Anyone traversing the terrain of infertility inevitably bumps up against a sea of “whys?” “Why am I not pregnant?” “Why is this happening to me?” “Why don’t I feel hopeful about my fertility journey?”

It’s human nature to ask “Why?” — especially when faced with feelings of deep uncertainty and feeling out of control.

Our minds are powerful, and often trick us into believing that if we uncover the answers to all of our “whys,” we will somehow alleviate our pain, creating a buffer against the waters of grief that so often surge during this vulnerable time.

Divorce and breakups are hard for most people. It’s probably one of the most traumatic experiences a person can go through, next to the death of a loved one, or getting a letter from the IRS. Yet for others, it’s a blast of freedom, a chance to reset and start again.

But one aspect of getting divorced — or breaking up with your boyfriend or girlfriend — that can and probably will cause all kinds of problems is if you end up having sex with your ex. Oh yes, it happens. Hey, don’t look so shocked, you know you’ve done it.

Sometimes it’s not a planned thing. Sometimes it just ‘happened’ that one night when he came over to collect his Eminem CD’s, slanket, and favorite Big Bird mug. Or you may have a regular thing going on because your ex is ‘so damn hot’.

Whatever the circumstance, you might want to ask yourself, “Is this really a good idea?”

Research tends to overlook young adults who lose their moms, according to Taranjit (Tara) K. Bhatia, PsyD, a clinical psychologist who specializes in relationships, including mother-daughter bonds. Because they’re already adults, people assume these daughters don’t need maternal guidance.

However, losing a mom has a powerful effect on young adult daughters. In her research, Bhatia found that a daughter’s sense of identity is especially shaken. “They don’t know what being a woman is all about.”

Daughters also doubt their own role as mothers. “Most motherless daughters are very insecure about how well they could mother without their mothers’ advice, support and reassurance.”

I love the story about how, when generals were parading through the streets of Rome during a victory march, a slave would be tasked with walking behind them saying memento mori — remember you’re mortal.

How great is that? Here’s a Roman general, top of the pile, a massive celebrity (like the Jay-Z of his day), and there’s this slave reminding him that he’s mortal and not to get too high above himself because he too can die.

Personally, I think we need more of that today — humility and the awareness to realize and accept that we are mortal, destined to die.

With the recent bombings at the 2013 Boston Marathon, many of us find ourselves asking the same questions… How do we make sense out of senseless brutality?

How do we deal with those who embrace an ideology of destruction?

How do we reckon with those who suckle their children on hatred?

What do we say to ourselves, to our kids, to our loved ones when a horrible thing happens?

We will all have different responses to these questions. Here are mine…

As I write this, our thoughts are with those in Boston who were affected by the bombings at the 2013 Boston Marathon.

In my 20 years living in the Boston area, I cheered on the runners on many occasions and now, even from far way, these events feel close to home.

Experiencing trauma can have a dramatic effect on our bodies and our minds.  And although it’s a different experience to witness a trauma on television, it still can affect us.

When you perceive a threat, the body activates the stress response. The stress response occurs in both your body and brain.

The body’s response to acute stress is a preparation for emergency.  Adrenaline and other hormones are released.  The body shuts down processes associated with long-term care.  When under immediate threat, digestion, reproduction, cell repair and other body tasks related to long-term functioning are unimportant.

There’s a disconnect between how we treat sick people and how they want to be treated, according to Letty Cottin Pogrebin, author of the new book How to Be a Friend to a Friend Who’s Sick.

We stay silent. We say stupid things. We go from being sensitive, sensible, kind adults to rambling niceties or making downright rude remarks.

Illness, understandably, makes us nervous.

Fortunately, Pogrebin’s book helps us navigate the muddied waters of illness and mortality. It’s packed with practical tips and valuable insights.

Pogrebin was inspired to write the book after observing the varied reactions from her own friends to her breast cancer diagnosis. Some friends misunderstood her needs and acted awkwardly. Others were supportive and compassionate.

In the book, she shares these personal experiences, along with powerful accounts of people offering support to others. She also shares the words of almost 80 of her fellow patients at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. She interviewed these individuals to find out how they really wanted to be treated.

While the police are still sifting through the clues for information about who was behind the Boston Marathon 2013 bombings on Boylston St., it’s time for the rest of us to take a deep breath and start healing from this tragedy. With over 100 people injured — some quite seriously — and three people dead, that healing is going to take some time.

Other countries have long had to deal with seemingly random bombings in urban areas; the U.S. is relatively late to this particular brand of horror. I’m not sure how one ever gets used to the idea that by just going shopping or watching a parade or sporting event, something really bad could happen.

But life carries on — we cannot stop living out of fear.

What Happens Now is a shiny new blog hosted by the American Association of Suicidology, written by and for suicide attempt survivors. Journalist Cara Anna is the editor, inviting other attempt survivors to contribute guest posts, or take part in interviews with her, as well as writing extremely insightful posts herself.

Even the word “survivor” uncovers stigma in the world of suicide prevention. Traditionally it’s been used by those bereaved by the suicide death of someone else, and does not refer to those who have survived suicide attempts.

A few savvy agencies, including the AAS and the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, are careful to distinguish between “loss survivors” and “attempt survivors,” but more often organizations will simply refer to “survivors,” and they always mean the bereaved when they do.

This might seem like a quibble with language, but in fact illustrates structural stigma among suicide prevention agencies. Attempt survivors simply don’t exist in their language, or in their activities.

Ein-shei Chen was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease) in 1995. Yet she hasn’t let the degenerative disease derail her daily life or dull her dreams. Chen is the president of the Motor Neuron Disease Association of Taiwan. She’s given speeches at ALS conferences all over the world. She’s even convinced the government to build an ALS clinic in her city of Taichung — the second facility in all of Asia.

Chen can only move her big toe. She writes emails and communicates with others using special technology. Composing an email with five short sentences takes her 20 minutes. But she continues to email with her family, friends and other ALS patients. She also visits patients in person with the help of her caregivers and relatives.

Chen’s remarkable story is featured in Richard Cheu’s empowering book Living Well With Chronic Illness: A Practical and Spiritual Guide. Cheu provides pastoral counseling to patients in New York City medical and hospice centers. He helps patients find peace with their illness and live their lives to the fullest.

On my morning commute last week, an interesting radio conversation about grief and consolation made me turn up the volume. The co-hosts of one of my preferred morning radio programs were discussing what we say to our friends who are dealing with emotionally trying, tragic circumstances.

One of the hosts said that he dealt with a difficult personal issue a few years ago. He described conversations he had with friends who wanted to offer their support and condolences, and he said, “Most of them told me, ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say to you.’”

And then the host made a particularly interesting comment: “Then my friends opened their mouths anyway — and that’s when I wished they had never said anything in the first place.”

I’ve certainly been on both ends. When I attempt to give my grieving friends comfort or insight, too often I walk away feeling as if I’ve failed. My words are balloons that have come untied, or antiseptic on a burning wound. I long to help — and stumbling over my words, confused over what angle I should take, I feel a miserable failure.

How many of us have admitted that we have nothing comforting to say, and then turned right around and scraped together some kind of awkward, unhelpful comment? Why is it that we feel we must speak, and why do our words so often harm the mourner?

I have done terrible things during manic and mixed episodes.

I have hurt those who love me, squandered my savings, lost jobs, behaved very poorly, and even attempted suicide.

As episodes ended, the knowledge of what I had done made me feel so alone, so separate from those close to me. Isolated even from strangers. The worse I felt I behaved, the more I felt undesirable. Immoral acts left me feeling as if I had no one.

Mental illness and its associated behaviors can make one feel wrong without equal. A sense that only a very sick person would commit such transgressions can drive one inward and away from those who can help. We often push those who want to help away. Fear of hurting or disappointing others leads to strained and severed relationships.