The Lie of "Staying Busy" During the Two-Week Wait

The best advice I ever got during the two-week wait turned out to be the biggest lie.

"Keep yourself busy,” they said.
"Distract yourself. Don’t think about it. Just wait it out.”

But if you’ve walked through infertility—or are walking through it now—you know exactly how hollow that advice can feel. Because the truth is: it’s never really off your mind.

The Yellow Car Phenomenon

Have you ever had a conversation about something random—say, yellow cars—and then suddenly, you see them everywhere?

That’s what infertility feels like, especially during the two-week wait. Your brain, tender and hyper-aware, starts tuning into every signal. A commercial for pregnancy tests. A friend’s bump on social media. A stranger’s baby shower registry. Gender reveals, birth announcements, “we’ve been keeping a secret” posts.

Once your heart starts hoping, your eyes can’t not see it.

You begin to feel like you're living under a microscope—your body, your thoughts, your hopes all magnified. And yet somehow, in the middle of all that, you’re told to just relax and stop thinking about it.

The Problem with “Busy”

Staying busy might help in the moment. It creates a surface-level sense of movement—something to focus on besides the internal ticking, the wondering, the waiting.

But here’s what no one tells you:
Busy only works until you’re not busy anymore.

Eventually, your day winds down. You lay in bed. You sit in the quiet of your car. You take that first sip of coffee.
And all the not-thinking you’ve been suppressing?
It rushes in like a runaway train.

Those quiet moments feel even louder than before. And now, the pressure isn’t just from the unknown—it’s from the expectation that you’re supposed to be handling it better.

The Other Extreme: The Pause Trap

Now, I’m not saying you should swing the pendulum in the opposite direction—cancel all plans, vow to do nothing, and wait in stillness for the universe to deliver.

Because I’ve done that, too.

I’ve skipped events “just in case.” I’ve put off vacations. I’ve stopped making future plans that didn’t revolve around “maybe I’ll be pregnant by then.” I’ve journaled until I felt emotionally raw, and then some.

And truthfully? That can be just as painful.

Because suddenly, life is on hold. And the waiting isn’t just two weeks—it’s your entire world.

So What Does Help?

It wasn’t until I stopped trying to either numb the pain or plan around it that things started to shift. The turning point wasn’t in avoiding the hurt or pretending it wasn’t there.

It came from making peace.

I started asking myself:

• What makes me feel grounded right now?

• What decisions can I make based on who I am today, not who I hope I’ll be next month?

• What boundaries can I create that protect my heart, without disconnecting me from the people I love?

One of the most powerful shifts for me was redefining how I showed up for others’ baby-related events. Instead of forcing myself into group celebrations that felt painful, I’d offer to take a friend out for lunch or send a thoughtful note. I still showed love—but in a way that was kind to me, too.

And when the well-meaning advice started to pour in (“just relax,” “have you tried XYZ?”), I rehearsed responses that honored both of us.
“Thank you for caring. I know you mean well. We’re doing what feels right for us right now.”
No explanation. No defending. No Pandora’s box.

Living With Peace—Not Pause

Making peace with my pain didn’t mean I gave up.

It meant I stopped putting my life on pause. My husband and I had difficult, honest conversations about what life might look like if we didn’t have children. We imagined futures built not only around babies, but around joy, meaning, purpose, and us.

We still wanted a family. With our whole hearts.
But we also wanted a life—one not lived in waiting rooms or wishful thinking alone.

We began choosing activities, travel, routines, and rituals based on who we were in that moment—not based on what might be next cycle.

We started living intentionally.

Therapy, Boundaries, and the Gift of Being Honest

It took time.
It took therapy.
It took nature walks and tearful dinners and learning to breathe through the ache.

But what I found was that when I stopped forcing peace, I started actually feeling it.

Therapy gave me tools to name my feelings, rather than shove them away.
It helped me see how my grief showed up in my body, my relationships, and my inner dialogue.
It helped me create rituals that were nourishing, not just distracting.

I stopped staying busy.
I started staying intentional.

Final Thoughts: The Balance

If you’re in the two-week wait right now, or navigating infertility, here’s what I want you to know:

You don’t have to choose between “busy” and “shut down.”

You can fill your days with things that mean something—connection, rest, play, creativity, work, movement.
You can carve out space for both hope and grief, without shaming either one.
You can be fully alive, even in the not-knowing.

Because staying busy won’t make the two pink lines appear.
And sitting still won’t guarantee clarity either.

But living your life—fully, gently, and with intention—might just help you feel more like you again.

And that, my friend, is always worth fighting for.