Living with infertility is like walking through life with a dark cloud over your head, while everything beyond arms reach is bright and sunny. It can be incredibly isolating, even more so when you are vulnerable and share your truth with the people around you, people in the sun, and they express how sorry they are for you, without ever leaving the sunny spot they are in. In your darkest moments, all you want is for someone to step underneath your cloud with you and hold your hand.

For those who have never experienced infertility or loss, you may feel helpless, not knowing how to step under my cloud and support me. You don't know what to say, you worry that bringing it up might make me cry or suddenly start thinking about my struggles and bring me down (trust me, my experiences are always with me - you aren't going to make anything worse!) You feel uncomfortable around me - you want to say something, but don't know what to say, and you don't want to say the wrong thing. But offering support, stepping underneath that cloud, is easier than you might think. The only rule in supporting someone struggling is to empathize, rather than sympathize. Brené Brown explains the difference between empathy and sympathy far better than I can.

When I experience sympathy, I feel even more isolated, the gap between me and the rest of the world widening. Those moments where I see someone purse their lips and furrow their brow, or my favorite, tilt their head, I can almost hear "that poor thing" going through their heads. I do not feel support, I feel pity.

Empathy, on the other hand, is someone climbing down into that hole and sitting with me in the dark. It is my sister, 7 months pregnant, telling me how much she appreciates her baby shower that I organized, saying that she knows how hard it must have been for me. It's the acquaintance who sees me and says, "I want to give you a hug" (which I gladly accepted), and though it isn't said out loud, we both know why. It's receiving a text message from my mom on the anniversary of the day we learned our second baby no longer had a heartbeat - an acknowledgement that she remembers my child, and was emotionally with me that day, grieving our collective loss. Or the person sending me a PM on Twitter to tell me that they've been reading my blog, and are thinking of me. 

All I need is someone to say they are there, with me, under my cloud. You don't need to try to fix this. Quite frankly, you can't. I don't need to hear success stories about the friend of your cousin who tried for 10 years and got pregnant the month after adopting. I don't want to be asked "why don't you do IVF?" or "why don't you just adopt"? I don't need to hear, "you'll get your baby, don't give up!" My RE can't fix me - and neither can you. I know you want to give me hope. Yet supporting another person isn't about what you want or need. It's about what they want or need. And what I want is for you to tell me you see me and are there for me. This is all I need.

The top stone on a rock sculpture is supported by a delicate balance of the supportive stones below. It can only remain in position at the top if its support system is present and strong. Support can be extraordinarily simple. If you are thinking of me, tell me. I won't feel that support, won't feel your love, unless you tell me. If you are wondering how I'm doing, ask me. If you want to support me but don't know how, tell me. That alone will make me feel supported.  I will feel stronger, more stable, as if I know that I have stones below keeping me from falling.

If you see someone who is walking through life with a cloud overhead, be the person who steps underneath that cloud. You will make an incredible positive impact on their life, and maybe, just maybe, your support will help them step out from beneath that cloud, into the sun.