“When the time is right, I, the Lord, will make it happen.” This verse has been the cornerstone of hope and strength throughout the infertility journey my now-husband, Bryer, and I have been walking. I used to tell myself, I don’t know how this will happen, but when the time is right, we’ll figure it out. But “figuring it out” proved far more complicated than I ever imagined. I prayed constantly, thought about it endlessly, and carried the weight of it every single day. Watching friends start families effortlessly was painful. Even harder was seeing women with struggles that seemed unimaginable—drug addictions, instability—yet they carried children without a single worry. And there I was, yearning for just one. How can this happen for them, but not for me?
Becoming a mother has always been my heart’s deepest desire. Yet every time someone asked the dreaded question, “When are y’all going to start having little ones?” I felt a pang of heartbreak. People didn’t know—they were just curious—but it was a question I faced almost daily. How do you answer without opening a floodgate of emotions? “Oh, in a couple of years—we’re not ready yet,” became my automatic reply. Scarily easy to say, yet beneath it all, my heart was aching for a baby now, yesterday, even in the first year of marriage.
Infertility is hard on anyone who experiences it. But my journey has been unique—I discovered my infertility at sixteen. Those years gave me a chance to learn to cope, yet they also allowed pain to resurface unexpectedly, reminding me over and over of what I couldn’t have.
I remember sitting in that cold, sterile exam room in stirrups, wearing only a thin paper robe. My mom was by my side, and I felt completely exposed—not just physically, but emotionally. I was sixteen. Why hadn’t my period started yet? Every girl at school had, and yet here I was. Each day without answers whispered, deep down, that something wasn’t right.
After countless tests, I finally got a call to review the results. I tried to reassure myself: Maybe I’m just a late bloomer. I play softball year-round, I’m active…surely all is fine. But the doctor’s words shattered my world: “Courtney, you have Mayer-Rokitansky-Küster-Hauser syndrome—MRKH.” Fancy words that boiled down to this: I was born without a uterus or cervix. I had normal ovaries and eggs, yes—but I would never have a period, never carry a child. I would never get pregnant.
The weight of that news was staggering. I remember feeling frozen, like time had stopped. My mind tried to process it, but all I felt was shock. My mom, ever the warrior, asked question after question, tears streaming, determined to understand. I could only imagine the heartache of learning your baby girl could never carry her own children. At sixteen, kids weren’t on my mind—but my mom knew that one day, my heart would ache for the family I dreamed of.
As we left, the elevator ride was heavy with silence. Finally, my mom turned to me and asked, “Are you okay? How do you feel about all of this?” That’s when I lost it. Tears spilled freely. I’m never going to have kids of my own, I thought, over and over. Questions raced through my mind: What will my future look like? How will Bryer react? Will he break up with me? I was just sixteen, yet already in love. I couldn’t hide this from him.
When I shared the news with Bryer, he simply said, “I’m not dating you because I want kids—I’m dating you because I love you. We’ll get through this together.” In that moment, I knew he was my forever.
High school ended, we graduated, got married, and filled our lives with fur babies, our first home, and shared adventures. Parenthood was still in the back of our minds, tucked away under vacations, friendships, work, and hobbies. Yet every time the thought resurfaced, I reminded myself: God would provide a path, and we’d know when the time was right. His presence became our foundation and comfort through the years.
Then came 2020. A year of longing, tears, prayers, and dreams. As a hairstylist, I was out of work for six weeks during the pandemic. All around me, friends were having babies, posting announcements, sharing joy. The desire for a child intensified, and I felt frozen in place as the world moved forward. Every baby bump, every birth, every joyful post added to the ache. I was tired of crying over commercials, social media, movies…over the life I so desperately wanted.
The reality of options—adoption, surrogacy—loomed large and expensive. Yet a child of our own, though costly to bring into our lives, would be priceless to love. I prayed harder than ever: for patience, guidance, and acceptance. For wisdom to know the right path. I prayed for relief from the deep ache that never seemed to leave.
One evening, Bryer asked me about starting a family. I wasn’t ready. Lost in my emotions, I asked instead, “When do you want to have a baby?” That simple question became the start of planning for the journey that would change everything.
In August 2020, a client at the salon told me something that would change my perspective forever. “God spoke to me today. He said to pray for you, specifically for the fertility journey you’re about to start. He will be with you every step of the way.” Tears streamed down my face. God had placed her there, a messenger of reassurance that He would guide me and Bryer, that we were not alone. That was the sign we needed.
On September 29, 2020, I had my first appointment with Houston Fertility Institute. Naturally, I brought my mom—she was essential, knowing my history and the intricate details of my diagnosis. We reviewed every test, every option, every question that could arise before IVF could begin. It was overwhelming—and yes, expensive—but the hope was tangible.
October 30, 2020, marked the beginning of our IVF journey. My first shot was surreal. I cried, prayed, and begged God to allow my body to produce enough eggs. Ten days later, on November 9th, we triggered the eggs for retrieval. On November 11th, the procedure began. Only my right ovary could safely yield eggs, and three were retrieved. I held both hope and heartbreak, knowing each step could bring success—or setbacks.
By November 18th, we had two embryos frozen. The next day, we began our search for a surrogate—a woman to help bring our child into the world. A Facebook post asking for help went semi-viral, shared over 2,800 times. Messages poured in from women all over, offering to carry our child. God’s timing, guidance, and provision were undeniable.
On November 24, 2020, we learned both embryos were healthy. Relief and joy flooded me—two chances to complete our family. Miraculously, both embryos were the same sex, lifting another worry from my heart.
Months passed, filled with hope, prayer, and patience. Then, in June 2021, a Facebook post resurfaced, reconnecting us with a woman who felt like the perfect, God-sent match. Within a week and a half, she was medically cleared, and we officially began the surrogacy process. Our carrier lives just thirty minutes away. She is our perfect match, someone we connected with immediately.
The journey is not cheap—our life savings are on the line—but with faith, prayer, and the support of family and friends, the path forward feels guided. Every step reminds me of God’s hand in our lives. Though challenging, this journey has been one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. I cannot wait to hold our baby, to see Bryer as a father, and to witness the joy that fills our hearts.
To anyone with MRKH, know this: you are not alone. The path may be uncertain, but God’s plan is steadfast. Have faith, hold hope, and trust that miracles do happen.”
