In 2022, after a year of trying to conceive naturally without success, I made one of the biggest decisions of my life: I started IVF. I was 38, single, and immersed in a career that I’d worked relentlessly to build. For years, I’d prioritised the corporate climb, but my egg count wasn’t going to wait. It was now or never.
I’ve spent my career managing all sorts of digital chaos. Multi-million-dollar projects, high-pressure deadlines, political stakeholders, complex teams, you name it, I’ve handled it. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared me for IVF.
The first round surprised me. I was nervous, but aside from the mild trauma of stabbing a needle into my stomach while crying (I have a serious needle phobia), it went okay. I even thought, naively, “That wasn’t so bad.” But sadly, I got just one embryo, and after 4 weeks of anticipation, it didn’t stick.
I’m someone who gets sh*t done. So, I rolled straight into round two, business as usual. Except this time, the meds doubled. So did the emotional fallout. I juggled back-to-back meetings with leaders and advisors who wouldn’t take no for an answer, all while navigating random bursts of tears, brain fog, and hormone surges that made me feel like a stranger in my own body. Again, this one didn’t stick.
Round three? Same story. I cried in bathroom stalls between meetings. I hid the physical and emotional toll because I’d been advised not to share my personal health journey as a leader (apparently, it was a lifestyle choice and shouldn’t impact my ability to lead?!?*!). So, I masked it. I smiled. I kept leading. And I broke a little more each time.
After three back-to-back rounds, I finally stopped to catch my breath. I had surgery to improve my chances before trying again. I could tell that my team knew something was off; my energy had changed. I was unravelling behind the scenes, doing everything I could to hold it together in front of them.
Round four brought even more meds, three injections a day now. The hormones were next level. I couldn’t think clearly. I couldn’t regulate. I was falling apart while trying to deliver major public-facing projects in an increasingly hostile work environment. I had no support. Those who knew stayed silent. Those who didn’t made their own assumptions.
And then, finally, it worked.
Becoming pregnant was one of the happiest moments of my life, and it arrived at the peak of one of the most toxic and stressful periods of my career. I wanted to protect my pregnancy, to stay calm and focused. But the reality was cortisol spikes, high-stakes meetings, and emotionally draining interactions with people who had no idea what I was carrying, physically or mentally.
At almost 11 weeks (a week and a half before I planned to let people in), I miscarried.
My world shattered. I sobbed uncontrollably in a hospital bed as the anaesthetist sedated me. I was about to lose the baby I had fought so hard for. The pain was beyond anything I could ever describe.
One week later, I was made redundant (’cause remember, lifestyle choice).
I was broken. There aren’t words.
I’d given the best parts of my ovarian health to my career, and in return, I was discarded.
Six weeks later, I made a new decision. I started my own business.
Not from a place of strength, but from the deepest place of knowing that I could never go back to sacrificing myself for systems that had no soul. I want to work on my terms, with people who value empathy, boundaries, balance, and brilliance. I want to build something where being human or a single woman building a family with a career isn’t a liability.
Since then, I’ve undergone eight rounds of IVF and experienced three miscarriages. The emotional toll is beyond what most people can imagine. And no, I don’t have a baby – yet. Maybe I never will. But I’ve built something else: a business and a life that honours my health, my energy, my joy, and my values.
I’ve found my balance. I’ve found myself.
And now, as a consultant, I bring all of that to the table. I still get sh*t done, but I do it with heart. I understand chaos, but I also understand compassion. I help businesses untangle the mess: systems, websites, strategy, teams, because I’ve lived the mess. I don’t flinch at complexity. I meet it with calm.
When everything falls apart and you rebuild from scratch, you don’t forget what matters. You just learn to live it differently.
If you’re looking for strategic support from someone who blends leadership and digital smarts with human-first thinking, I’d love to chat!
