Surrendering My Fertility Fears to a Faithful God

What do you do when the statistics say one thing—but your faith is trying to believe another?

In this vulnerable and powerful episode, Shelby opens up about the emotional and spiritual weight of her fertility journey after a PCOS and endometriosis diagnosis. From a casual doctor’s warning at 18, to controlling every appointment and test result, to the gentle whisper of God asking, “Do you trust Me?”—this episode explores the power of surrender and the miracle that came when she let go.

Whether you're walking through fertility challenges or simply trying to trust God with an uncertain future, this conversation will remind you:

You are not broken.

Your womb is not your worth.

And God's timing is never too late.

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Transcript

Hello and welcome back to the fearfully and wonderfully diagnosed podcast. I'm your host, Shelby Payne, and I'm grateful that you're here today. 

If you've been following this journey, we've already covered some deep territory, how chronic illness shaped my identity, my prayers, and my relationship with God. Each episode has peeled back a new layer of what it means to live faithfully in a body that doesn't always cooperate. But today is different. 

Today I'm inviting you into one of the most vulnerable, raw, and sacred parts of my story, my fertility journey. I know this is a different difficult subject for a lot of you struggling with these conditions, so if this is too difficult for you right now, it's okay to skip this episode. But I hope you'll stay if you can. and I hope this gives you some hope and peace and some feeling that you're not alone in your fears. 

This episode is for every woman who's ever wondered if she'd become a mother, who's felt that quiet ache during baby showers and Mother's Day sermons, who's watched other people step into a season they've been praying for and wondered when it would be her turn. We're talking about trusting God when hope feels heavy, about releasing control, and discovering peace not in the answers, but in the surrender. 

I was just 18 years old when a doctor casually dropped the bombshell. You may not be able to have children, so quickly and casually crushing my dreams. No diagnosis, no clear explanation, just a sentence, a single moment that echoed through the chambers of my heart for years. I didn't know it at the time, but that sentence became a seed. and I let it grow. I let it define me. Instead of Shelby, future mother, I became Shelby probably infertile. 

And when I was diagnosed with PCOS at 23, and endometriosis at 26, the statistics hit really hard. 70 to 80% of women with PCOS experience infertility. 40 to 50% of women with endometriosis do too. Those numbers started to feel less like data and more like prophecy, like something etched in stone. And boy, did they really stack up against me. 

I remember sitting in church on Mother's Days, watching women receive flowers and smiling. I was breaking on the inside. I believed a story that I had written about myself. Songs like Thehe Blessing by Carrie Job, they would undo me. Because that was a song I wanted to sing over my future children, and I had no idea I could even have children. It only reminded me of what I thought I was losing. 

Fast forward to marriage, suddenly those fears that had lingered in the background became loud, urgent, and real. and once we decided we were ready for children, boy, I became obsessed with the what ifs. Before we even tried to conceive, I booked an appointment with my doctor. We ran labs, which came back and said that everything was good, but I didn't really believe them. And I asked all the questions, what do we do if it doesn't work? How long do we try? What are the options if it doesn't work? What is plan A, B, C, and D? I told myself I was just getting informed. But deep down, I know what I was really doing. I was trying to get control. 

We ended up booking an appointment where they put dye in your fallopian tubes to see if there's endometrial growth in there. And I didn't really feel great about it, but I let them book the appointment in anyways. I wasn't pursuing peace through God. I was pursuing peace through information, because I thought if I could just get a clear answer, then I would know how to guard my heart, then maybe it would hurt less. 

But God, in his gentleness, started whispering something else that peace doesn't come from predictions. It doesn't live in clarity. It lives in surrender. I will never forget that moment. I was driving down the road on a normal day. I had not had the dye test done yet, but I really wasn't sure about it still. And then I heard it, so clearly, so tenderly. Do you trust me? Not, do you trust the doctor? Not, do you trust the results? Do you trust me? It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic, but it was undeniable, and in that moment something shifted. I realized I had been trusting the process more than the provider. I was searching for answers and peace through tests. Tests, I really didn't even need to have yet. So I replied, yes, Lord, I trust you. And I canceled that appointment, not because I stopped caring, not because I stopped controlling and not because I stopped fearing. 

That day marked a turning point for me. It was the beginning of true surrender. Instead of searching for answers through tests and doctors, instead of trying to make my own plan B and C and D, I simply prayed and surrendered, and whenever I felt the need for control, whenever I was afraid, I prayed. And here's the part that I still get emotional sharing. The very first month we tried, we got pregnant. I still struggle to find the words for that moment. gratitude, relief, complete shock. I had not expected that at all. And it hasn't been easy. 

Chronic illness doesn't magically vanish when you see two pink lines. But the season has been incredibly special because it's reminded me that God doesn't operate by percentages. He isn't limited by what's likely. He does not even really care about the statistics I told you earlier. He's bigger than all of that. And he is the one truly in control. Surrender does not mean giving up hope. It means choosing to trust, even an especially before you know the ending. I've learned so much through this. First, yes, doctors are important. I'm incredibly thankful for science and medicine. They have really helped me walk through the seasons of pain. medication has helped me, but they can't offer what my soul was really craving. Peace. and peace isn't found in numbers. It's found in trust. 

John 14:27 says, peace, I leave with you. My peace, I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. I had to start asking myself, why I was chasing these tests? What was I really hoping it would give me? And the answer was almost always control. But the peace of God doesn't require control. It requires surrender. 

So, to the woman listening who feels her body is broken, you are not broken. You are not a failure. You are not behind. You are a vessel of strength, of beauty, of resilience, and your story is still being written by hands that are kind and faithful. 

to the woman listening who is still in the thick of this journey, I see you, I feel your ache, and more importantly, God sees you. He has not forgotten you. He is not punishing you. He has not run out of blessings or miracles or goodness, and every tear that you cry, he is catching and collecting because he cares for you. 

Tune in next week as we continue to journey through chronic illness together, and until then, remember, you are fearfully and wonderfully made, even in your uncertainty, even in your waiting, even in your surrender, even in your diagnosis.