I was supposed to have a baby.

Actually, I was supposed to have six babies—three girls and three boys.

The first loss came at seven weeks, during the appointment where we were supposed to hear a heartbeat. It had taken two years to get there—years of infertility that made no sense. I’d gotten pregnant three months after my wedding. Why not now? After endless tests, meds and ultrasounds, I finally saw two pink lines.

We were overjoyed.

But then… silence.

The second happened during the fourth month of pregnancy, at a routine checkup—again, no heartbeat.

After the third loss, at the same stage, I started having panic attacks just thinking about walking into my doctor’s office.

It wasn’t just the clinic. I stopped going to shul because I couldn’t face the stroller parade at the entrance. Even simple questions like, “How many children do you have?” felt like a gut punch. Do I count only the living, or the ones I never held?

During those years of grief and anxiety, I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. I avoided people and places that might force me to explain.

When You’re the One Still Waiting

Infertility affects about one in six people globally—and miscarriage affects as many as one in four pregnancies—but when it’s happening to you, it feels like you’re the only one. Everyone else seems to be posting baby announcements, chasing toddlers at Kiddush or comparing preschools. Meanwhile, you’re dodging questions, pushing down tears and avoiding Shabbat dinners because you just can’t handle another well-meaning “So, when are you having kids?”

What makes it even more difficult is that our community doesn’t always acknowledge the grief of infertility and pregnancy loss. There’s no shiva. No yahrzeit. No ceremony to honor what could have been. But the pain is real—and persistent. Grief doesn’t follow a timeline, and healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means finding a way to carry it alongside the rest of your life.

The Weight of Expectations

In Jewish life, so much revolves around children. Baby namings, bar and bat mitzvahs, school admissions and endless talk about “the future of the Jewish people.” Children are a source of joy and an unspoken standard. Even the Torah understands this pain because so many of our matriarchs struggled with infertility. Their stories are filled with longing, frustration and even bargaining with God. Their words echo the cries of so many today.

How the Community Can Help (and Sometimes Hurts)

We must stop assuming that everyone in the room has kids, wants them or can easily have them. We have to stop saying things like “Just relax,” “Everything happens for a reason,” “Just do IVF” or “You can always adopt.” We also need to stop asking, “How many children do you have?” These phrases, while well-intentioned, can feel like a slap to someone already in pain.

The Power of Community

At I Was Supposed to Have a Baby (IWSTHAB), we hear from people every day who are carrying this pain. And what they tell us, again and again, is that community matters. Being seen matters. Having a space where you can say “This is hard” and hear back “Me too”—that’s everything.

IWSTHAB was created to be that space: a Jewish home for heartbreak, hope and healing. Through daily content, online support groups, podcast episodes and community events, we’re building a culture where fertility struggles aren’t something to hide, but something we hold together.

It’s not about fixing people. It’s about making sure no one feels like they’re broken, or broken apart from everyone else.

What We Can All Do Better

• Create Inclusive Spaces. Not every adult in your shul has kids. Not every woman at Kiddush is a mother. Make space for singles, couples without children and those still waiting. Language matters. So do seating charts, sermon examples and assumptions.
• Educate Your Leaders. Rabbis, teachers, mikvah attendants and community leaders set the tone. They should know how to respond to grief, longing and loss with compassion—not platitudes like “Don’t think about it so much” or “It’ll happen when it’s meant to.”
• Offer Real Support. Refer people to organizations like I Was Supposed to Have a Baby, where they’ll find community, comfort and resources. Fund fertility grants. Start a support group. Deliver a meal. Think beyond “mazel tov.”
• Check In. You don’t have to fix it. You just have to show up. A simple “I’m thinking of you,” “I’m headed to Trader Joe’s—what can I pick up for you?” or “I’m here if you want to talk” goes a long way. And remember, this kind of pain doesn’t go away quickly. Continue to check in with people, offering your love and support at regular intervals.
• Mark Sensitive Times With Care. Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, baby-centered holidays like Simchat Torah or Purim can be emotionally fraught. A brief acknowledgment from the bimah or in the bulletin, recognizing those grieving, waiting or struggling, can make a powerful difference.
• Bring in Experts and Stories. Host panels, workshops or guest speakers who can speak openly about these struggles. When people see their own stories reflected in public Jewish spaces, it reduces shame and builds empathy.

This Is a Jewish Issue

We know how to show up for mourners. We know how to rally when someone is ill. But infertility, pregnancy loss and reproductive challenges have long lived in a gray zone—deeply painful, yet often ignored.

We can do better. We must do better. Because mental health is health. And because the people sitting quietly in the back of the sanctuary, ducking out before the Kiddush, avoiding the baby aisle at Target—they deserve our love, our support and our presence too.

Let’s make sure no one walks this road alone.

I Was Supposed to Have a Baby (IWSTHAB) is a nonprofit organization offering compassionate, inclusive and accessible support to Jewish individuals and families facing fertility struggles, pregnancy loss and reproductive challenges. IWSTHAB’s programming includes daily digital content that speaks to the emotional and spiritual toll of these experiences; private 1 to 1 and peer-to-peer support groups; communal initiatives; online educational events with leading experts; and a robust podcast, “Talking Away the Taboo,” featuring real stories from across the Jewish world. By breaking the silence around reproductive struggles, IWSTHAB helps people feel less alone—and shows the Jewish community how to truly show up, when it matters most.

Dr. Aimee Baron is the founder and executive director of I Was Supposed to Have a Baby (IWSTHAB), a nonprofit organization that supports Jewish individuals and families navigating infertility, pregnancy loss and other reproductive challenges. A pediatrician by training, Dr. Baron combines medical expertise with deep empathy, using her own fertility journey to guide and empower others. She is a sought-after speaker, educator and advocate, dedicated to creating a Jewish communal culture that embraces vulnerability, grief and healing. Visit www.IWSTHAB.org.