Endometriosis and IVF: The hidden costs reshaping UK work and family life

The quiet upheavals in British society this autumn are not unfolding in parliament or on picket lines, but in the bodies of women navigating work, motherhood, and medical systems that still treat their pain as an afterthought. Two stories this week—one a report on endometriosis, the other a raw account of failed IVF—lay bare the financial and emotional toll of conditions that remain stubbornly invisible to employers, policymakers, and even loved ones.

The workplace penalty of endometriosis

A report published this week by Endometriosis UK reveals that 46% of women with the condition have lost income because of it. The figure is not just a statistic; it is a measure of how a disease affecting one in ten women of reproductive age continues to be dismissed as "bad periods" rather than a chronic, debilitating illness. For Sarah, a primary school teacher in Manchester, the cost was her job. After years of managing symptoms that left her bedridden for days each month, she was told her absences were "unreliable" and let go last spring. Her story is not unique. The report found that 38% of women had been forced to reduce their hours, and 22% had left jobs entirely due to lack of support.

The economic impact is staggering. Endometriosis costs the UK economy an estimated £8.2 billion annually in lost productivity and healthcare expenses, according to a 2022 study by the University of Oxford. Yet the condition remains woefully under-researched, with an average diagnosis time of eight years. "It’s not just about pain," said Emma Cox, CEO of Endometriosis UK. "It’s about the assumption that women should just ‘push through’—an attitude that costs them careers, relationships, and years of their lives."

The Renters’ Rights Act, which came into force this month, offers a glimmer of hope for those whose living situations are upended by illness. The law now allows tenants to break leases with just two months’ notice, a change that student landlords warn could drive up rents but that advocates say is essential for people whose health forces sudden moves. For women like Sarah, however, the law arrives too late. She is now working part-time at a supermarket, her teaching career derailed by a condition that still lacks a cure.

IVF’s silent grief: When the future doesn’t arrive

Two decades after their last failed IVF cycle, Greg Wise and Emma Thompson have spoken publicly about the "existential crisis" that followed. Their account, published in The Guardian, is a rare unvarnished look at the grief of infertility—a loss that society struggles to acknowledge because it is not for a person who existed, but for one who never will. "We hit an existential crisis," Wise said. "She was not a proper woman and I was not a proper man. That’s how it felt."

The couple’s story underscores how little has changed since their struggles in the early 2000s. The NHS still offers only one free IVF cycle in most regions, and success rates remain stubbornly low—just 27% for women under 35, according to the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority. For those who fail, the emotional fallout is compounded by financial strain. A single cycle can cost £5,000 or more, and many couples remortgage homes or drain savings in pursuit of a child. Yet the grief that follows is often met with silence. "There are no rituals for this," Wise said. "No space to mourn a possibility."

The UK’s fertility landscape is shifting, albeit slowly. Scotland announced this year that it would fund three IVF cycles for eligible couples, and Wales is piloting a scheme to extend access. But England lags behind, with postcode lotteries determining who gets help. Meanwhile, the emotional toll remains unaddressed. A 2025 study by the University of Bristol found that 60% of women who underwent failed IVF reported symptoms of depression, yet only 12% sought professional support.

What’s changing—and what isn’t

The past year has seen incremental progress. The Menopause and Menstrual Health Bill, which passed in July, requires large employers to provide reasonable adjustments for workers with conditions like endometriosis. And the government’s Women’s Health Strategy, launched in 2023, has begun funding research into reproductive health. But critics say the pace is glacial. "We’re still treating women’s health as a niche issue," said MP Stella Creasy, who has campaigned for better endometriosis care. "Until we see it as a societal issue—one that affects productivity, families, and the economy—nothing will change."

For those navigating these systems, the message is clear: the burden of proof still lies with them. Women with endometriosis must fight for diagnoses, accommodations, and even basic understanding. Couples undergoing IVF must grapple with grief that has no name. And while laws like the Renters’ Rights Act offer new freedoms, they do little to address the root causes of inequality—whether in the workplace, the clinic, or the home.

The stories of Sarah, Greg, and Emma are not outliers. They are the quiet majority, reshaping their lives around systems that were never designed to accommodate them. The question for 2026 is whether those systems will finally start to bend.