Truth # 7: From Overthinking to Inner Knowing During Infertility: Trusting Yourself on the Road to Pregnancy

Monica is guiding you through a 10-week deep dive into these ten truths, peeling back the layers of chaos with practical tools, empowering insights, and her real-life experiences. Whether you’re feeling stuck in your fertility journey or wrestling with overwhelm and doubt in another area of life, these conversations offer a roadmap to healing and transformation. Tune in to the Finding Fertility Podcast and blog for more real talk, actionable steps, and the space to create the life you’ve been working so hard to build.

Why Grief Isn’t Failure: The Raw Truth About Infertility and Healing

Truth 7: Ignoring Her Intuition: Mabel has lost trust in her inner voice. She’s so focused on what the experts say that she’s forgotten how to tune into her own body and what feels right for her.

The Zoom call blinked to life, and for once, Mabel didn’t look frazzled. No cluttered desk, no distracted glances at her phone. Just her, sitting tall, grounded.

Monica smiled. “Well, well, look at you—coherent queen energy today.”

Mabel smirked. “Don’t jinx it.”

“Not jinxing—just celebrating. You feel different, Mabel. Lighter. Like your nervous system finally got the memo that it’s safe to exhale.”

Mabel gave a small nod. “It’s been weird. Ever since the IVF failed, I thought I’d fall apart. And I did… for a bit. But then something shifted. I started journaling, and it was like—” she paused, fingers brushing the edge of her notebook. “I realized I knew. Like, deep down, I always knew that cycle wasn’t right for me.”

Monica tilted her head. “Tell me more.”

“I didn’t want to admit it before. Every step of that protocol, something in my body was screaming ‘No,’ but I kept pushing forward. Because… science. Because experts. Because if I didn’t, I’d be the one who wasn’t doing everything possible.”

Her voice caught.

“But I was doing everything. Just not the thing that mattered most.”

Monica’s voice was soft. “Listening to yourself.”

Mabel nodded, a lump in her throat.

“That’s the thing about coherence,” Monica said gently. “It’s not just about aligning your nervous system, it’s about aligning your decisions with your truth. And sometimes, it takes a so-called ‘failure’ to break the spell of logic long enough for us to finally hear ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Mabel whispered. “I wasn’t broken. I was just ignoring my own knowing.”

Monica let the moment breathe, then leaned in, her tone soft but laced with that signature clarity.

“You know what I think gets most of us?” she said. “These made-up timelines we construct in our heads, based on pressure, panic, and expectations that were never even ours. It’s wild how much stress we create trying to meet invisible deadlines.”

She paused. “I had a client once who said: ‘I’m just going to do this last transfer so I can get the result and then move on with my life.’ And I remember thinking, what the actual f*** does that even mean?”

Mabel’s brow furrowed, the weight of those words hitting.

“Because that result?” Monica continued, “It’s not closure. It’s not insight. It’s not some kind of cosmic message. It’s just a result. One moment in time. And too many women treat it like a verdict on their future.”

The air got still.

Then, Monique slid in, her voice low and sharp, cutting through the heaviness like a blade.

“Oh, babe,” she said, crossing her arms. “That line? ‘Just one more so I can move on with my life’? That’s grief avoidance in a sparkly disguise.”

Mabel blinked.

“You’re not ‘gathering information.’ You’re not ‘seeing it through.’ You’re bargaining,” Monique said bluntly. “Trying to outrun the pain of letting go by dressing it up as logic. But here’s the kicker: you already know. You know when your body’s a no. You know when your gut is screaming. But instead of listening, you slap a science sticker on it and call it empowered.”

She tilted her head. “It’s not empowered if it’s fear wearing a lab coat.”

Mabel’s breath caught.

Monique softened, barely. “Listen, I get it. Letting go feels like quitting. But gripping tighter doesn’t make you strong. It makes you stuck.”

She smirked. “You’re not waiting on a result. You’re waiting for permission to stop trying. And spoiler alert? You don’t need it. You already know.”

Monica let the stillness linger before speaking again, her voice lower now, soft but unmistakably certain.

“Mabel, I want to take you somewhere,” she said gently. “We’ve talked about trust. We’ve talked about intuition. But beneath all of it… I know there’s grief.”

Mabel’s eyes welled again, but this time she didn’t look away.

“It’s time to let that part of you be seen,” Monica continued. “Not fixed. Not shamed. Just seen. So if you’re open, I’d love to guide you through something.”

Mabel nodded slowly.

Monica closed her own eyes for a moment, anchoring herself to the same energetic space.

“Alright. Get comfortable. Take a breath in through your nose… and a long, soft exhale out.”

“Again. In… and out.”

Monica’s voice softened to a hush.

“Now, Mabel, ask yourself this question, not with your mind, but with your breath:
‘Where does the grief about not becoming a mother live in my body?’”

“Don’t force an answer. Just feel. Let your attention land where it wants to go.”

A pause.

“Does it live in your womb? Where creation longed to bloom?
Your heart? Where all that love has been waiting with nowhere to go?
Your throat? Where your truth has trembled on the edge, unspoken?”

Mabel let out a slow exhale, her hand drifting unconsciously to her lower belly.

Monica nodded. “Good. Just be with it. And now… let it show you a color. Whatever arises, don’t second-guess it.”

A long silence followed.

Mabel’s voice cracked. “It’s… maroon. Dark, like dried blood.”

“That’s perfect,” Monica said. “That color is your body speaking. It’s not bad, it’s information.”

“Now place your hand there, on your womb, if that’s where the grief lives. Say to it in your mind:
‘This is the frequency of grief. I see you. I feel you. I will not abandon you.’”

Mabel’s lips barely moved, but she whispered the words.

Monica let the silence breathe. Let Mabel feel.

“When you're ready,” she said softly, “begin to trace a figure 8 in the air with your hand, side to side, left to right. Slowly.”

“Let the movement create rhythm, coherence, between your logic and emotion, your knowing and your feeling.”

Mabel’s hand moved gently, the air seeming to shimmer around her.

“Good. Now, imagine drawing the figure 8 from front to back—like a ribbon from your forehead to the back of your skull. Reconnecting your future thinking with your deep intuition.”

Another breath. A long, grounded stillness.

Monica continued.

“Now ask:
‘If grief is the love that had nowhere to go…
what happens when I choose to give it a home inside me?’”

Mabel’s hand stilled.

“That grief isn’t proof of failure. It’s evidence of love,” Monica whispered. “And now, we’re going to give that love a frequency.”

“Let your maroon grief begin to shift. You get to choose the replacement.”

Monica slowed her voice, making space for the energy to move.

“Maybe it becomes rose gold: unconditional love and gentle care.
Say: I am a vessel of nurturance. I give love form.”

“Or maybe warm amber: your creative life force, the power that says: I still create. My womb is not empty, it is alight with purpose.”

“Or perhaps emerald green: the color of compassion and regeneration.
Say: I am whole. I heal through presence. My care reshapes the world.”

Mabel exhaled, her face softening, her body quieter now.

“It’s rose gold,” she whispered.

Monica smiled, eyes still closed. “Then breathe that in. Let that light fill your womb, your heart, your throat. Let it move through your whole body, until there’s no room left for the lie that said you were broken.”

Silence stretched between them, but it was full, alive.

And then Monica gave her the closing mantra, slowly, one line at a time:

“I do not lose the dream: I alchemize it.
I carry the essence of motherhood, not its form.
My body becomes a sanctuary of love.
And this frequency, I now give to the world.”

A tear slid down Mabel’s cheek, but her chest rose higher this time, like her breath had finally found space again.

She stayed in that moment for a while, hand still on her heart, the frequency still humming through her cells.

Monica whispered, “You’re doing it, Mabel. You’re not just healing; you’re coming home to yourself.”

That Night: The Dream

Mabel drifted to sleep later that night, her heart open. Her body carried the memory of rose gold light of coherence, of trust. Monica’s words echoed like a soft hum in her chest.

And then…

She was in a dream.

But not the wild, disjointed kind where Monique shows up. This one felt different. Sacred. Real.

She stood in a white room that looked like it had been pulled straight out of a minimalist Pinterest board: soft light, clean lines, the air buzzing with something she couldn’t name. The stillness wasn’t empty, it was full. Intentional. The kind of quiet that only comes when you’re completely in alignment.

Across from her stood… herself.

But older.

Wiser.

Glowier, somehow. Hair longer, eyes clearer. Draped in soft, flowing fabric like she’d just walked out of a yoga retreat where everyone ate sprouted quinoa and talked about quantum timelines. But there was strength behind the softness. Fire behind the grace. Like this version of her had walked through hell, barefoot and come out laughing.

Mabel blinked. “Are you… me?”

The woman laughed, a warm, rich sound that filled the room like music. “You’re not hallucinating, babe. I’m you. Just... further down the road.”

Mabel stepped closer, her breath catching. “Wait, are you like… my intuition? Higher self? Or my future self?”

“All the same thing.” The woman winked. “I’m the you that stopped trying to be perfect and started being real.”

Mabel hesitated. “You seem... different.”

Her higher self tilted her head. “Because you’ve never let me lead. You’ve been driving the bus from fear for so long that you forgot you even had a co-pilot.”

There was something magnetic about her presence, fierce but loving. Like Monique, but smoother.

Mabel narrowed her eyes. “Do you… know Monique?”

That earned a cackle. “Oh, honey. Monique is in all of us. She's like your inner bouncer; rude, loud, occasionally inappropriate, but always has your back. She’s what happens when you suppress your power for too long, it starts talking back.”

Mabel snorted. “Figures.”

“Monique is your fire. I’m your frequency. Together, we’re your truth.”

They both paused, and in the quiet, something softened.

“I messed up,” Mabel admitted. “I didn’t listen. I ignored all the signs. Every cell in my body was begging me not to do that IVF cycle, and I just… kept going.”

Her older self stepped closer, her voice low and certain. “You didn’t mess up. You just weren’t ready to listen yet. You were still chasing the version of success they handed you instead of the one you already had in your cells.”

“I feel like I failed.”

“You didn’t fail. You rerouted. That’s different.”

“But what if I missed my chance?”

The woman smiled, a little sadly. “You think intuition works on deadlines? You think your body doesn’t know how to bounce back? You’ve been holding onto control so tightly that you forgot the universe doesn’t run on spreadsheets.”

Mabel’s throat tightened. “I just didn’t want to be the one who wasn’t doing everything.”

“You were doing everything. Just not the most important thing.”

Mabel looked up.

“You weren’t trusting yourself,” the woman said. “That’s all. You gave your power away to people in white coats and forgot that your soul’s had the blueprint all along.”

Tears welled in Mabel’s eyes. “Why didn’t you yell louder?”

Her higher self shrugged, totally unfazed. “You weren’t listening. And besides, there’s no judgment here. Not from me. Not from anyone. Mistakes, so-called failures—they’re just signposts. Nothing more. They show you what wasn’t aligned so you can course correct, not punish you.

And let’s get one thing straight: no one’s punishing you. I don’t know which spiritual guru or religion decided to make people think they had to suffer for their missteps, but that’s not how energy works. There’s no invisible karma police handing out detentions. When you’re off course, the universe doesn’t strike you down, it just reflects the disharmony you’re already carrying. That’s not punishment. That’s feedback. That’s love wearing uncomfortable clothes.

The truth is, every detour has data. Even the messy ones. Especially the messy ones. And when you stop interpreting them as proof you’re broken and start seeing them as the breadcrumbs home? That’s when everything starts to change. Until you’re willing to stop running the same patterns, life will keep offering the same lessons, louder, and louder, and louder, until one finally wakes you up. But none of it means you’re failing. It just means you’re learning.”

She took a step closer, eyes gleaming. “You weren’t ready then. But you are now. And that’s the only thing that ever matters.”

Mabel inhaled, the air around her suddenly sharper, clearer. The whole room shimmered like it was made of energy, not matter.

“So what now?”

The woman stepped even closer. “Now, you choose differently. Not out of fear. Not out of proving. Not out of some checklist. You choose what feels aligned. Even if it doesn’t make sense on paper. Even if it scares the living hell out of you.”

“And if I get it wrong again?”

“You won’t. Because this time, you’re listening. And even if the outcome isn’t what you hoped, it’s not wrong—it’s just another redirection. You’ve got to stop buying into this made-up narrative that there's a right path and a wrong path, like some cosmic game show where you get buzzed for choosing door number three.

There is no waitlist. No hierarchy. No spiritual punishment committee handing out detours for bad behavior. You’re not being tested—you’re being taught how to return to yourself. Every choice gives you information. That’s it. You can't get it wrong when you're aligned with truth. And now? You are.”

The room pulsed once, subtle, like a heartbeat and then began to fade.

She Woke With a Start

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, and Mabel sat up, heart pounding, not in panic, but in clarity. There was a hum still vibrating through her skin, like part of her hadn’t fully returned.

She reached for her journal and began to write.

I didn’t listen before. But I’m listening now.
I don’t need more advice: I need more trust.
I don’t need more science: I need more soul.
And I don’t need to chase: I just need to choose.

She paused, then scribbled one more line at the bottom:

Also… my intuition, aka higher self, aka future me, aka spiritual bouncer in flowy robes, is a total badass. Like, walk-through-fire-in-heels-and-still-glow kind of badass.

Subject: You Finally Heard Her

Hello Mabel,

I just wanted to drop into your inbox today to say, what you moved through on our call was big. Not in a loud, fireworks kind of way, but in the way that your whole nervous system exhaled. I felt it. You felt it. And honestly? That’s the shift we’ve been working toward.

When you said, “I always knew that cycle wasn’t right for me,” something cracked open. That wasn’t a confession. That was a remembering.

It’s easy to beat ourselves up for “not listening.” But you weren’t broken. You were just disconnected from your inner voice, the one that’s always been there, whispering beneath the noise of timelines, protocols, and expert opinions.

And now? You’re choosing to listen. That matters more than anything you’ve done in the past.

The grief you touched, thank you for going there with me. For trusting yourself enough to feel it, name it, and start to shift it. That maroon ache in your womb wasn’t failure. It was love, waiting for somewhere to land. And the rose gold light you chose? That wasn’t imaginary. That was you coming into coherence. That was healing in real time.

You’re not just “thinking differently,” Mabel. You’re being differently. And that’s where everything changes.

I know there’s a version of you; older, wiser, maybe even wrapped in soft fabrics and fierce clarity; the one who already knows. Who’s not caught in the fear or the fight. Who’s not waiting on external validation to finally feel ready. She’s calm. She’s powerful. She’s kind of got this “walk-through-fire-in-heels-and-still-glow” energy.

And I swear… if I didn’t know better, I’d say she and Monique are sisters in sass. Like two sides of the same soul. One sharp. One serene. Both working overtime to get you to listen to what you already know.

So if this resonates (and I have a feeling it will), just know: You didn’t conjure that power. You remembered it. It’s always been in you.

Remember: There’s no punishment. There’s no spiritual committee handing out detours. There’s only feedback, baby and sometimes that feedback shows up wearing your favorite guru’s voice or your worst fear. But it’s still just love, dressed uncomfortably.

You didn’t fail.
You didn’t wait too long.
You didn’t miss your chance.

You rerouted. And now you’re walking in alignment.

Here’s your only to-do list this week:

• Keep tracing figure 8s when the noise gets loud.

• Breathe into that rose gold frequency every morning, even if it’s just for 60 seconds.

• And every time the fear creeps in that you’re “not doing enough”—remind yourself:
  Doing everything isn’t the goal. Listening is.

You’ve got this, Mabel. You’re not chasing anymore. You’re choosing.

We’re Doing This Together 💚
Monica

Finding Fertility

Listen to the Podcast: The IVF Cycle Wasn’t Aligned and She Knew It (But Did It Anyway)

Let's Do This Together 💚 Monica