Shameless Media co-founder Michelle Andrews opens up about infertility struggle

One of Australia’s most successful podcast hosts has shared a private, months-long struggle that sent her life into a “tailspin”.

Michelle Andrews is no stranger to telling women’s stories.

Alongside Zara McDonald, the 30-year-old is the co-founder of Shameless Media. With an audience of roughly 20 million people across its various platforms, the Melbourne-based company dominates the podcast landscape for young Australian women.

In the six years since she and McDonald launched Shameless – their flagship, pop culture podcast – the two have consciously avoided delving too deeply into their personal lives on mic.

But late last month, she released Glass, a three-part audio essay program recorded in July that chronicles her infertility diagnosis.

Publicly laying bare the possibility she may never have a biological child is a decision Andrews “sat with … for such a long time”, she tells news.com.au.

“I knew that if I wanted to go public with this story, I wanted to do it properly – warts and all – not go halfway and leave people with more questions than answers,” she says.

“I’m so glad I took the last 20 months to process it all on my own, and with my husband and inner circle. Truthfully, it wasn’t even a consideration to talk about any of this until the last six or so months; I just felt like my life was in such a tailspin.”

Andrews somewhat “stumbled” upon the fact of her infertility. A visit to the GP early last year concerning her irregular periods, and the pain that accompanied them, was an unexpected catalyst for the aforementioned “tailspin” that followed.

“I remember saying to (my husband) Mitch one day, ‘Everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong’, because that’s genuinely how it felt,” she says.

“It was just whack after whack, in a way that would’ve been almost amusing, if it wasn’t so depressing and concerning.”

Shameless Media co-founder, Michelle Andrews. Picture: Instagram/@michelleandrews1

Glass is a series about Andrews’ struggle with infertility. But it’s also about the degree of pain many women are willing to withstand before they ask for help. You can black out in your kitchen from the feeling that someone has lit your insides on fire – one of many sensations Andrews vividly recalls across the three episodes – and still be afraid a healthcare professional will not take you seriously.

“‘This is just how it is’, my internal monologue repeated, every time my period raged and roared, every time ovulation felt like a stabbing,” she says in part one.

“And even if something is wrong, can you really be f**ked waiting nine years (roughly the average time it takes for diagnosis of a condition like endometriosis) to figure it all out?

“So I did nothing, for so long. Even when the pain was so bad, I couldn’t move.”

Andrews’ own gynaecologist, who she first met with last February, thankfully, “gave me permission to take my situation seriously”.

Still, this didn’t negate the thoughts she had when he presented her with photos of her insides taken before and after she underwent surgery that August – during which he found a cyst on her right ovary, endometriosis, adhesions, and “remnants of a left ovary, like shrapnel left after a blast”.

“Look how brave I’d been. I wasn’t imagining it, see? I wasn’t being dramatic after all,” she says.

“I was a reliable witness to my own afflictions, and here was the definitive proof.”

Andrews’ “absolute low point was October last year”, after test results revealed her AMH levels were far from ideal; that there was a possibility she, like her grandmother did, could go into early menopause. Her husband’s test results – which Andrews doesn’t specify – were “the cruellest twist of all”.

Her infertility diagnosis, coupled with the instruction to “get serious about having children ASAP” and begin IVF treatment, was a one-two punch that left Andrews feeling “like someone had stolen time from me”.

“It was completely disorienting. I’m an ambitious person – I want a lot out of my career, and out of my ‘pre-baby’ self,” she says.

“I know some people will hear that and think, ‘But you were 29, it’s really not the end of the world’, but to me, at 29 I was just getting started.

“I was completely panicked, and not just about my career; I was lamenting all of the travel and ‘fun stuff’ I might never get to experience, too.”

Considering the average Australian woman now has her first baby at 31, her thinking is hardly out of the ordinary.

Michelle Andrews with her husband, Mitch. Picture: Instagram/@michelleandrews1

Shameless Media co-founders Zara McDonald and Michelle Andrews. Picture: Instagram/@michelleandrews1

Adjusting their mindset from “never trying to have a baby even once, to the highest grade of medical intervention possible” is something she and Mitch “spoke about almost every day”.

“I struggled with it more than he did, but I guess that’s often the case when one partner will be carrying the baby, and another won’t be … there’s just so much more to consider, and to sacrifice,” she says.

On a morning in November, she pushed the first of multiple hormone-filled syringes into her stomach.

“Going through medically-necessary IVF at the age of 29 while running a business, and navigating what can only be described as depression, was like swimming against a rip,” she says.

There were “bundles of gratitude” at the “privilege” of being able to access IVF. With it, though, came grief. “There’s the stolen magic, sterile hospital lights and freezers and forms. Mitch and I will never have the sunlit spontaneity, leaving it to fate’s stardust. The romance of creating our family was stolen before we even had an opportunity to want it.”

The days-long wait for news post-egg retrieval was “like waiting for ATAR results, but on crack”, Andrews said in a video recorded at the time.

She and Mitch had been told to “expect nothing”. Upon finding out they’d gotten embryos, “despite all of the hurdles standing in our way”, Andrews “practically flew home”.

“It was the best hug Mitch and I have ever had.”

The series artwork for Glass, created by Ruth Allen Glass. Picture: Instagram/@michelleandrews1

Andrews’ retelling of the past two years is breathtakingly vulnerable, and more often than not, completely heart-wrenching. But it’s also littered with wry humour (early on, she describes an emergency room doctor delivering the news of the “massive” cyst on her right ovary “with all the sensitivity of a potato”).

Above all, it’s a story of hope – one that belongs not just to Andrews, but “to every woman in my family”.

The response was both instant and outsize, which has been “seriously overwhelming, in the most beautiful, spine-tingly way”. When we speak, five days after the series goes live, it already has “well over” 150,000 downloads, “which just blows me away”, Andrews says.

“I’m just so glad women can see their own stories woven throughout it, because I think that’s the thing: even when our stories look different, there’s so much that connects us. It’s incredibly special,” she says.

“I feel really connected to other women (now). I learned so much about myself, and about my family, in writing this series. I wanted other women experiencing infertility to feel resilient and hopeful and brave, and I’m just so chuffed to hear that’s been the effect. It’s a complete privilege.”

You can listen to Glass here, or wherever you get your podcasts.

If you or someone you know is struggling with infertility, there are specialised fertility counsellors who can help. SANDS offers 24/7 phone support for women suffering from miscarriage, stillbirth or the death of a newborn. Call their hotline on 1300 308 307.