Surrogacy Emotional Support: What Gay Dads Actually Need
The surrogacy journey is an emotional marathon. Here's what gay dads actually need to get through it — and where to find it.
After the third transfer failed, I drove home from the grocery store — I don't remember why I was at the grocery store, probably because I needed something to do with my hands — and sat in my driveway for forty minutes. Engine off. Phone in my lap. Not crying. Not thinking, exactly. Just sitting in the specific silence that follows a loss nobody around you fully understands. My neighbor walked by with her dog and waved. I waved back. She had no idea that I'd just lost a pregnancy that wasn't mine, in a body I'd never touched, in a country I'd never visited, and that the grief of it was sitting in my chest like a stone I couldn't put down. That's the emotional side of surrogacy nobody prepares you for. Not the logistics. The loneliness.
The Emotions Nobody Warns You About
Grief after failed transfers. Not the dramatic kind — the quiet kind. The kind that sits in your chest for days and doesn't have a name because you didn't lose a child, you lost a possibility. And the world doesn't have a script for grieving a possibility. Nobody sends flowers. Nobody takes a day off work. You just carry it, privately, and try to function.
Guilt about wanting this so badly. The feeling that you should be grateful for what you have instead of aching for what you don't. The shame of spending money on something that isn't guaranteed — money that could go to something 'practical,' something with a receipt and a return policy. Surrogacy has neither.
Isolation. Most people in your life don't understand what you're going through. They try — but the specific anxiety of surrogacy is hard to explain to someone who hasn't lived it. The two-week wait after a transfer. The distance from your surrogate. The complete, total lack of control over the most important thing in your life. You become fluent in a language most people don't speak. And the speaking happens mostly alone.
Why Gay Dads Carry It Differently
There's a specific loneliness that comes with being a gay man in the fertility world. The waiting rooms are designed for couples — heterosexual couples, usually. The pamphlets show families that don't look like yours. The language assumes a partner, a birth mother, a configuration you don't fit.
You spend a lot of the journey quietly translating yourself into a system that didn't picture you. It's not hostile — it's just tiring. And the tiredness compounds the emotional weight of everything else. You're already grieving, already anxious, already carrying the financial pressure — and on top of all of it, you're doing it in spaces that weren't built for you.
The mental health toll of that invisibility is real. It doesn't show up on any intake form. But it's there, underneath everything, making the hard parts harder.
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What Actually Helps
A therapist who specializes in third-party reproduction. Not a general therapist — someone who understands the specific emotional landscape of surrogacy, IVF, and intended parenthood. The difference is enormous. A general therapist will validate your feelings. A specialist will name them before you do, because they've heard them a hundred times.
Other intended parents. Online communities, local groups, or even one other person who's been through it. The relief of talking to someone who just gets it — who knows what a beta number is, who understands the two-week wait, who doesn't need you to explain why a failed transfer feels like a death — is enormous. That one conversation can carry you through a week.
Permission to feel everything. The joy and the grief. The hope and the terror. The gratitude and the exhaustion. All of it is valid. All of it is part of the journey. The dads who try to perform strength through the whole process are the ones who break down hardest at the end. Let yourself feel it as it comes. It's not weakness. It's the appropriate response to an extraordinary situation.
A plan for the bad days. Not a coping strategy — a plan. Who you'll call. What you'll do. Where you'll go. The bad days in surrogacy aren't hypothetical. They're scheduled — every transfer has a result day, and half the time the result is no. Having a plan for that day is as important as having a plan for the transfer itself.
For Partners and Friends
If someone you love is going through surrogacy, the most important thing you can do is show up consistently. Not just at the big moments — the transfer, the results — but at the quiet ones. The Tuesday evening when nothing is happening and everything feels heavy. The Sunday morning when they're pretending to be fine and you can see that they're not.
Ask how they're doing. Listen to the answer. Don't try to fix it. Don't say 'everything happens for a reason' — especially after a failed transfer. Nothing about a failed embryo transfer feels like it happened for a reason. Just be there. Keep being there. That's the whole guide.
And check in during the quiet weeks between milestones. That's when the loneliness hits hardest — when there's nothing happening, nothing to report, nothing to do except wait and hope and try to live a normal life while your entire future is being decided in someone else's body.
Frequently Asked Questions
Is it normal to struggle emotionally during surrogacy?
Completely. Surrogacy is an emotional marathon that can run for years, with grief, anxiety, isolation, and hope all running simultaneously. Struggling with it isn't a sign you're not cut out for parenthood — it's a sign you understand how much is on the line.
How do you cope with a failed embryo transfer?
Treat it as the real loss it is. Let yourself grieve. Lean on people who understand fertility loss specifically. Have a plan for the bad day — who you'll call, what you'll do. And give yourself time before rushing to 'what's next.'
Should I see a therapist during surrogacy?
If you can, it's worth it — ideally one who specializes in third-party reproduction. The emotional terrain of surrogacy is specific, and having support that actually understands the waiting, the grief, and the stakes makes the journey more survivable.
How can friends and family support someone going through surrogacy?
Show up consistently — not just at the big moments, but during the quiet weeks. Ask how they're doing and listen without trying to fix it. Don't say 'everything happens for a reason.' Just be there. Keep being there.
Joseph Tito
Creator of The Dad Diaries. Gay dad of twins. Writing about fatherhood, surrogacy, and the beautiful mess of real life.
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