Mindful Mama Journey

Feeling Alone While Trying for Baby #2

The feeling of loneliness while trying to conceive our second child is an interesting place to be in. I didn’t expect to feel that way during a time that’s supposed to feel exciting.

For the first two years of my secondary infertility journey, my heart would start beating fast every time my husband or I got a text message or phone call. Because I was in the thick of struggling to conceive a second child, both my mind and heart instantly assumed the news was that someone else was pregnant. It was a mix of anxiety, the pressure of not conceiving yet, and a little bit (okay… a lot) of jealousy.

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You don’t have to carry this alone.

If you’re navigating secondary infertility, I created 5 gentle, free journal prompts to help you process your emotions and find a moment of calm in your TTC journey.

This is a typeable PDF, so you can write directly in it—no printing needed.

👉 Download your free journal prompts here.

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I still remember the days I got a negative pregnancy test and immediately thought, “Okay, I didn’t get pregnant this month. But if I get pregnant next month, the age gap will only be 3… or 4… or 5…”—basically insert whatever number helped me cope in the moment. But as the negatives kept coming, that age gap kept widening, and I started wondering whether my daughter and this hypothetical baby would even get along if they were four or more years apart.

Watching Friends and Family Grow Their Families

When my daughter was born (amidst the COVID shutdown—fun times! lol), my sisters, my sister-in-law, and several friends also had babies that year. Even though none of us could see each other in person, it was still so comforting to experience all the “firsts” together through texts and FaceTime—breastfeeding or not (haha, I barely produced anything, so hi fellow formula moms), sleep training, baby-led weaning, not baby-led weaning (lol), eating solids, walking, potty training—everything.

Eventually, though, many of the women in my circle started having their second (or third) kids. A lot of them started trying after my husband and I did—which, not going to lie, made me a bit salty. lol. I was happy for them, truly, but our conversations became shorter as they navigated newborn + toddler life while I was still soaking up time with my one and only.

One of my close college friends had her first baby just a few months before me. I remember checking in with her constantly because our girls were the same age. But when she had her second, I barely texted. I hate to admit it, but I didn’t even send a gift for his first birthday like I did with her first child. I felt like I was slowly drifting out of the stage of life that all my friends seemed to be entering—again. While they were juggling two kids, my daughter was becoming more independent, and every time I saw them with their newborns, I wished I could experience those little “firsts” again.

That’s when the loneliness of trying to conceive baby #2 really sank in.

Grieving in Silence

Being in the rut of secondary infertility made it really hard to watch family and friends grow their families. I genuinely felt happy for them (I think? lol), but I was also frustrated with my body and our situation. My husband and I even developed a running joke: whenever someone announced a pregnancy, we’d say “Congratulations!” on the outside, but privately to each other we’d whisper, “Who cares about your baby?” lol. Terrible, I know—but that’s truly the kind of slightly unhinged humor secondary infertility pushed us into.

Secondary infertility was lonely because I didn’t have many people I felt comfortable turning to in real life (besides Reddit threads lol). A lot of my friends who were having their second or third kids also had their own experiences with primary infertility or miscarriages. I didn’t want to express my feelings to them because I didn’t want to seem like I was complaining or ungrateful for having my daughter. Even thinking about sharing felt selfish because, unlike them, my pregnancy and birth were relatively “uneventful.”

So I grieved in silence. Even now, although I’ve acknowledged my secondary infertility journey to myself, I’ve never actually said it out loud to my sisters or friends.

This is one of the main reasons I decided to write about it. Putting these thoughts into words has been freeing, and I know there are many women experiencing this who want to talk about it but don’t really have anyone they feel safe opening up to.

If you want to read more about finding gratitude during infertility, check out my post.

Finding Peace After the Struggle

I don’t feel the weight of secondary infertility the way I used to. I would still welcome another child (or two), but I’m more focused on the now—on the life I have, the daughter I adore, and the peace I’ve slowly found after years of feeling stuck in the in-between.

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If you’re walking through secondary infertility and need a quiet space to process it all, these prompts are for you.

Download 5 free, typeable journal prompts designed to help you reflect, release, and find a little calm—one page at a time.

👉 Download your free prompts here.