Staying Hopeful When You’re Tired of Hoping

empty crib
Sep 24
2 min read

A hand gently holds a delicate dandelion puff, symbolizing hope and new beginnings against a blurred natural background.

Hope hurts. That’s the part people don’t talk about enough when you're going through infertility, IVF, or loss.

Everyone says “stay hopeful,” but what they don’t say is how heavy that gets when you’ve been trying for months or years. When your body’s bruised from injections. When you’ve seen yet another negative test. When you’ve lost something no one else ever saw.

Hope isn’t always inspiring. Sometimes it feels impossible. Sometimes it feels like setting yourself up for heartbreak all over again.

But somehow, you still try. And that, that’s the miracle.

Here’s what staying hopeful actually looks like when you're exhausted:

1. Redefine Hope on Your Own Terms

Hope isn’t always fireworks or big declarations. It can be quiet. It can look like:

I got out of bed today.
I made the appointment.
I let myself rest.
I still believe that life has more for me.

Small hopes matter. They are the building blocks of resilience.

2. Let Yourself Grieve Without Guilt

You can grieve and still have hope. You can cry and still believe in tomorrow. Grief isn’t a sign of weakness or giving up. It’s a sign that this mattered—and that you do too.

Feel it all. You’re allowed.

3. Protect Your Peace

You don’t owe the world your pain. You can skip the baby shower. You can mute the friend who keeps posting ultrasounds. You can say no to conversations that drain you.

Hope grows in safe soil. Protect your mental space like it’s sacred—because it is.

4. Rest. Really Rest.

This isn’t just a “take a break” message. This is: put down the weight if it’s too much right now.

You are not lazy. You are not failing. You are carrying a lot. And you deserve to rest without guilt. Sometimes the most hopeful thing you can do is pause.

5. Remember: This Isn’t All of You

Infertility is part of your story, but it is not your whole identity. You are more than your test results, your embryo counts, your losses. You are still here. Still fighting. Still worthy of love, joy, and a life that means something—no matter how this chapter ends.

Final Words

If you’re tired of hoping, you’re not alone.

But know this: every time you choose to try again in any small way, whether it’s making the call, telling a friend, or just breathing through the day, you are practicing hope.

And that’s not weak. That’s brave.

If you don’t feel hopeful today, that’s okay. Take it one day at a time.