The Silent Struggle: Fertility Treatment Whilst Working as a Lawyer
“I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refuse to be reduced by it.”
Although fertility treatment is not something I have personally experienced, I felt strongly driven to create this blog post. In all my time as a lawyer, I have never seen anyone talk openly about what it’s like to go through fertility treatment whilst doing the demanding work of being a lawyer.
From reading accounts of treatment, I knew how physically and emotionally gruelling it can be. And it made me wonder: how many silent warrior women must be out there, showing up every day to do an already challenging job, all whilst dealing with unimaginable physical and emotional pain — often without anyone around them even knowing. I just can’t even imagine how difficult that must be.
Understandably, many may not feel ready or able to share what they are going through. To all those who are affected: you are courageous and remarkable, and I am truly lost in admiration for you. I hope that in sharing these stories, you feel even a little less alone.
I will also be posting about this on LinkedIn, but I know the way the algorithm works means that, unless people engage with the post, it may not be seen widely. Because many people may understandably feel reluctant to interact publicly with this topic, there’s a good chance it won’t reach everyone who might need it. So, if you know someone who could benefit from reading this email, I would be grateful if you could forward it to them.
Finally, my heartfelt thanks go to the three incredible women who so generously gave their time and emotional energy to share their experiences here.
“Balancing fertility treatment alongside my legal career was incredibly challenging. One of the hardest parts was trying to keep my emotions in check during the working day. The medications left me feeling tired and very emotional, and the uncertainty — whether it had worked, and dealing with repeated disappointments — was devastating.
During this time, I worked at two different firms. At the first, I didn’t tell anyone apart from a close friend who had been through treatment herself. I was also going through redundancy, which added an extra layer of stress, and I didn’t feel confident that my bosses would be supportive. However, at my second workplace, my boss had also undergone fertility treatment, so I felt more comfortable sharing my situation with her, which made a real difference, especially when I needed time off for appointments or simply wasn't feeling my best.
Physically and emotionally, the experience was extremely draining. It affected my ability to concentrate, and the emotional rollercoaster of failed transfers and a missed miscarriage before eventually falling pregnant was intense. There were many days when I just wanted to cry, and staying professional and focused on work was a real challenge.
To cope, I focused on staying organised, resting whenever I could, and accepting that it was okay to feel emotional — and that the feelings wouldn't last forever. Meditation, acupuncture, and managing my stress levels as best as I could also helped.
If I could give advice to another lawyer going through this, I would say: try to be open with your boss and team. They can't support you if they don't know what you're dealing with. Be kind to yourself, rest when you can, and don’t try to take on too much. Understand that your emotions might feel out of control at times, and that's normal.
I also wish law firms and colleagues understood that when you’re in the midst of fertility treatment, it can be completely consuming. You might not always be able to show up as your best professional self, but that doesn’t mean you won’t again. Flexibility around appointments and an understanding attitude would make such a difference.”
“This is the first time I’ve ever said these words out loud: I lost my job because of fertility treatment.
I’d been in a senior leadership role in a national law firm for several years. I gave everything to that job—working through illness, leading major matters, mentoring younger staff, and always showing up, even when I was physically and emotionally at breaking point.
I was honest with my employer from the beginning. I told them about my fertility treatment, about the hormones, the injections, the exhaustion. I tried to manage expectations. I asked for flexibility. I didn’t want special treatment—just understanding.
But that’s not what I got. Instead, I was dismissed. No warning. No support.
The reason they gave me was that trust had broken down – this felt like something manufactured to remove me quietly, without having to deal with the discomfort of a woman visibly struggling with something they didn’t want to engage with.
By the time I was dismissed, I’d already been through multiple rounds of IVF. I was working through severe side effects: migraines, nausea, bloating, extreme mood swings, bruising from injections, unbearable pain. I was in meetings while doubled over from the medication, turning off my camera to try and pull myself together.
At one point, I miscarried and came straight back to work. I don’t say that to be dramatic—I say it because this is the reality for so many women in our profession.
I was also undergoing treatment abroad, where I felt more confident in the medical team. That brought its own complexities—time zones, travel, accommodation. Still, I remained committed to my job. I stayed present, stayed engaged, delivered results. But none of that protected me.
I’d always taken pride in being strong, capable, and resilient. I was seen as a high performer, a leader. But as soon as I became “the woman going through IVF,” it was like my credibility vanished.
What I needed was empathy. What I got was silence. And then dismissal.
I’ve since learned that I’m not alone. There are others like me—women who’ve been pushed out, overlooked, or treated as inconvenient because of fertility treatment. Some of us try to hide it. Others are open and face a different kind of judgment.
There is no support structure for us. EAP lines and vague “speak to your manager” policies are not enough. We need trained professionals in the workplace who understand fertility. We need policies that go beyond lip service. We need allies in leadership.
And most of all, we need empathy.
My advice to other women going through this? Never believe you’re alone. You’re not. There is a quiet network of us out here. And even though it feels impossibly hard, your story matters. Speaking up, when and if you feel safe, is powerful.
This should not be something we endure in silence.”
“Fertility treatment was the hardest thing I’ve ever done—physically, mentally, emotionally. And doing it while working as a lawyer made it even harder.
The biggest challenge for me was keeping it all a secret. I didn’t want anyone at work to know I was trying for a baby. I was terrified it would be seen as a weakness, that it would affect how seriously I was taken. Would people assume I was less committed? Would they question my ambition or think I wasn’t promotion material anymore?
That fear meant I kept it from almost everyone. I only told one person—someone I trusted deeply—because I needed some support at work. But even then, I was constantly covering my tracks. I’d take holiday days for appointments, saying I had the dentist or another errand. No one ever questioned it, but the stress of pretending, on top of everything else, was overwhelming.
And there was so much else. IVF consumed every part of my life. We made the difficult decision to travel to London for treatment, as it was significantly cheaper than local clinics. So alongside work, I was juggling travel plans, injections, scans, and endless emotional ups and downs. I felt like I was living a double life—one as a competent, composed lawyer; the other as a woman in survival mode, counting the hours to the next test, the next milestone, the next heartbreak.
I had no coping strategies, really. I just tried to soldier on. I relied on my husband at the time, and my parents, and that was it. No one else knew. I just kept going.
Looking back, if I could give advice to another lawyer going through this, I’d say: put yourself first. It’s hard, especially in this profession where we’re conditioned to put our clients and our careers above everything. But this is your life. Your future. And if you need time off, take it. Don’t try to carry it all.
You might feel like a failure—I know I did. Every time a cycle didn’t work, every time I wasn’t pregnant, I blamed myself. But that’s why we go through this. To get help. To give ourselves a chance. And that takes courage. So please, be kind to yourself. You’re doing something incredibly brave.
I wish law firms understood how all-consuming this process is. The physical side is one thing—but it’s the emotional toll that really wears you down. You can’t be the best version of yourself at work when your body and mind are completely focused on something else.
And yet… for me, I didn’t want my firm to know. It wasn’t about them being unsupportive—I just couldn’t bear the thought of explaining it if things didn’t work out. If I failed, I wanted to deal with it quietly. I didn’t want to manage other people’s reactions on top of my own pain.
The background to why I needed IVF adds another layer to the story. Years earlier, after an emergency C-section, I was left with an undiagnosed infection that caused long-term damage. For six years, I was told nothing was wrong—that I was just stressed, that I should relax and it would happen. Eventually, after spending thousands on private care, a fertility specialist discovered I had been effectively sterilised: a surgical investigation showed that my fallopian tubes and womb were poisoned from an untreated infection.
They managed to save my ovaries and place clips so that I could still have children, but only through IVF as I had been left effectively sterilised. We considered taking legal action, but there was nothing in my medical notes to support the claim.
That discovery changed everything. We went ahead with IVF and were lucky enough to get four good embryos. One became my beautiful son. The other three went into storage.
About six months after my marriage broke down, I received an email from the clinic. Storage renewal was due, and it would cost £1,500 to keep the embryos frozen for another year. I was devastated. In the end, I made the heartbreaking decision to let them go.
It was another loss in a journey full of emotional highs and lows. And yet, despite everything, I have no regrets. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.”
Enjoy the rest of your week.
Rachel