight of carrying more than you were ever meant to hold alone.

You are not a bad parent.

You are a human being who needs rest, support, and grace.

We need to become more self-aware, yes. But we also need to become more self-compassionate.

We’ve all been there. And we are still worthy of love, of growth, and of forgiveness—including our own.

What Causes Mom Rage?

Psychologists say it often stems from unmet needs: sleep deprivation, decision fatigue, sensory overload, lack of support. It’s less about the spilled juice and more about the mental load we carry silently.

What Helps:

Recognize the Warning Signs – Clenched jaw? Shallow breathing? These are your body’s signals.

Take a Pause – Step away, even for one minute. A breath, a prayer, a drink of water.

Talk About It – Shame thrives in silence. Naming it out loud helps loosen its grip.

Get Support – Therapy, journaling, or just a trusted friend can make a difference. The community you’ll find in the Parenthood Together Group may be able to help!

Books That Don’t Sugarcoat It:

What Happened to You? by Bruce Perry & Oprah Winfrey – A trauma-informed lens on emotional responses

 No Bad Kids by Janet Lansbury – A calm, practical guide to toddler behavior

Mom Rage by Minna Dubin – A deeply validating look at what so many of us feel → Shop Now

Let’s stop pretending. Let’s start supporting each other. There’s no room for shame here.

→ Have you ever experienced mom rage? What helped? We’d love to hear your story in the Parenthood Together group.