Stories from our community
It Takes a Village to Grow a Family: What IVF Taught Me About Sharing Our Stories
There's a particular kind of quiet that comes with trying to grow a family. It isn't silence, exactly. There's plenty of noise: appointment reminders, medication alarms, the hum of the clinic waiting room. But underneath it all sits a quiet that settles in when you're carrying something enormous and aren't sure who you're allowed to tell.
I'm Bodhi, a Melbourne mum of two kids who came to us through reciprocal IVF, where one partner's eggs are used to create an embryo that the other partner carries. Our road to them wasn't a straight one. There were good scans and hard ones, an early loss, and long stretches of waiting in between. Somewhere in the middle of it all, I picked up a paintbrush.
The picture you can't stop looking at
If you've been through IVF, a pregnancy or a loss, you'll know the scans. The grainy black-and-white ultrasound printout. The embryo image some clinics share before transfer, which for many families is the very first photo of their baby. You zoom in on your phone. You send it to your person at 2am. You tuck the printout into your wallet and keep checking it's still there.
For me, those images held everything I couldn't put into words. So I started painting them. Not as a business, just as a way to cope. Sitting at the kitchen table with my watercolours during the two-week wait gave my hands something to do and gave my hope somewhere to go.
Why our stories need somewhere to land
The painting helped. What really changed things, though, was people.
For a long time we kept our journey mostly to ourselves. Partly for privacy, partly out of fear: if it didn't work, I didn't want to have to un-tell everyone. I've since learned how common that feeling is. The World Health Organization estimates that around one in six people experience infertility in their lifetime, yet so many of us walk through it feeling completely alone.
When I finally started talking, and later sharing my paintings online, something shifted. Friends opened up about journeys I'd never known about. Messages arrived from people I'd never met. Some were celebrating. Some were grieving a baby they never got to bring home. Some were still in the thick of it, not knowing how their story would end.
Every one of those conversations taught me the same thing: a story shared is a weight shared. When someone says "that happened to us too", the isolation loosens its grip. And when we talk openly about IVF, loss and premature birth, we make it easier for the next person to reach out.
That's really why Tiny Beginnings Co. exists. It started as my way of holding onto my own story and grew into a studio that helps other families hold onto theirs. Every piece begins with someone trusting me with an image and the story behind it, and I never take that lightly. It's also why we donate a portion of sales to organisations that have built incredible villages of their own; a different one each month.
How to build your village (and be part of someone else's)
A village doesn't need to be big. It just needs to be real. If you're on a fertility journey, navigating loss or finding your feet as a new parent, here are a few things that helped me.
- Tell one safe person. You don't need to announce anything to anyone. One friend who knows what Thursday's appointment means can make the waiting lighter.
- Find people who get it. Peer support groups, online communities and charities run by people with lived experience offer something even the most loving friends sometimes can't: understanding without explanation.
- Let people help in specific ways. "Could you drop dinner over on transfer day?" is much easier to say yes to than "let me know if you need anything".
And if you're the friend, partner, sister or colleague on the outside:
- Ask open questions. "How are you going with everything?" lands very differently to "Any news yet?"
- Remember the dates. Test days, due dates and anniversaries can be tender. A simple "thinking of you today" goes a long way.
- Say their baby's name. For families who've experienced loss, hearing their baby acknowledged is often a gift, not a hurt.
- Get them a keepsake to remember. For some whose journey feels neverending, a keepsake such as a Tiny Beginnings Co. watercolour painting can be a gentle way to celebrate the little milestones that often get overlooked.
Finally, if you're reading this from a waiting room, or at 2am with a scan open on your phone: your story matters. However it unfolds, it deserves to be told and it deserves to be held. You don't have to share it with the whole world. But I hope you find a few people to share it with, because that's where the village starts.