Stigma of Infertility & How Therapy Can Help
Have you ever felt that familiar sting in your chest when someone casually asks, “Do you have kids?”. If so, you’re not alone. Many people navigating infertility describe these moments as tiny cuts that leave them feeling misunderstood, exposed, or “othered” in ways they can’t always explain. Before we talk about the larger cultural patterns behind this, it can help to understand where the very idea of stigma comes from.
The word stigma comes from the ancient Greek practice of marking or branding someone’s skin to show that they were someone to be avoided and distrusted. These marks signaled that the person didn’t belong to the “normal” majority and therefore didn’t deserve the same respect. Modern stigma, even without the physical marks, functions in a similar way. Sociologist Erving Goffman described stigma as an attribute that is seen as deeply discrediting, something that lowers a person’s value in the eyes of the community (Goffman, Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity, 1963).
Today, stigma shows up in everyday interactions, especially through assumptions of what is “normal.” For people experiencing infertility, this often happens in the simplest conversations. Like when someone casually asks, “Do you have any kids?” If the answer is “no,” many people respond with awkwardness, confusion, or even pity. In our culture, there is an unspoken expectation that once you’re married or reach a certain age, you should have children. When it’s revealed that you don’t (or even more taboo, that you can’t) you are left vulnerable to the invisible but powerful experience of being stigmatized. This isn’t because anything is wrong with you; it’s because you are bumping up against a cultural assumption that was never fair or accurate to begin with. Naming this dynamic helps many people recognize that the discomfort isn’t coming from their worth, it’s coming from social expectations that were never built with their story in mind.
Part of why these moments feel so painful is because they brush up against pronatalism, which is the widespread cultural belief that having children is the expected, normal, and even necessary path to building a meaningful life. Pronatalism shows up in many ways and across many cultures, but a common theme is preferential treatment towards parenting individuals: such as assuming more maturity or wisdom of parents than of individuals without children, or assuming that a parent’s time is inherently more valuable, or that parenting individuals have more meaningful lives. Many people who long for children have never previously questioned this narrative, because on the surface it aligns with their own hopes to someday be parents themselves. But when infertility enters the picture, pronatalism can suddenly feel harsh and unforgiving. It sends the message that a person’s value is tied to their ability to become a parent. I want to be clear: wanting children is not the problem, the harm comes when a society assigns worth based on parenthood status. Understanding this helps many people make sense of why ordinary conversations with loved ones can carry such extraordinary weight.
In light of this reality, infertile folks are then tasked with the difficult decision to either open themselves up to the possibility of being othered and devalued, or endure infertility in silence. Neither path is easy. Sharing openly can invite connection and support, but it can also expose someone to painful misunderstandings, dismissive comments, or unsolicited advice. Staying silent may protect against those moments, yet it often comes at the cost of isolation, self-blame, or carrying the emotional weight alone.
Finding a therapist who understands the role that stigma plays in the infertility journey matters. You deserve support from someone who recognizes that the pain here isn’t just medical. It isn’t simply anxiety. And no, you probably aren’t just “too sensitive”.
Infertility is social, relational, and deeply tied to the narratives we’ve all been raised with. At it’s core, infertility often changes our worldview. The truth is, not everyone will be a safe and supportive person on this journey. Some of our loved ones struggle to let go of their old worldviews, not because they don’t care, but because they have never had to question the assumptions they’ve always lived with and benefited from. When you’re facing infertility, you may see the limits of these beliefs long before they do. And while that gap can be painful, it doesn’t mean the burden of educating or comforting others has to fall on you.
A therapist who understands infertility can support you in many ways, including:
Validating your experience: Helping you recognize that your feelings of grief and anger are normal reactions and that you are not alone in this experience.
Processing stigma and social pressure: Exploring how cultural expectations and everyday interactions affect your sense of self.
Supporting relationships: Working with partners or family members to improve communication, navigate differences in coping, and set healthy boundaries.
Building self-compassion and resilience: Helping you reconnect with your values, identity, and sense of worth beyond parenthood.
Providing a safe space to share: Offering a judgment-free place where you can talk about your hopes, losses, and fears without needing to educate or protect others.
If you’re navigating infertility and the weight of stigma feels heavy, know that you don’t have to face it alone. Consider reaching out to a therapist who understands this journey, someone who can help you feel seen, supported, and equipped to navigate both the emotional and social challenges of infertility. You deserve a space where your story is honored and your inherent value is recognized.
