Truth # 9 Scattered Priorities During Infertility & IVF

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 #9: Scattered Priorities
Mabel is trying everything all at once—diets, supplements, treatments—but without a clear focus, she’s spreading herself too thin and losing sight of what truly matters.

It was 7:46 p.m. and Mabel paused.
Not because she was overwhelmed. Not because she was spiraling.
But because something felt… off.

She wasn’t running around like a chicken with her head cut off anymore.
The urgency had quieted.
The endless Googling had stopped.
The ten thousand protocols had been narrowed down to a peaceful few.

On the outside, things looked calm.
But on the inside? She felt a gentle tug. A whisper in her chest.

Something wasn’t quite aligned.

Mabel had traded in the chaos, sure—but had she truly gotten honest about what mattered? Her days were no longer crammed, but they were still cluttered with “shoulds.”
Should meditate longer.
Should be more productive.
Should be doing something to earn this dream.

And then came Monique, never one to tiptoe around the truth.

“Girl. You’re still performing. You just swapped the stage. This isn’t presence. It’s polished hustle.”

Oof.

That one landed.

So Mabel did something radical.

She turned everything off—her phone, her podcasts, the internal commentary and stepped outside barefoot, letting the earth hold her. She walked into the quiet. No distractions. No agenda. Just a long, meandering talk with the one soul who always knows the way back.

Mabel settled onto the grass, toes digging into the cool dirt, the sunset dripping gold across the sky like it knew a secret. She took a few deep breaths, letting her body soften.

And that’s when Monique showed up, again.

Not literally. But energetically.
Like a sarcastic angel with zero tolerance for BS.

“So,” Monique began, arms metaphorically crossed, voice smooth but sharp,
“you ditched the chaos, cute job, love that for you. But let’s talk about what energy you’re actually living in these days.”

Mabel closed her eyes. She knew what was coming.

“You’re not running anymore, but you’re still in performance mode. Still trying to deserve this baby. Like there’s a cosmic scoreboard you need to win.”

Oof. Again.

“What would it look like to show up for yourself now in the same energy you say you want to raise this baby in?” Monique asked, voice softening just a smidge.

That question settled into Mabel’s chest like a weighted blanket.

She imagined her baby, already here, already watching.
Would she want her child to grow up feeling like they had to earn rest?
Earn love?
Earn their worth?

Would she want them to hustle for validation?
To ignore their intuition because the world said "push harder"?

No.
She wouldn’t.

So… why was she still doing that to herself?

Mabel blinked back tears.
This wasn’t just about simplifying her to-do list.
It was about simplifying her entire being.

Letting go of the outdated belief that struggle was required.
That she had to be exhausted to be worthy.
That she had to do everything right to become a mother.

“You want your baby to feel safe, calm, seen & supported, right?” Monique nudged.

Mabel nodded.

“Then show up for you that way. Right now. Start modeling it. Stop waiting for the baby to be your permission slip.”

Mabel let the words sink in. They didn’t feel harsh.
They felt… freeing.

This was the portal.
Not the protocol. Not the perfect morning routine.
This moment, where she chose a different energy.

A softer one.
A truer one.
One her baby could float into without needing to untangle years of inherited burnout.

And as the wind whispered through the trees, Mabel smiled.

She could feel her baby’s energy again—calm, clear, close.

And this time, she was matching it.

She was ready to get real on what she “needed” to do. She finished her walk & when she came back inside, she flipped to a new page and made two columns.

What’s aligned:

• Morning gratitude

• Walking outside barefoot

• Journaling when it feels good

• Letting herself rest & bring joy into her life

What’s not:

• 19 supplements she dreads taking

• Beating herself up when she’s not perfect with her diet

• That fertility Facebook group that spikes her cortisol daily

• Obsessively Googling or scolling before bed

One by one, she crossed off the things that drained her. Not because they were “bad.” But because they weren’t hers.

This wasn’t about quitting. This was about clearing space to receive.

She whispered aloud, "I choose simplicity. I choose trust. I choose to mother myself with peace."

Her baby didn’t need her doing everything.

Her baby needed her to become someone who could hold them without breaking.

The clarity was louder than the fear.

She didn’t need another plan. She needed presence.

And this time, she wasn’t chasing. She was receiving.

Another Dream.

That night, Mabel slept deeply. The kind of sleep that comes only after a true exhale, not from exhaustion, but from finally laying down the invisible burdens she'd been carrying.

And somewhere between the drift of dreams and the stillness of early morning, she found herself in another place.

Not a nursery. Not a womb.

But a vast, shimmering field of light. Soft. Expansive. Alive.

A figure stood waiting for her—not a baby, but a radiant presence. Genderless. Ageless. Wise. Their energy pulsed with an ancient knowing, the kind that made Mabel’s breath catch in her throat.

“You came,” the being said, voice like velvet wrapped in stardust.

“I think I’ve been trying to meet you for a long time,” Mabel replied, tears already gathering.

“You’ve always known I was here. Even when you were too busy trying to prove you were worthy of me.”

That stung—but it wasn’t meant to. It was truth, wrapped in deep compassion.

Mabel stepped closer. “I thought I had to do everything right. Fix everything. Be perfect. Then you’d come.”

The soul smiled. “I’m not waiting for your perfection. I’m waiting for your alignment.”

They gestured, and suddenly the air shimmered with images, women all over the world. Some frantic. Some calm. Some desperate. Some awakening.

“There are many of us,” the soul said. “Souls like me. We’re ready. We’ve chosen to come now. But we need vessels that are clear enough to support the work we came to do.”

“What kind of work?” Mabel asked, her voice a whisper.

“Healing. Expansion. Evolution,” the soul said. “We’re here to shift things. Big things. But we can’t do that if we’re spending our early years battling chronic inflammation, navigating gut dysfunction, carrying inherited trauma, or being programmed with outdated beliefs about love, survival & self-worth.”

The images began to pulse with intensity:

• Autoimmune disorders

• Food allergies

• Unexplained fertility challenges

• Emotional repression

• Religious guilt

• Perfectionism

• Addiction cycles

• Abandonment wounds

• Hyper-independence

• Suppressed creativity

• Generational scarcity

• Epigenetic markers of war, famine, silence, shame

“We’re not judging these things,” the soul said gently. “There is no ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ Only density. And density slows us down.”

They stepped closer. “We’re not afraid of the human experience. But we chose mothers who are doing the work, not because we need them to be healed, but because we need them to be aware. Conscious. Willing to clear the path—not just for us, but with us.”

Mabel's heart cracked open. “So you’re saying... I don’t have to be perfect. But I have to be present?”

“Exactly,” the soul said. “Present enough to notice when you’re operating from fear. Present enough to choose alignment over achievement. To choose rest over performance. Truth over obligation.”

Mabel looked down, then back up. “I’ve been scared that if I stopped trying so hard, I’d lose the chance to meet you.”

“You’ll meet me when you meet yourself,” the soul said, taking her hand. “When you clear the noise. When you release the ‘shoulds.’ When you trust that your frequency, your aligned, grounded, joyful frequency, is what calls me in. Not your protocols.”

Silence settled between them. Sacred. Holy.

Then the soul leaned in closer, forehead to hers.

“You are not broken. You were never broken. But the world taught you to scatter your light instead of shine it. It’s time to reclaim your energy. Refocus your intentions. Let go of what isn’t yours.”

Mabel felt it—this deep recalibration in her cells. A quiet unravelling of everything that wasn’t aligned.

The soul pulled back. “Do less. Be more. And I’ll find you there.”

And just like that, they were gone.

Mabel woke with the sunrise spilling gold across her bedroom wall. Her body felt lighter. Her heart steadier.

She reached for her journal, not to plan, but to remember.
To root.
To realign.
To mother herself in the frequency she now knew her baby required.

Not hustle.
Not hypervigilance.
But wholeness.
And presence.
And space.

Because the souls were waiting.
Not for perfection.
But for peace.

Later that Morning…

Mabel stood at the kitchen counter, hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea, eyes staring blankly at nothing in particular. She wasn’t spaced out. She was spaced in. The dream still lingered—its resonance humming like a tuning fork in her chest.

Enter Monique. Unannounced, obviously.

“Whew. So… that happened.”

Mabel didn’t jump. At this point, she was used to Monique materializing like a sassier, cosmic version of Siri.

“I think I met my soul baby,” Mabel said, half in awe, half in confusion.

“You did,” Monique nodded, casually grabbing a metaphorical bar stool at the island. “And let me just say—souls like that? They’re not playing around.”

Mabel furrowed her brow. “But… they’re not babies.”

“Nope,” Monique said, sipping imaginary espresso. “That’s the first thing you’ve gotta wrap your cute human brain around. These souls? They’re not helpless little blank slates floating around in the ether waiting to be cuddled and swaddled. They’re ancient. Wildly evolved. Strategic AF. And they’re choosing their entrance points with intention.”

Mabel blinked. “So… it’s not random?”

“Ha! Nothing is random. Especially not for them. They’re not here to repeat history. They’re here to rewrite it. Which means they need mamas who are doing the same.”

She leaned forward, a glint in her eye. “They don’t want to inherit a pile of ancestral luggage they’ll have to spend half their lives unpacking. They don’t want to spend their energy on food sensitivities, nervous system chaos, or decoding why they feel unworthy of love for no damn reason.”

Mabel nodded slowly. “That’s exactly what the soul said. It wasn’t judgment—it was just… truth. They need more space to do what they came to do.”

“Exactly,” Monique said. “And look, this isn’t about being a perfect crystal-slinging, chakra-clearing fertility goddess, either. It’s about being you. The real you. The aligned you. The you who says no when she means no. Who chooses joy because it feels good, not because it’s part of some optimized routine.”

She paused and raised a perfectly arched brow.

“These souls? They’re cool. Like, intergalactic cool. Like ‘I’ve-seen-the-blueprints-of-the-multiverse-and-I-chose-you-on-purpose’ cool. But they’ve got work to do. And they can’t do that while managing your unprocessed childhood trauma, your adrenal fatigue, and that weird obsession you still have with earning gold stars from invisible authority figures.”

Mabel laughed through a sniffle. “So, you’re saying they don’t want me to be perfect—they just want me to get honest.”

“Bingo. They don’t need a martyr. They need a match. A vibrational match. A co-creator. Someone who can meet them halfway, frequency-wise, so they don’t spend their first ten years untangling the belief that rest is laziness or that sensitivity is weakness.”

Monique got up, dusted off her imaginary pantsuit, and headed toward the door.

“You’re not waiting on them, babe. They’re waiting on you. And not to be fixed. Just to be true.”

And with that, she vanished—leaving Mabel with goosebumps, a full heart, and the undeniable feeling that she was no longer preparing for a baby…

She was preparing to meet a soul.

We’re Doing This Together 💚
Monica

Finding Fertility

Listen to the Podcast: How to Break Free from Overthinking and Hustle Energy During IVF & Infertility 

Truth #8: Refusing to Slow Down

Truth #7: From Overthinking to Inner Knowing

Truth # 6: Attachment to Old Identities

Truth # 5: Fear of Success

Truth # 4: Mabel's Buried Emotional Baggage

Truth # 3: Mable's Hustle Trap: Put the To-Do List Down

Truth # 2: Overthinking, Worry & Fear: How Mabel Found Peace in Her Thoughts

Truth # 1: The Illusion of Control

Grieving Together: 10 Things Monica Sees in Mabel’s Journey That Are Causing Unnecessary Chaos

Listen up, lovelies: Everything I share about health, diet, or fertility magic is my opinion. Yep, it’s all based on years of trial and error, study, reading, listening, and side-eyeing the nonsense out there. What worked for me might be a jackpot for you—or it might be a total flop. Bodies are weird like that. 🤷‍♀️

Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not a doctor, nutritionist, dietitian, or any other kind of licensed health wizard. If you need medical advice, run—don’t walk—to an actual qualified professional. Don’t come back here saying Monique told you to eat kale for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, okay?

As for the products I mention, they’re either what I used during my own infertility rollercoaster or what I wish I’d known about back then. No guarantees, no promises, and absolutely no refunds on your hope budget if it doesn’t work out.

Now that we’ve cleared that up, proceed with curiosity and, above all, discernment. You’ve got this. 💪✨

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