High-Profile Fertility Stories: How Will They Inspire Us?

The power of storytelling and the tender terrain between "holding on" and "moving on."

How can you not admire Michelle Yeoh? Not only as a stunning and brilliant actress and martial arts virtuoso but as a woman who has navigated formidable challenges with grace. It is no small thing for someone in the public eye to speak about something as tender as an unfulfilled wish to give birth—especially in a world that, despite volumes of feminist manifestos, still often treats motherhood as a defining achievement of womanhood.

Yet, as someone who has spent nearly three decades guiding women and couples through the labyrinth of fertility struggles, I find myself grappling with the message embedded in Ms. Yeoh’s infertility story—that has recently been widely shared on BBC Woman’s Hour, Good Morning America, BuzzFeed, and debated across Reddit and other social media platforms.

Similar to stories shared by Michelle Obama, actress Elisabeth Röhm, and other high-profile women, what we can glean from interviews is that Yeoh was in her early thirties when she attempted pregnancy and sought fertility treatments. Unlike Obama and Röhm, however, treatment did not bring her a baby.

In an interview on BBC Woman’s Hour, Ms. Yeoh described not being able to have children as “the biggest sadness in my life.” She also said it was a major reason for the breakup of her marriage.

Those words echoed a familiar narrative—the narrative of personal failure, the idea that delayed childbearing is a sorrow that ruins marriages and lives. While this framing may strike a chord of solidarity, it can also do a disservice to the millions currently navigating this complex, singular challenge.

Yes, a diagnosis that signals childbearing challenges can be frightening and painful. But it is not only a story of helplessness and loss.

Over the years, I have witnessed countless couples for whom this crisis became an impetus to repair ruptures, deepen intimacy, and, when needed, re-imagine their definitions of family and fulfillment.

"At some point… you just have to let go and move on," Ms. Yeoh said.

Hearing those words, I was reminded of a favorite teaching story. (I paraphrase)*:

A man finds himself in the midst of a terrifying life crisis. One night, alone and restless, he steps into the darkness and is met by a stranger—shadow and sinew, more force than form. Without a word, they wrestle. He doesn’t know what or whom he’s wrestling with—grief, God, his own fate—but he refuses to surrender. The struggle stretches until dawn, bruising him, breaking him open. Just as the stranger moves to leave, he clings tighter and demands: “Not until you bless me.” And so, with one final blow that leaves him limping, he is blessed—not with a clear answer to his troubles, but with a new name, a deeper knowing, and a new way to live.

Of course, Michelle’s story unfolded exactly as it was meant to unfold and she is living an incredible, fulfilling life.

And…I confess that when writing this piece, I couldn’t help but wonder—if our paths had crossed during those difficult years of her trying to conceive, might her story have taken a different turn?

I set that thought aside—until, just days later, when I learned about another celebrity—one who did read Inconceivable.

I don’t mean to suggest that my book—or any single story—holds the answer for everyone. But storytelling, whether from the lips of a celebrated actor or an ordinary woman finding her way through the dark, shapes cultural conversations. It reinforces or challenges the myths we carry—about love and loss and what it means to keep the faith in the face of uncertainty.

These narratives don’t just live in the headlines; they seep into our own hearts, subtly shaping how we feel about our struggles, our relationships, our dreams.

In a world where so many already feel that difficulties in becoming parents are a life sentence of sorrow, I wonder:

How might we tell our stories in a way that honors the pain without feeding the fear?

How do we inspire not just sympathy, but a new way of wrestling with this unwelcome stranger called “infertility”?

How do we keep engaging in conversations about this deeply personal and contentious subject in a way that leaves us not just wounded, but blessed—with a new level of knowing ourselves, each other, and a deeper sense of awe for the unfathomable mystery of creating life?

When it comes to a pivotal life-challenge, what would “being blessed before you move on” look like for you?

* Jacob wrestling with the angel, Genesis 32:22-32.