Welcome to IVF This, episode 190: IVF & The In-Between

Hello, hello, hello, my beautiful friends.
Welcome back to the IVF This podcast, where we learn to love ourselves through the process of IVF. I’m your host, Emily Ginn, and today, we’re talking about something that all of us in the infertility world know far too well — the in-between.

This episode is called “IVF and The In-Between.”

Because if you’ve been through IVF, you know there are endless versions of it.
Waiting for your next period. Waiting for your retrieval. Waiting for results. Waiting for your doctor’s call. Waiting for the money, the plan, the right time, the next step.

It’s this strange, suspended space between what has already happened and what hasn’t yet.
And that space — that in-between — can feel unbearable.

The Liminal Space

In psychology, we call this the liminal space.
The word liminal comes from the Latin limen, meaning threshold. It represents a crossing — that space between what was and what will be.

It’s the moment after you’ve stepped out of what’s familiar but before you’ve arrived at what’s next.
It’s neither here nor there — and that’s what makes it so uncomfortable.

But here’s the thing: across cultures and throughout history, liminal spaces have always been seen as sacred and deeply transformative.
In mythology, this is where the hero’s transformation happens.

Think of Persephone descending into the underworld and returning — changed.
Or Inanna, the ancient Sumerian goddess of love and fertility, who was stripped of everything as she moved through the darkness before reemerging in her full power.
In every story, the character enters the in-between — the uncertain, messy middle — and emerges with new wisdom, new perspective, and new strength.

The liminal space is not a punishment; it’s a passage.

And while it’s tempting to want to skip over it — to rush through the waiting, to fast-forward to the outcome — the in-between is often the most meaningful part of our transformation.
It’s where we shed old identities, old beliefs, old ways of relating to ourselves.
It’s where the “before” version of us dissolves so the “after” version can take form.

When you’re in the thick of IVF, that might not feel beautiful. It might feel like drudgery — like your life is stuck on pause, like you’re barely existing between cycles or results or decisions.
But the truth is, this is the space where your resilience is quietly forming.
Where your capacity to hold complexity — hope and fear, love and loss, grief and gratitude — expands.
Where you learn to stay with yourself, even when things are uncertain.

Think about it this way: when a caterpillar enters its cocoon, it doesn’t just grow wings and fly out. Inside that cocoon, it completely dissolves. It becomes unrecognizable — before reorganizing into something entirely new.
That’s what liminal space is. It’s not stasis; it’s metamorphosis.

So when we talk about the in-between in IVF — those endless stretches of waiting — it’s easy to see them as wasted time. But they’re not.
They’re the cocoon.
They’re the bridge between who you were and who you’re becoming.

And the goal isn’t to fall in love with the liminal space or pretend it feels great. The goal is to stop fighting it so fiercely.
To see it for what it is: a natural, inevitable, and even sacred part of every process of becoming.

Because what if the in-between isn’t a detour?
What if it’s the actual path?

Why It Feels So Uncomfortable: The Neuroscience

Our brains crave certainty. Predictability equals safety.
When we can anticipate what’s next, our nervous system can relax. But uncertainty — not knowing when, if, or how things will happen — activates the limbic system, the part of our brain that scans for threat.

When your brain doesn’t have enough information, it fills in the gaps with possibilities — most often, negative ones. That’s why the in-between feels so anxious. Your body is flooded with cortisol and adrenaline, preparing you for danger that might not even exist.

This is why people often say, “I can handle bad news better than no news.”
Because our brains would rather have something concrete, even if it’s painful, than be trapped in ambiguity.
Uncertainty keeps the nervous system in a constant state of vigilance — waiting, scanning, preparing for impact.

Why It Feels So Uncomfortable: The Emotional Perspective

From an emotional standpoint, the in-between challenges one of our deepest human needs: agency — the sense that our choices can impact our outcomes.

In IVF, so much of that is taken away. You can do everything “right,” follow every instruction, and still have no guarantee of success.
That lack of agency can feel deeply unsettling — especially for those of us who have built our lives on hard work and determination.

You can’t hustle your way through a waiting period.
You can’t outwork your biology.
And that powerlessness can feel like grief.

You might grieve your old sense of self — the one who could make plans and trust they’d unfold.
You might grieve the loss of lightness, or hope, or faith in your body.
The in-between often brings those emotions to the surface — not because you’re doing something wrong, but because this space asks for surrender. And surrender is one of the hardest emotional skills we can learn.

The Illusion of Momentum

What we often do in response is try to earn our way out of the discomfort.
We research, plan, organize, change supplements, tweak diets, analyze every symptom — all in the name of feeling productive.

And sometimes, that helps — a sense of agency can feel soothing. But often, it’s a way of avoiding the stillness that the in-between demands.
Because in that stillness, you’re face-to-face with uncertainty.

So I want to gently remind you:
Rest and recovery are still progress.
Integration happens in stillness.
And you do not have to constantly earn your peace.

You can rest without proving your worth.
You can pause without falling behind.
You can take a breath without losing your place in line.

Living in the Liminal Space

Now here’s something that I think often gets lost in the infertility community:
The in-between may be uncomfortable, but it does not preclude the possibility of joy.

Just because you’re waiting, doesn’t mean you have to stop living.

You are still allowed to make plans.
You are still allowed to take the trip, laugh until your stomach hurts, buy the concert tickets, eat the dessert, or paint your kitchen a new color.
You are still allowed to feel excitement about something other than fertility.

You do not have to put your entire life on pause until you get the outcome you’re hoping for.

Sometimes, joy feels complicated when you’re in the middle of uncertainty — almost like you’re betraying your struggle by allowing yourself to feel good.
But joy doesn’t erase your pain; it coexists with it.
It doesn’t mean you don’t care. It means you’re remembering that you are still a whole human being — not just a person waiting for a pregnancy.

And in fact, allowing yourself to feel moments of connection, creativity, and pleasure — even in small doses — helps regulate your nervous system.
It reminds your body that safety and joy are still available to you, even here.

What You Can and Cannot Control

When you’re living in the in-between, one of the most grounding things you can do is separate what’s within your control from what’s not.

Here’s what you cannot control:

• The outcome of your cycle.

• How your body responds to medication.

• How long the waiting will take.

• What other people say or do.

• The decisions of your doctor, your lab, or your insurance company.

And here’s what you can control:

• How you speak to yourself in the waiting.

• How you care for your body and your emotional needs.

• The boundaries you set with people who don’t understand.

• The activities you choose to fill your time.

• The thoughts you practice — the ones that help you breathe a little easier instead of spiral deeper.

You don’t have to love the in-between. But you can choose to meet it with softness, instead of self-criticism.

Thoughts to Think in the In-Between

Here are some thoughts you might practice while you’re in the liminal space — not because they erase the discomfort, but because they make room for gentleness within it:

• “Rest and recovery are still progress.”

• “Something is happening, even if I can’t see it.”

• “I can feel uncertainty and still be safe.”

• “This moment doesn’t have to be perfect to be meaningful.”

• “It’s okay to live and plan and laugh, even in the waiting.”

• “I can hold hope without demanding certainty.”

• “The in-between is not the end of my story.”

• “My worth is not dependent on progress.”

• “I can experience joy even in the middle.”

• “I don’t have to rush my healing.”

• “Uncertainty doesn’t mean danger.”

• “I am allowed to be both hopeful and scared.”

• “I am safe in this moment.”

• “This space is uncomfortable, but I can still choose compassion.”

These thoughts aren’t magic. They won’t dissolve all the fear or grief. But they can help you anchor into yourself — into the steady truth that you are more than this moment.

A Closing Reflection

So, my beautiful friends, if you’re in the in-between right now — if you’re waiting, wondering, holding your breath — please remember this:

You are not broken for struggling with uncertainty.
You are not failing because you can’t make peace with the waiting.
You are human.
And the in-between, while painful, is also a space of becoming.

This space is not meant to be rushed. It’s meant to be lived through.

You can still live here. You can still rest, still laugh, still love, still find moments of joy that remind you of who you are outside of this process.

So take a deep breath.
Place a hand on your chest.
And remind yourself:
“I am in the in-between - and that’s okay. I am safe here. I am becoming.”

Thank you, my beautiful friends, for sharing this space with me today.
If this episode spoke to you, please share it with someone else who might be living in their own in-between right now.

And remember - you are not alone.
You are loved.
You are enough.
And you are doing beautifully.

Until next time,
Be kind to yourself,
And I’ll talk to you soon.