I found myself so excited but equally trying not to delve too far into the excitement in case I didn’t become pregnant. I remember feeling an almost giddy anticipation but every joyful thought was quickly followed by a cautious voice: "Don't get too excited, just in case." It wasn’t pessimism. It was self-preservation. I built a quiet buffer zone around my heart, just big enough to soften a potential fall. Is that toxic? Perhaps. But it was also a way of managing expectations in a moment when everything felt so unknown.
Needless to say, the emotional terrain before an IUI is complex. There’s the thrill of potential and the dread of disappointment. There’s definitely the hormonal intensity from medications. At the same time, this period is busy. The pace of appointments and testing picks up. Hormonal medications are carefully administered. Ultrasounds monitor follicle growth. Bloodwork, if needed, tracks hormone levels. In a way, the increasing pace mirrors the rush of life that parenthood can bring. One moment, it is a tedious wait for your cycle to start then in a moment, you’re in a structured and unpredictable sprint to ensure that timing aligns perfectly.
Waiting for your first IUI cycle to start feels torturously slow. You will likely go in for an ultrasound early on and possibly some bloodwork, and proceed with taking the prescriptions for fertility. The subsequent days are a structured concoction of doing what you are told to do while not knowing if it is going to be all for not. Then day ten hits and it feels like every time you turn around you are spending every other day going to and from the clinic for ultrasounds, medications, bloodwork, and check-ins.
During this stage, self-care becomes more essential than ever. For some this might be highly stressful and emotional since you need to surrender to the process, no matter the meetings or planned get-togethers. Let yourself feel all of this without judgement and honour your body, not just for its potential, but for everything it’s done leading up to it. Every early morning drive to the fertility clinic, every ultrasound, every needle, you have or will handle it.
It was when the first cycle started that I felt more comfortable opening up about it with friends and family. I shifted from highly introverted and awkward sentences to open and honest conversations. My support team, mainly my parents and closest friends, celebrated all of these milestones with me, asked questions, and genuinely encouraged me through all of the highs and lows. I was also fortunate enough to have a friend who went through this journey before me since it made me not feel alone. She understood the process and was able to answer my questions and share her lessons, and it was these conversations that became the biggest inspiration behind starting this website.
With all of the waiting and count down during the cycle, the days before IUI can feel like a liminal space where you are operating in a state that is neither here nor there, but in transition. We want answers, certainty, progress. But in this moment, we have none and simply need to trust the process, surrendering ourselves to the unknowns. During this time it is important to stay rooted, even when everything feels up in the air.
Something else I learned in these days before the procedure: you’re allowed to want this deeply. You’re allowed to hold the dream of parenthood close. And you’re allowed to protect your heart as you do. There is a certain resilience that comes with surrendering ourselves to the process. Being allowed to hope.
Then came the final ultrasound which determined I needed a trigger shot since my body was not naturally ovulating on its own. I had never injected myself with a needle before so there was a bit of fear, but also this very clinical approach to creating an exact timeframe that was hopefully the beginning of the rest of my life. That is when I decided, I am going to make this injection something meaningful. I was told to inject myself late in the evening so I decided to make myself a delicious dinner, reflect through meditation, then light some candles and put on my favourite playlist for the injection. I wanted this moment to go beyond clinical and become a special part of this process. Mentally, it reduced my fear and gave me hope and optimism that everything will work out exactly as it is supposed to. I was stepping into the vulnerability that parenthood demands while learning how to hold space in both control and surrender.
This part of the journey also comes with lessons in letting go. Timing, response to medication, sperm motility, uterine lining… there’s a science to it all, but it’s not exact. You can do everything "right" and still not be successful. This is one of the hardest truths to accept.
If you’re in this space now, here’s what I want you to know: You are doing something truly special and deeply brave. It may not feel like bravery in the traditional sense, but choosing to try, knowing that the outcome isn’t guaranteed, is its own kind of courage. Do not feel weak because you are worrying. Do not feel foolish for hoping. You are a human navigating an extraordinary process.
So breathe. Rest. Eat. Cry. Laugh. Light a candle, say a prayer, write in your journal, go for a nature walk. Find small rituals that root you and bring you back to yourself.
Reflection Prompt: A Letter to Myself in Two Weeks
Write a letter to the version of you who will be waiting the 14 days to learn your pregnancy results. Speak from the heart, in the voice you most need to hear—calm, kind, grounded, and most importantly, honest.
You might include:
• What you hope for, without apology
• What you’re proud of yourself for, right now
• How you want to care for yourself, no matter the outcome
• What truths you want to remember, even in uncertainty
• Why you chose to try, and what that means to you
Seal the letter, or save it somewhere safe. Come back to it in the two-week wait, when emotions rise and clarity may feel harder to reach. Let it be your anchor.