In a previous article, Let’s Stop Whispering About Fertility Benefits, I wrote about visibility—how fertility and family-building benefits can technically exist at work and still be effectively invisible if no one talks about them.
That piece focused on systems: benefits buried in onboarding packets, ERGs hidden in Slack channels, and employees quietly searching for support they didn’t know was available.
This piece is about what happens after we stop whispering.
Because the truth is, silence doesn’t just delay access to benefits. It delays access to each other.
So much of the fertility journey is carried behind closed doors. When conception doesn’t come easily and families turn to IVF, IUI, adoption, or surrogacy, many of us end up navigating deeply personal decisions alone—late-night Google searches, WebMD rabbit holes, and carefully edited answers to avoid discomfort.
Silence may feel protective. But it isn’t sustainable.
This journey requires community. And community doesn’t mean constant optimism.
Sometimes this journey is hard. Sometimes it’s upsetting. Sometimes it feels deeply unfair. And often, that emotional weight follows us straight into the workday—asking us to show up, stay focused, and perform while our hearts are somewhere else entirely.
I’ve been in meetings where people casually shared how easily they became parents, or how they “weren’t even trying.” Most didn’t intend harm. But when you’re struggling to build your own family, those stories can feel poorly timed and painfully sharp.
So we do what many people do at work: We smile. We nod. We stay quiet. We save the real conversation for after we log off. Until one day, it slips.
I once had someone ask if my husband and I were going to “try for kids.” Caught off guard, I answered honestly: “We actually just suffered a loss, but we’re hopeful.”
I didn’t plan to share that. But something unexpected happened.
Another teammate spoke up and shared that they, too, had experienced loss. After the call, we connected privately. He shared about his family’s most recent heartbreak. And suddenly it became clear: while we were all on camera, smiling and executing work, we were also quietly carrying grief—separately and in silence.
What changed wasn’t our circumstances. It was the silence. When I stopped whispering, connection followed. That moment reshaped how I move through this journey.
Now:
I openly share about loss.
I name frustration, sadness, and the shame that can surface along the way.
I share what I’ve learned—about benefits, workplace supports, and resources that helped me stay grounded.
Not because it’s easy. But because it matters.
When we stop whispering about fertility, we don’t overshare—we normalize. We create access. We remind one another that grief and hope can coexist, and that no one should have to navigate this journey alone.
Let’s Stop Whispering About Fertility Benefits was about finding the resources. This is about finding each other.