AITAH for Not Attending My Friend’s Baby Shower Because I’m Struggling With Infertility?
I never thought I’d be that person—the one who bows out of celebrations because the emotional weight is too heavy. But after two years of fertility treatments, negative tests, and shattered hopes, I found myself staring at my best friend’s baby shower invitation through a blur of tears. Was I selfish for prioritizing my mental health? Or was this a necessary boundary? Here’s why I skipped the event—and why I’m still wrestling with guilt.
The Infertility Rollercoaster
My husband and I started “not trying, not preventing” three years ago. When nothing happened, we escalated to ovulation tracking, then IUIs, and finally IVF. Each failed cycle felt like losing a child we’d never meet. Meanwhile, my friend got pregnant on her first try. Hearing her complain about morning sickness while injecting myself with hormones was… complicated.
The Shower Invitation Arrives
The pastel-colored envelope might as well have been a grenade. “Celebrate our little miracle!” the script font cheered. I excused myself to the bathroom at work and cried for twenty minutes. That night, I drafted six different texts to decline—too angry, too weepy, too clinical. I finally settled on: “I’m so happy for you, but baby events are really hard for me right now.”
Her Reaction Hurt
Her reply stung: “I thought you’d be over this by now. It’s not like you’re the only one who’s struggled.” She wasn’t wrong—others in our circle had fertility issues—but the dismissal of my pain shocked me. The shower became a group chat topic, with mutual friends urging me to “just be happy for her.” One even said, “Can’t you fake it for one afternoon?”
Why I Couldn’t Go
It wasn’t just the onesies and ultrasound photos. It was the inevitable “When will it be your turn?” questions from well-meaning aunties. The games comparing belly sizes. Watching her glow while I felt like my body was betraying me. My therapist had warned that exposure therapy has limits—sometimes avoidance is survival. That afternoon, I stayed in bed watching bad rom-coms with my dog.
The Friendship Fallout
Things have been icy since. She posted passive-aggressive memes about “fair-weather friends,” and our weekly coffee dates stopped. Part of me wonders if I should’ve sacrificed my peace to keep the peace. But another part—the one that’s endured 17 negative tests—knows I couldn’t have smiled through three hours of relentless baby talk without crumbling.
Was There Another Way?
In hindsight, maybe I could’ve sent an extravagant gift with a heartfelt note. Or met her for lunch separately. But in that moment? Raw survival instinct won. I don’t regret protecting my heart, but I miss my friend. If she’d said, “I’m disappointed but I get it,” instead of shaming me, maybe we’d still be talking.
Where Do We Go From Here?
Infertility steals enough—I refuse to let it take my self-respect too. To anyone judging me: Unless you’ve ugly-cried in a fertility clinic bathroom, you don’t get a vote. But to my friend, if she’s reading this: I love you, and I am happy for you. I just needed to love myself enough to stay home.
Have you faced similar struggles? Did I handle this wrong? Let’s discuss in the comments—but please, be kind. This wound is still fresh.
