9 things you need to know about how to navigate Mother’s Day with infertility
Mother’s Day can be a deeply painful time for those on a fertility journey. On Episode 57 of My Fertility Podcast, we speak with Dara Roth Edney, Social Worker, Psychotherapist, and founder of Informed Fertility, about how to navigate this emotionally charged day. Drawing from both professional expertise and personal experience as a parent through surrogacy after years of infertility, Dara shared strategies to cope with compassion, intention, and honesty.
In this interview we cover:
- Why is Mother’s Day so difficult for those on a fertility journey or after a fertility journey?
- What can people do when they feel obligated to celebrate others, like their own mothers, but are struggling themselves?
- What are boundaries and what would you say to someone who feels guilty setting them?
- Is it okay to opt out of events altogether?
- What about the guilt people feel—like when they’re not happy for a friend’s pregnancy, or they dread a day they used to love?
- For those who do choose to attend an event on Mother’s Day, how can they protect themselves?
- How can partners better support someone going through this?
- The golf ball analogy
- Is there hope on the other side of this journey?
- Final reflection
Why is Mother’s Day so difficult for those on a fertility journey or after a fertility journey?
Dara: The grief of Mother’s Day often starts long before the actual day. It’s the anticipation that gets you—seeing emails, advertisements, school activities, all reminding you of something that feels out of reach. That constant reminder can intensify the pain. It’s not just the absence of something you want deeply—it’s the public celebration of what you don’t have yet. The buildup can feel inescapable, especially when the world around you seems to move on without acknowledging how hard this day is for many.
What can people do when they feel obligated to celebrate others, like their own mothers, but are struggling themselves?
Dara: That’s such a common struggle. I used to go to brunch with my mom on Mother’s Day, and one year, the restaurant handed out roses—except only to moms. I was refused a rose. It was humiliating. That moment made it clear to me how painful the day had become. After that, I started celebrating my mom the day before. I still honoured her, but in a way that also honoured my own limits. It’s okay to shift traditions to make space for your grief. You can still express love and appreciation for others while protecting your own emotional wellbeing.
So much of this comes down to boundaries. What would you say to someone who feels guilty setting them?
Dara: Boundaries are hard—especially for people who are used to prioritizing others. But if you’re in pain, ask yourself: Who am I protecting? If the answer is everyone else but not yourself, then it may be time to reset. Saying “no” doesn’t make you selfish. In fact, boundaries are an essential form of self-care. They allow you to show up when you can, rather than pushing through and potentially causing deeper hurt or resentment. Protecting your emotional space doesn’t mean shutting people out—it means showing up in ways that are sustainable for you.
Is it okay to opt out of events altogether?
Dara: Absolutely. Opting out can be one of the healthiest things you do for yourself. We sometimes talk about “harm reduction.” It’s not about finding a pain-free option—that may not exist. It’s about choosing the less painful option. If attending a family gathering will leave you feeling depleted or triggered, choose something else. Watch a comforting movie, go on a walk, book a massage—anything that nourishes you.
Plan ahead and give yourself permission to step out of tradition. If a family event is too much, maybe you spend the day with someone who understands your journey, or alone doing something you love. Your worth is not measured by your presence at an event. Your mental health matters more than checking a box of social expectation.
What about the guilt people feel—like when they’re not happy for a friend’s pregnancy, or they dread a day they used to love?
Dara: There are no bad emotions. Jealousy, sadness, anger—these are all human. You’re allowed to feel them. You’re allowed to grieve something you haven’t had, even if someone you love is getting it. One mental strategy I use is imagining that I had the power to design someone else’s life. Would I want my friend to have children? Almost always, the answer is yes. That perspective helps us hold space for both our own pain and their joy. You can be happy for someone and still sad for yourself. It’s not either-or—it’s both-and. Let yourself be complex. Let your emotions coexist.
For those who do choose to attend an event on Mother’s Day, how can they protect themselves?
Dara: Do it intentionally. Don’t default to attending out of obligation—choose it if it feels right. Ask yourself: Is the emotional cost worth it? If the answer is yes, then put a plan in place. Decide how long you’ll stay, and make sure you have an exit strategy if things feel too overwhelming. Build a buffer—schedule quiet time afterward, or plan something soothing to help you decompress.
Give yourself permission to leave early. You don’t have to stay to prove anything. Let the people around you know what you’re managing, if you’re comfortable. That way, expectations are realistic, and you don’t have to shoulder the emotional labor alone.
How can partners better support someone going through this?
Dara: Often, partners don’t fully understand—not because they don’t care, but because they haven’t been told. So tell them. Share even the smallest experiences—like the fear you feel every time you go to the bathroom during the two-week wait. Let them into your emotional world.
Communication doesn’t always need to be big or dramatic. Even something simple, like a heart emoji during the day, can speak volumes. It’s a way of saying, “I see you, and I’m with you,” without needing to rehash the details. Building those micro-connections throughout the day creates a safety net of emotional support.
The golf ball analogy: Does the pain of infertility go away once someone becomes a parent?
Dara: No. Having children solves not having children, but it doesn’t erase the trauma of infertility. The emotional toll doesn’t simply disappear with parenthood. That’s why I use the golf ball analogy: Imagine grief as a golf ball inside a small box. In the beginning, your life is the same size as the box—every time you move, the grief touches every part of you. As time passes, the box grows. Life expands—joy, experiences, relationships—but the grief, the golf ball, stays the same size. It’s still there. You just have more life around it. It no longer consumes your every move, but it doesn’t vanish.
This is especially true on days like Mother’s Day, which can resurface older wounds even years after they’ve scabbed over. Being a parent doesn’t undo the road you walked to get there.
Is there hope on the other side of this journey?
Dara: Always. Whether or not you become a parent, this pain will not be your whole story. It may shape you, but it will not define you. There is goodness on the other side. You will grow. You’ll build a new version of yourself—one that knows how to hold space for grief and joy, who has learned to advocate for their needs, and who can connect more deeply with others.
That growth might not look like what you originally envisioned—but it’s still valuable, and it’s still yours. You are more than this chapter.
Reflection
“Every human grief you will ever experience has been experienced by humans living and humans yet to come… For what it’s worth, I think you should know that all of humanity that was, is, and will be is with you now by your side.”
— The Sudden Appearance of Hope, Claire North
This Mother’s Day, protect your heart. Your choices—whether to show up, step back, or create your own path—are valid. You are not alone.
You may also be interested in reading with 5 ways to cope with the stress of infertility.