Reproductive health is a full-time job – it’s vital that employers acknowledge this

I am absolutely passionate about both my job and about expanding my family, and both are all-consuming, writes Jessica Lydka Morris.

In the last five years, I’ve had quite a lot going on, both professionally and personally. I’ve transitioned across three different teams within my company. I’ve also undergone seven rounds of IVF, made nine embryos, been pregnant four times, had three miscarriages, and given birth to one beautiful son.

I am absolutely passionate about both my job and about expanding my family, and both are all-consuming.

I can only speak from personal experience, but for the last five years, fertility treatment has become an emotionally, physically, and financially exhausting full-time job that I fit in around my other full-time job. By the time I reach my desk at 9am, there’s a high chance I’ve already been for a blood test, a pelvic ultrasound, a consultation with my fertility doctor, and injected myself with two different types of medication.

But I don’t let that impact my work, nor do I share this painful side hustle with many of my colleagues. The taboo around reproductive health, fertility treatment, and miscarriage, despite how common they are among the Australian workforce, has me shamed into silence.

And yet, why in 2026 does this taboo still exist? Women represent nearly half of the Australian workforce, with that statistic growing annually. By 2025, a record 63.5 per cent of women were employed, meaning about 7.1 million women are in Australian workplaces.

Yet, our workplace cultures remain rigidly masculine in structure. Reproductive health – which encompasses everything from the gruelling cycle of IVF to the debilitating pain of endometriosis and the disruptive symptoms of menopause – is treated as an inconvenient, private problem rather than a legitimate medical need.

The data tells a story that employers can no longer ignore. Roughly 14 per cent of employed Australian women have endometriosis. The same percentage of women are experiencing polycystic ovary syndrome. Nearly 15 per cent of employed Australian women are currently navigating perimenopause or menopause. This year alone, 112,000 IVF cycles will be performed in Australia, and one in four pregnancies will end in miscarriage.

For me, after years of trying to quieten my virtually constant battle with reproductive health issues while at work, the statistics offer a stark reality: reproductive health is not just a personal matter, confined to the domestic sphere. It is a workplace imperative, and it’s time for Australian employment policies to reflect that.

Currently, the Fair Work Act provides a standard: since 2021, all employees (including casual employees) are entitled to two days of paid compassionate leave following a miscarriage. That extends to the non-carrying partner. While this was a landmark recognition, anyone who has experienced pregnancy loss knows that 48 hours is not nearly enough to start recovering from the physical and emotional toll.

I was a wreck well beyond 48 hours after I’d discovered I’d had a missed miscarriage in January of this year.

I endured fresh pain a week later when I physically passed the pregnancy tissue.

And again, a week after that, when I had to undergo emergency surgery to remove the remaining pregnancy tissue that hadn’t passed naturally. It’s not pretty to read, and it wasn’t pretty to experience. Two days were not enough to recover. From a professional standpoint, I was lucky; my boss told me not to return to work until I was absolutely ready. But winning the lottery of having a compassionate boss is luck rather than a legislative standard.

Beyond miscarriage, the legislative landscape for reproductive health – menopause, endometriosis, and fertility treatments – remains a patchwork of personal leave and annual leave.

Why is this the case? Well, unsurprisingly, Australia’s fundamental employment laws were largely drafted in an era when the workforce was dominated by men. And now, the male-centric design of these laws is failing a substantial chunk of the workforce who were less considered at the time – women.

The tide is beginning to turn. In early 2026, the Australian Council of Trade Unions and the Queensland Council of Unions pushed for a universal right to 10 days of paid reproductive health leave to be added to the National Employment Standards. This would cover everything from IVF and endometriosis to vasectomies and prostate screenings – after all, we’d be remiss to reduce reproduction to an entirely female issue.

This is a vitally important step, but widespread adoption is disappointingly slow; as recently as late 2024, data from consultancy firm Mercer revealed that only 11 per cent of Australian employers offered paid leave for fertility treatments, highlighting to me that infrastructural changes need to be implemented from the top down: corporate leadership teams, which by and large remain heavily male-dominated, need to be taught about the sheer physical and psychological intensity of reproductive health.

Because I think I speak on behalf of most people experiencing long-term reproductive health issues: I am no less of a dedicated and valuable employee just because I navigate these hurdles. If anything, work has been a welcome outlet and an anchor for me during my darkest, most anxious periods. I am as capable and driven as ever – perhaps more so, with a new ferocity in my bones.

And with that ferocity comes a passion for workplace adjustments. Legislative and cultural adjustments that will accommodate nearly half of the Australian workforce who weren’t considered when basic Australian employment laws were originally formed.

I don’t want reproductive health to remain a taboo subject, but rather be recognised as a significant and demanding phase of life for a massive portion of the Australian workforce. Going forward, I want to see Australian employers reckon with the fact that our old workforce laws are no longer fit for purpose. When 7.1 million women are driving the economy, a leave policy that ignores the reality of their day-to-day is not just outdated; it’s bad business. For so many women, reproductive health is their other full-time job: it’s vital that employers recognise this.

Jessica Lydka Morris is a television presenter.

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