Campaign Story

My name is Brittany and my husband is Brodie. We are the Morris’s. A little background about us—Brodie and I have been together since 2013. We fell in love quickly and deeply, and from the very beginning we knew we were meant to spend our lives together. Near the end of that first year, so sure of our future and so eager to grow it, I stopped taking birth control. I waited every month, believing those two pink lines would appear at any moment. They never did.

In 2017, the year we got married, we thought maybe this was it. Maybe God simply wanted us to wait. You always hear stories about couples coming back from their honeymoon pregnant, and we hoped with everything in us that would be our story too.

By 2018, I began questioning my fertility. Test after test came back “normal.” Doctors told me nothing was wrong. Over the years, Brodie had some less-than-ideal results, so we turned to a fertility specialist. That experience was incredibly difficult and left me with lasting trauma—one I knew I could never return to.

We tried to move forward with our lives, but deep down we always knew: we are meant to be parents. Month after month brought the same quiet heartbreak, the same grief. It was exhausting, and at times, deeply depressing.

Now here we are in 2025. At the beginning of this year, we decided to try again. This time, the care has been completely different. I have a nurse I can text with questions, a financial advisor, and a compassionate doctor—support we never had before. I truly cannot say enough about this facility.

They recommended Brodie see a male fertility specialist as well. At my first ultrasound to check egg count and quality, my doctor immediately discovered that I have a tilted uterus—something neither of us had ever been told. My uterus is tilted downward, making it more difficult to reach my eggs, and this has played a role in our infertility all along. My doctor has also expressed concern about my egg count and quality, gently reminding us that time isn’t exactly on our side anymore.

Brodie has been on medication since February, working tirelessly to improve motility and overall numbers. We’ve endured two failed IUIs—one here and one at our previous clinic. Each one crushed us. From the beginning, my doctor recommended IVF, but we wanted so badly to believe our bodies could work together with a little help.

This journey has taken a toll on us mentally, physically, emotionally, and financially. But we are still here. Still standing. Still fighting.

Infertility may be part of our story, but it will not define us. We will continue to show up, to hope, and to fight for the family we know we are meant to have. ❤️

This infertility journey has touched my family in quiet, deeply emotional ways. It has brought a kind of grief that doesn’t always have words—a sadness that lingers beneath everyday moments and surfaces when hope rises and falls again. We’ve learned what it feels like to wait, to hope carefully, and to protect our hearts while still wanting so much.

It has tested our emotional endurance. There have been moments of frustration, helplessness, and loneliness, even when we’re together. We don’t always grieve or cope in the same way, and that has sometimes made us feel disconnected, as if we’re carrying the same pain but in different languages. At the same time, it has taught us patience with one another and a deeper compassion for how each of us hurts.

This journey has also made joy more complicated. Celebrations, announcements, and milestones can bring mixed emotions—happiness for others alongside a quiet ache for what we’re still waiting for. As a family, we’ve had to learn how to hold both without guilt.

Yet through the heartbreak, it has strengthened us. We’ve learned how to show up more gently, how to listen without trying to fix, and how to love each other through uncertainty. Infertility has changed us, but it has also deepened our connection, reminding us that even in waiting and loss, we are still a family—rooted in love, resilience, and hope.