Sharing this because at the time I felt unbelievably alone and maybe this will help someone else feel less alone: almost 3 years ago I got a surprise diagnosis that it would be almost impossible for me to have biological children of my own. I'm otherwise in great health. So when my wife and I went to a clinic after nearly a year of trying without success, I was shocked to learn that I was producing almost zero viable sperm. There wasn't actually even much of a diagnosis, just guesses that it could be a genetic issue, or a possible complication of a surgery I had as a teenager, but the simple facts were that having kids was going to be almost impossible for me. The conversation with the doctor was head-spinning and within five minutes had turned to a discussion of how to work with a sperm donor, an idea I'd never even contemplated before. We took notes and a bundle of brochures and decided to think it over. I knew, in a statistical sense, that fertility issues were a widespread challenge across the developed world. But my anecdotal experience of other couples I knew dealing with infertility had always been in the context of women, usually past their mid-30s, struggling with pregnancy and miscarriages. I had personally never heard of anyone in my family or network dealing with male infertility. So even when we walked into the clinic that day, the possibility of being infertile myself was not even on my radar. It turns out that in 1/3 of fertility cases in the US, the male partner is the primary concern. So I guess it's simply the case that men are talking about this far less than women are, or at least that has been my personal experience. I felt like I had been hit by a truck. We drove home half-delirious in a swirl of shock, pain, and determined to do more research. After consulting with some of the leading male infertility specialists, we learned that almost impossible is not the same as impossible. A relatively new surgery to directly extract sperm combined with IVF was an option for us, albeit not one with a very high chance of success. After 10 months of consults, hormone therapies, and testing, an exhausting rollercoaster from glimmers of hope to setbacks, we went for it. The procedure was just successful enough to be heart-breaking. We briefly were able to fertilize two embryos, none of which survived long enough to be implanted via IVF. At this point I moved from determined optimism to grappling with the fact that, barring some major new scientific breakthrough, I would never be able to have biological kids of my own. This was tough. I never had any doubt that I wanted kids and was really looking forward to fatherhood. My own father passed away when I was two years old. Even though I barely knew him, I'm told by those who knew him that I am exactly like him in a million different ways. I was and am proud of the father I never knew, proud to be like him and grateful for genetic gifts from him, and without ever really thinking about it that much I was looking forward to passing those on to another generation. I didn't realize until I was faced with this reality how much the prospect of having kids, passing on genes, and raising them was a primary structural scaffolding for how I thought my life would have purpose and meaning. Having that possibility ripped away by surprise raised a very tough question for me. What does it mean to live a purposeful and fulfilling life without the possibility of having kids? It wasn't a question I'd grappled with before. My wife and I made a huge mistake by not immediately starting counseling as soon as we began navigating this. The stress, uncertainty, and heartbreak took a toll, stressing existing cracks and forming new ones in our relationship. 15 months ago we separated and divorced. In less than two years almost all the pillars of the plan I had for my future—a wife, a family, and the life we would build together—evaporated. I found myself with a big hole in my heart and a blank slate for what to do with most of my life. Today I'm in a very good place. Far better than I ever expected to be this soon after. It's been a year filled with leaning heavily on friends, family, and community. A journey of deep introspection, challenging work, and personal growth. There's much more to do but I've learned more about myself, my relationships, and my purpose in life in one year than I did in the prior 36. I'm not yet ready to share much more about that journey yet, but I will at some point I'm sure. For now I have both an offer and an ask. An offer: if you're dealing with infertility, I'm happy to share any information I learned from the process and also more than happy just to talk privately. You are not alone. ❤️ An ask: This year I'm planning to learn more about adoption and I'd love to speak to folks who have done it and find any good resources. I don't want to knee-jerk jump from "I can't have kids" to "Plan B: I should adopt." I'd like to learn as much as I can and come to an independent decision on whether and how I should do it. Just getting up to speed on it, much less doing it, seems like a daunting challenge from what I've heard. Any insights, advice or resources would be very much appreciated. 🙏