When someone is bereaved, there is a recognised script. The phrase “I’m so sorry for your loss” is a social shorthand, a way to acknowledge pain when words feel inadequate. For the one in seven UK couples affected by infertility, no such common language exists. This linguistic void, experts argue, leaves those navigating the profound grief of unfulfilled parenthood isolated in a silence that even well-meaning friends and family struggle to breach.
The Vocabulary Void and Its Toll
The absence of a shared vocabulary is more than an awkward social gap; it reflects and reinforces a deep-seated stigma. According to the patient charity Fertility Network UK, this isolation has severe consequences, with 90% of those struggling with fertility problems reporting feeling depressed and 42% experiencing suicidal thoughts. The emotional toll includes anxiety, shame, and a crushing sense of failure, often exacerbated by a lack of understanding from others. Campaigns like the “Language of Fertility: A Manifesto for Change” by IVI London are seeking to reform this narrative, urging healthcare professionals, the media, and the public to adopt more empowering and sensitive phrasing.
This gap is felt acutely in medical settings. A Fertility Network UK survey found 75% of respondents felt their GP did not provide sufficient information, while 51% of individuals have felt dismissed by medical professionals when discussing their struggles. The language used can itself be damaging, with a tendency to imply women are responsible for fertility issues, leading to guilt and self-blame. As Claire Nixon, Deputy Director at the University of Essex, recalls from her own experience, conversations are often marked by “the clumsiness of ‘well-meaning’ comments” and “the invasiveness of questions”.
The Problem with ‘Positive’ Platitudes
Faced with this unfamiliar territory, people often reach for reassurance. Phrases like “at least you can try IVF” or “just relax and it will happen” are commonplace. While well-intentioned, such comments typically stem from the speaker’s own discomfort and can minimise the listener’s pain. “This is usually well-intentioned, but it tends to reflect the discomfort of the person speaking rather than the needs of the person going through it,” says Chartered Psychologist Dr Louise Goddard-Crawley, an expert in fertility psychology.
This dynamic occurs against a backdrop of rising treatment numbers. Data shows approximately 98,900 fertility treatments were performed in the UK in 2023, with IVF births now accounting for one in every 32 UK births—a 34% increase in a decade. Yet access remains uneven, with a persistent “IVF postcode lottery” in NHS funding and lower satisfaction and success rates reported among Black and Asian patients. The financial burden is significant, with many dipping into life savings, while workplace protections are virtually non-existent, forcing many to hide treatment for fear of discrimination.
Why ‘I Don’t Know What to Say’ Is the Better Start
In this complex landscape, psychologists and support charities point to a surprisingly effective alternative: radical honesty about one’s own uncertainty. Dr Louise Goddard-Crawley advocates for abandoning the search for a “right” phrase in favour of a more genuine, containing response. “If you don’t know what to say, it is often more helpful to say exactly that,” she advises. “Saying, ‘I don’t know what to say, but I’m here and I want to support you. Help me to understand what would be helpful’ can feel far more genuine.”
This approach shifts the focus from performance to presence. It tolerates discomfort—both the speaker’s and the listener’s—and keeps the conversational door open. It avoids the disempowering effect of platitudes and instead validates the uniqueness of the other person’s experience. This philosophy is central to the support offered by UK organisations like the British Infertility Counselling Association (BICA) and Fertility Network UK, which runs a dedicated Support Line. It also aligns with wider awareness efforts like National Fertility Awareness Week and the #CryingShame campaign, which aim to break down isolation by encouraging more open dialogue.
The need for such supportive communication is growing as demographics shift. Treatments for single patients have risen 83% since 2019, and for female same-sex couples by 45%, groups that often face greater hurdles to NHS funding. For everyone on this journey, whether ending treatment with a “mixture of grief and acceptance,” as described by presenter Nuala McGovern, or continuing to navigate its challenges, the offer of simple, honest companionship can be a powerful form of support in itself.