Welcome to IVF This, Episode 184: IVF and Stim Cycles

Hello, hello, hello, my beautiful friends. I hope wherever this finds you—on a walk, in the car, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, that you are giving yourself a moment of grace today.

I know it’s been a bit since you heard from me. I’ve been recovering from a pretty bad knee injury the past several weeks. Earlier this month I was playing soccer in the backyard with one of my kiddos. We were having fun and talking a little smack to each other, as one does. And I started playing a little fast and loose with these 41 year old joints. I went to make a cut in my run and heard two pops and was down for the count. Initially, we were told that it was a Tibial Plateau fracture, the very top part of your shin bone, with ACL involvement. And then after more xrays and an MRI we were told that I have (at least) a partially torn ACL. So not super great news but better not having the fracture. So the last several weeks have been me taking it easy, keeping my leg propped up and iced. But I start physical therapy this week and just all around am ready to get back to it, and this podcast is one of my favorite things to do, because I get to talk with you all!

So, I’m ready with a full script today so I can stay on topic and make sure I cover all of the things I want to – we’re not gonna let ADHD hijack this episode! I want to talk about a part of the IVF process that doesn’t always get the emotional attention it deserves: the stimulation cycle. The shots. The bloating. The bruising. The hope. The fear. The spreadsheets. The swirl of “What if this doesn’t work… again?”

For some of you, this is your first round. Your first set of needles, your first early morning blood draws, your first moment realizing that your life has become a logistical operation revolving around estrogen levels and follicle size.

And for some of you, this is not your first rodeo.

And I see you. I see the ones walking into a new cycle, not with naive excitement, but with the kind of quiet courage that comes from being broken before. The ones who are trying again after cycles that ended in heartbreak, in disappointment, in grief that wasn’t visible to anyone but you and maybe the person you share your life with.

There’s a difference between the pain and uncertainty of not knowing what to expect—and the pain and uncertainty of knowing exactly what to expect… and being terrified of feeling that again. And I want to honor both of those scenarios today. 

We’ll talk about the emotional landscape of the stim cycle, how our brains try to predict outcomes in an unpredictable process, and how to stay tethered to yourself through it all. And at the end, I’ll guide you through a visualization that I often give my clients during this phase—not to fix anything, but to create some connection. Some calm. Some breath.

There’s this weird paradox that shows up during stims. You are literally doing everything—multiple injections a day, tracking every symptom, driving to the clinic every morning for monitoring. You’re rearranging your life, your work, your body, your meals. And yet, it can feel like… nothing is happening. There’s no outward progress. No baby bump. No “results” you can point to yet.

This part of IVF can feel like you’re pouring gallons of effort into something that hasn’t promised you anything in return. And that can be maddening.

There’s also this internal voice—sometimes quiet, sometimes screaming—that says, “This has to work. My body has to respond. These follicles have to grow.” It feels urgent. It feels loaded. Because we can start to associate follicle growth with identity. With worth. With our ability to parent. In fact, pretty much at every benchmark of this process we can equate success or failure with our own worth. Not intentionally, but if worthiness is something you’ve long struggled with, you can guarantee you’re going ot carry some of that into this new journey.  

But here's the truth: your follicles are not a measure of your goodness. Your hormone levels are not a report card. Your body is not a machine. It is not obligated to perform for you on command. And yet… it is trying.

But friend… your body is not a science project.

It is a human body. And it's doing the absolute best it can with what it has. That includes your genetics, your hormones, your history—and all the stuff you can’t control.

While stim cycles can be overwhelming the first time, I want to pause here and speak directly to those of you who are coming back for more—who have already been through the emotional and physical toll of IVF and are stepping back into the ring again. The ones whose hope has scar tissue.

Because returning is a different kind of hard.

The first time, you didn’t know what you didn’t know. You were scared, sure—but there was possibility, there was momentum. There was a sense of forward motion.

But when you've had unsuccessful stim cycles—when the last one gave you fewer eggs than expected, or embryos that didn't grow, or results that left you sobbing in your car—it becomes harder to hope the next time. Because you’re no longer just afraid of the unknown. You’re afraid of the known.

And that fear makes sense.

Our brains are pattern-seeking machines. They don’t like unpredictability. So when we’ve experienced defeat or pain, our brains say, “This is what happens. Prepare for that again.” And we believe that maybe if we expect it to go wrong, it won’t hurt as much. Maybe if we temper our hope, we’ll protect ourselves.

But the truth is: expecting pain doesn’t protect us from it. It just adds more pain to the present moment. It robs you of the moments where you could feel connected. Where you could feel present. Where you could access peace—even just a little bit.

You do not have to live in emotional suspension until results come in.

You are allowed to live in your body right now.

So if that’s you—if you’re walking into this stim cycle with a limp—I want you to know you are not doing it wrong. You are doing something brave. Brave doesn’t mean fearless. It just means you’re showing up, even while afraid.

Now let’s shift a bit to talk about the mental load we carry during stims—the vigilance, the monitoring, the overthinking that feels impossible to turn off. The Stim cycle often brings up hypervigilance. You might find yourself checking symptoms obsessively, Googling things at 3 AM, looking at your body for signs of “good response.”

And that makes sense. That’s your brain trying to find control in a situation that is largely uncontrollable. That’s the nervous system, activated and buzzing, saying, “We are not safe. We are not okay unless we know what’s going to happen.”

But here’s what I want to offer: you are safe right now. You are doing enough right now. And no amount of surveillance or worry will guarantee the outcome you want. Because trying to solve for the outcome doesn’t actually bring peace. What brings peace is presence. So instead of asking, “Is this working?” maybe ask, “What do I need right now?”

That’s how we start to come back to ourselves.

So, stop fighting for control and start creating support. Let’s plan for moments that anchor us. Let’s be deliberate in our care, so we don’t ask our anxious brains to figure it out in the middle of chaos.

And I’m sure the question you’re all asking is “how, Emily?” that’s a wonderful question, thank you for asking. We plan for the storm, before the storm. 

You all know I love a good plan. Planning for failure and Coping ahead are two concepts that I talk about a lot on the podcast, and that’s what I want you to do. I want you to plan ahead for how you want to support yourselves through this phase.

Think about who you become, or worry you’ll become, when you’re in the thick of stims. The version of you who might feel bloated and crampy and short-tempered. The version who bursts into tears in the drive-thru line. The one who is tender and tired and overstimulated by the word “stim.”

That version of you doesn’t need discipline. She needs tenderness. She needs softness. She needs someone to say, “Hey, I planned for this. I got you.”

So maybe that means pre-scheduling your meals or asking for help around the house. Maybe it means canceling that coffee date or giving yourself permission to watch trash TV without guilt. Maybe it’s takeout on monitoring days. Maybe it’s canceling that Zoom meeting. Maybe it’s a note to your partner or friends that says, “I need grace this week, not solutions.”

Planning for your needs isn’t self-indulgent. It’s protective. And for those of you who are people-pleasers or high achievers—it’s also probably the bravest thing you can do.

So, make that plan. Write it out. Tape it to your fridge if you need to. Not because you need to perform care—but because you deserve to receive it. You deserve to receive care, compassion, kindness, and emotional safety all the time, and absolutely when you’re in the throes of a stim cycle. 

Okay, my friends. If you’re still with me, I want to share a visualization that you can use during your stim cycle. This is not a magic spell. This is not something to do perfectly. This is simply a practice—a way to reconnect with your body, your heart, and the part of you that still wants to believe in possibility.

So if you’re in a space where you can pause, go ahead and close your eyes. If you’re driving, come back to this later.

Take 5 slow, deep breaths. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

And now imagine your body as a garden.

In this garden, deep in the center of your pelvis, are tiny buds—your follicles. Each one is wrapped in safety. Each one doing its own quiet, holy work.

Picture warm, golden sunlight coming down through the crown of your head. It’s soft and healing.

It flows down your spine, through your belly, and wraps around your ovaries, your uterus, your whole reproductive system like a protective blanket.

There’s no pressure here. No deadlines. No performance metrics. Just trust.

Say to yourself:

* “I am showing up. I am doing enough. I trust my body’s process.”
* “I am safe. I am not alone. I am held.”
* “What is meant for me will not pass me by.”

Let yourself stay in that garden for as long as you like. Let your breath move gently. Let your nervous system soften. You don’t have to force anything here. You are already doing so much.

Ok, so to wrap it up today, You are allowed to feel uncertain.

You are allowed to feel hopeful.

You are allowed to want this and still be scared to want it.

This cycle is not a test of your emotional discipline. You don’t have to perform hope or hide your fear to be “doing it right.” There is no right. There is only you, doing your best, again and again and again.

So whether this is your first stim cycle or your fifth, I want you to know: you are doing sacred work. Even if no one else sees it. Even if the world doesn’t acknowledge it. I see you. And I’m so proud of you.

That’s what I’ve got for you today, my beautiful friends. Be gentle. Go slow. You’re not behind. You’re not broken. You’re not alone. I’m right here with you. And I’ll be back to talk to you again, soon.