When Everyone Else Is Excited About Your IVF (and You’re Just… Not)

You know that moment when someone finds out you’re doing IVF and their face lights up like you just told them you’re getting a puppy?

“That’s so exciting!”
“I feel really hopeful for you!”
“I just know this one is going to work out.”

And you smile politely, maybe even mumble a “thanks,” while inside your stomach twists because you don’t feel excited. At all. In fact, you might feel terrified, detached, exhausted, or even downright numb. And then comes the shame spiral: Why don’t I feel the same way they do? What’s wrong with me?

Here’s the truth: there’s nothing wrong with you. Your feelings don’t match theirs because they’re not supposed to. You’re living a completely different reality than they are.

Let’s unpack this.

(1) The Risk Factor: Who’s Really on the Line Here?

For your friend or your mum or your well-meaning co-worker, feeling hopeful is free. It costs them absolutely nothing to throw their excitement into the ring.

But for you? Hope isn’t free. It’s a withdrawal from an emotional bank account that’s already been drained by disappointment, grief, and sometimes debt. You’re the one who has your heart, your body, your finances, and quite literally the trajectory of your life on the line.

If it doesn’t work out, they get to carry on with their day, business as usual. You’re the one left to pick up the pieces. Of course your feelings don’t match. You’re playing with entirely different stakes.

(2) The Path You’ve Walked

Here’s the thing about hope: your relationship with it changes the longer you’ve been on this road.

The first cycle? Maybe you let yourself dream. You picture the baby names, the nursery. You let yourself imagine a happy ending. But after multiple rounds, transfers, or miscarriages? That same hope starts to feel dangerous. Fragile. Almost like a trick you keep falling for.

So when someone else gushes, “I have such a good feeling about this one!” you might feel your body tighten. I remember a girlfriend saying that exact thing to me, and when it didn’t work, her words felt hollow after that. Every cheerful encouragement that came later carried this sting of you don’t actually know what you’re talking about.

For you, there’s a whole history sitting in your chest. Every failed cycle, every dashed dream, every “not this time.” No wonder you can’t meet their enthusiasm with the same wide-eyed hope.

(3) Different Roles, Different Views

Think of IVF like a long, bumpy bus ride.

You’re the driver. You’ve got both hands on the wheel, eyes locked on the rocky road ahead, trying to keep the damn thing from veering off a cliff. You’re navigating the potholes, the detours, the unpredictable weather.

Meanwhile, your friends and family? They’re the passengers in the back. They keep shouting, “Look at the view! Isn’t this exciting?!”

But you can’t take your eyes off the road to admire the scenery, because if you do, the bus could crash.

Of course it looks different to them. They’re along for the ride, but you’re the one responsible for getting everyone safely to the destination. It’s a completely different job.

(4) A Totally Different Perspective

Here’s another piece: you’re the one whose body is literally on the line.

You’re the one injecting hormones that make you feel like a balloon about to pop. You’re the one shuffling to appointment after appointment where your body feels like a science experiment. You’re the one going under anaesthesia to have eggs collected. You’re the one walking around sore, bloated, and praying your ovaries calm the hell down.

Meanwhile, your friends and family are observing from a comfortable distance. They don’t see the bruises on your stomach, feel the hot flushes, or the sharp pangs of anxiety every time your phone rings with a clinic update.

Their perspective is removed. Yours is inside the arena. And inside the arena, it’s not excitement, it’s survival.

There’s also a piece no one talks about enough: sometimes not feeling excited is your nervous system’s way of protecting you.

Detachment isn’t weakness. It’s armor. When you don’t let yourself get swept up in excitement, the crash doesn’t cut quite as deep if things don’t work out. It’s not that you don’t want to feel joyful — it’s that joy feels unsafe right now.

And that’s okay.

So here’s the reframe I want you to walk away with: you’re not supposed to feel the way other people do. They’re standing on the sidelines with popcorn. You’re the one running the marathon. Of course your emotions are different.

Trying to match their feelings only adds another layer of suffering… one you don’t need to carry. You’ve got enough already.

So let this be your permission slip:

• You don’t have to feel excited.
• You don’t have to force hope.
• You don’t have to meet anyone else’s emotional energy.

Your only job is to feel exactly what you feel - whether that’s tired, scared, numb, or cautiously optimistic.

IVF is the hardest thing. It’s not a fun adventure, it’s not a straight road, and it’s definitely not a guaranteed outcome.

So if your feelings don’t match the “yay! how exciting!” chorus around you? That’s not failure. That’s proof you’re the one in the driver’s seat, navigating the terrain with everything you’ve got.

Let everyone else wave from the window seats. You just keep your hands on the wheel.

And if that means not looking out at the view right now, that’s more than okay.