If someone you love is going through infertility, you want to help. Of course you do. The difficulty is that most of the things people reach for - the reassurances, the anecdotes, the silver linings - tend to land badly, even when they are offered with the best intentions in the world.

I know this from the receiving end. Over the years of trying to conceive, I heard almost everything. I heard 'just relax and it will happen' so many times I lost count. I was told 'you can always adopt', as though adoption were a consolation prise rather than a profoundly significant decision. I was sent articles about women who had conceived naturally after a decade of trying. I was told about friends of friends who had given up hope and then fallen pregnant on holiday.
None of it helped. Some of it hurt more than people realised.

So here is what I wish people had known - and what I hope might be useful if someone in your life is in the middle of this right now.

Do not offer unsolicited advice or stories. The 'I know someone who' stories, however well-meant, carry an implicit message: that the person is not trying hard enough, or not relaxed enough, or not thinking about it in the right way. They are not helpful. If you have genuinely useful information - a clinic, a book, a resource - ask first whether they would like to hear it.

Do not say 'just relax'. I understand why people say this. There is some evidence that stress can affect fertility. But telling someone who is going through fertility treatment to simply relax is a bit like telling someone with a broken leg to simply walk it off. The stress is a symptom of the situation, not the cause of it. And hearing it over and over only adds to the guilt.

Do not make their grief conditional. 'At least you know you can get pregnant' or ‘at least you got this far’, or 'at least you have each other' are well-meaning, but they minimise the very real pain of what the person is experiencing. Grief does not need to be earned or justified. It just is.

Do say: I am here. The most powerful thing you can offer someone going through infertility is simple, consistent presence. Not advice. Not solutions. Just: I am here, I am thinking of you, and you do not have to pretend to be okay around me.

Do ask how they want to be supported. Some people going through fertility treatment want to talk about it. Others find that every conversation about it makes them feel worse. Ask which they prefer. Let them tell you what they need, rather than assuming.

Do remember the anniversaries. Due dates that never happened. Failed treatment cycles. The months that were supposed to be the one. These dates live in a person's body long after they have passed. Remembering them - quietly, without making it a big thing - means more than you might imagine.

And if you get it wrong - if you say the wrong thing and realise afterwards - just say so. 'I said that badly and I'm sorry' goes a very long way.

The truth is that there is no perfect script. There is only showing up, listening, and letting the person you love know that their pain matters and that they do not have to carry it alone. That, in the end, is all any of us really needs.

If you are the person going through infertility and you just sent this article to someone in your life - I see you. Inconceivable is for you. I wrote it for everyone who needs it. It is the book that says out loud all the things that are so hard to say. And if you want to be part of a community that gets it, come and join us.