The Two Years I Never Spoke About: My Raw, Unfiltered IVF & Fertility Journey

For two years, I’ve been living a double life.

On the outside? I was running my business, leading events, coaching clients, travelling the world.

On the inside? I was navigating the hardest season of my adult life — a two-year journey of trying to conceive that would test my body, my marriage, my business, my identity and my mind in ways I could never have imagined.

This is the story I never thought I’d tell publicly. Until now.

The Words That Changed Everything

I still remember sitting in the specialist’s office. My husband couldn’t make it, so I took my best friend for moral support.

I had already been told I had abnormal cells from a routine pap smear. It was stage three, and I’d had the same procedure ten years earlier. I knew my cervix was already compromised, and I also knew I wanted to start thinking about kids soon.

So I asked the question I was desperate to know the answer to.

“Is there any way I can avoid more surgery?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“No. And given your background, if you were any older, I’d be advising a hysterectomy.”

I was 29.

The word hysterectomy hit me like a freight train.

I asked if I could reverse it naturally. Again — a firm no.

I walked out feeling sick.

“Inhospitable Ovaries” and Unexpected Lows

From there, the journey became a blur of appointments, test results and confusing medical language.

One day, I was told I had “inhospitable ovaries” because of inflammation. I still remember walking into a room full of people congratulating a friend on her newborn baby — just minutes after hearing that news. I was genuinely happy for her… but I was also broken.

It’s a strange emotional cocktail: joy for someone else’s blessing, mixed with your own deep grief. You get good at hiding it. Until you can’t.

The Mental Mind Games

What made it harder was the lack of answers.

When you’re given the label unexplained infertility, your brain goes into overdrive. I’m the kind of person who needs to find the root cause, and “unexplained” wasn’t going to cut it.

I’d been pregnant before — accidentally, in my early twenties — so I knew my body could do it. Which made the current struggle even more frustrating.

And then there were the well-meaning but wildly unhelpful comments from strangers. Stories about women who couldn’t conceive with their husbands, but fell pregnant instantly after a divorce. I never doubted my relationship with Paul, but those seeds of doubt are powerful. And toxic.

IVF: My Biggest Surrender and My Biggest Fight

Eighteen months in, I made the decision I’d been resisting. IVF.

For someone who avoids Panadol, has political feelings about Big Pharma and prefers natural remedies, this was a huge ego death.

It felt like admitting I had failed.

And I had no idea how consuming the process would be — financially, physically, mentally. My kitchen turned into a mini-pharmacy. Needles twice a day. Blood tests. Scans. Egg retrieval surgeries. Transfers. The emotional high of hope followed by the crash of disappointment.

We were spending $500 a week on medications alone, and handing over thousands more with each failed transfer. I’d lie if I said I didn’t sometimes question the industry’s motives.

But I also had to learn to surrender. To ask for help. To let Paul step in and take over the injections when I couldn’t do it myself.

Holding Space for Others While Falling Apart

One of the hardest moments came while running my signature program, The Mind School.

Halfway through the program, my clients were sharing how it was transforming their relationships with their kids. I went to the bathroom, saw my period had come, and came back to the circle in tears.

I told them the truth. That I loved hearing their wins, but it was hard to hear as someone trying to conceive.

A pregnant client walked up to me, put my hand on her belly, and said, “One day this will be you.”

I’ll never forget the love and compassion in that room.

And you know what I realised? You can hold space for others while falling apart yourself. You can be powerful and messy at the same time.

The Power of Letting People In

I couldn’t have survived this without my friends.

Friends who don’t want kids themselves, yet researched hormone-friendly recipes for me. Friends who drove hours to sit with me after a failed transfer. Friends who stayed over to stop me from testing too early.

This season has taught me that letting people in isn’t weakness. It’s strength.

Why I’m Sharing This Now

For two years, I didn’t share much.

Partly because I was still living it.

Partly because my business brain thought it wasn’t “relevant” to my audience.

But here’s the truth — this is as relevant as it gets. Because every one of us will go through a season where life brings us to our knees. And who we become in that season? That’s everything.

I’ve learned that vulnerability doesn’t make you less of a leader. It makes you human. And being human is the whole point.

If you’re navigating your own fertility journey, or loving someone who is, I hope my story makes you feel less alone.

And if you want to hear the full conversation — every messy, beautiful, gut-wrenching detail — I recorded it for you on The Mind School Podcast.

🎧 Listen here:  

Because sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is simply tell the truth.