Marianne Marchesi trigger warning: This story contains topics that readers may find disturbing.
Marian Marchesi shares her story of infertility and her advocacy for inclusive maternity policies in the workplace
Two years into my fertility journey, my fertility specialist told me that I “may or may not” have a blockage in my fallopian tubes and that the only way to find out was to have a laparoscopy. Oh, and if there are any serious problems, my fallopian tubes will be removed while I’m under it.
At that moment I finally thought: I am broken. I had felt this for the past two years, but this was the last straw. Not when I was told I had endometriosis after 20 years of painful, heavy periods. Not countless negative pregnancy tests.
This “diagnosis” was delivered with a complete lack of empathy, as if they were ordering their regular coffee.
When my husband and I were walking back to the car, I felt like I couldn’t physically walk anymore and I cried in front of the crowd and apologized to him for not being able to carry the baby we wanted so much.
Rebuilding my identity
Until then I was in control of everything in my life. Like many other lawyers, I was a type A personality. I say “was” because I’m not anymore.
IVF changed my personality completely. I learned a lot about myself outside of the “diagnoses”. Infertility was the first thing in my life that didn’t stop me from trying. No matter how many supplements I took or protocols I tried, no matter how many instructions I followed perfectly, my body would not give me the results I wanted on command. I discovered that I had a deep resilience and strength that I didn’t need before. But above all, I learned that you can’t control everything in life, but you can control how you respond.
I didn’t want my IVF experience to be shameful or taboo. I couldn’t control my infertility, but I could control how I managed it. I switched fertility specialists and I told my team, family and friends what I had been through and that I might need some grace for the next few months.
I was vulnerable and honest about my experience. It was terrifying to be so vulnerable as a leader. But instead of being judged, I was greeted with gentleness. Everyone took a seat for me, supported me and cried with me. I realized that my willingness to be human allowed everyone around me to be human.
The nature of the plot
Then came something that no one expected – a pandemic. Suddenly, IVF was included in the “elective” category (because people definitely choose to be infertile?), appointments should only be attended, and if I thought that before it was clinical – well, now it was on a different level. I remember sitting in the waiting room before the embryo transfer, my bladder full, my mask on, no furniture, no support person, thinking I was dead and waking up in hell.
My endurance and strength were tested once again. But in the midst of that came another realization: how lucky I was to have the freedom and flexibility afforded me by being my own boss. This privilege is very important. I felt deep sadness for the women navigating this process in harsh, unsupportive workplaces—hiding their injections, lying about appointments, needing time to recover, apologizing.
I promised that no one who worked with me would have to navigate IVF alone, that they would be supported by me, our business and our policies to get through the multigenerational life moments that women, mostly, face during their lifetime. Not just fertility, but menstruation, endometriosis, perimenopause, menopause and other reproductive health issues. In 2025, I implemented a policy at my company to offer 12 days of paid maternity and reproductive health leave per year, and I am now advocating for other businesses to consider similar policies.
Redefining strength
I finally got pregnant at the end of 2020 with my happy, beautiful and energetic four year old. My fertility control, my body and my diagnoses miraculously resulted in a natural pregnancy two years later to my happy, beautiful and strong two-year-old – although my obstetrician likes to say that I “greased the machine” the first time.
I share this with caution because not every IVF story ends with a baby, and the happy ending here isn’t just about babies. A more profound change was that infertility opened up my understanding of strength.
My experience has taught me that in the right settings and with the right support structures, we can allow ourselves to soften. We can let go of our expectations as women, as mothers-to-be, and focus on what we really want in our lives. We can be strong and resilient all the time – while recognizing the strength within.
You are allowed to want big things for your career and family. You are allowed to ask for support. You are allowed to lead, work and live, leaving room for your whole self – ambition, kindness, tears and all.
And if you’re a leader like me, know that one of the most powerful things you can do is make room for gentleness—first in yourself and then in the places you have the privilege of shaping.
This article can be found in Journal of Wellbeing 222
