I have seen at close quarters how unequal the path to parenthood can be for LGBTQIA+ people. Attending the FamilyMakers Show in Newcastle alongside campaigner Linda Riley reminded me that community events do more than inform; they create networks and practical support at moments when people most need it. Discussions at the show underlined that, despite progress in visibility and rights, access to reproductive healthcare remains inconsistent and, for many, prohibitively costly.
My commitment to this cause is rooted in lived experience. As a queer woman who underwent IVF treatment with my then partner, I know the strain that comes from repeated appointments, confusing procedures and bills that quickly mount. I am fortunate to have two lovely boys, but reaching them involved long waits and many hurdles that felt unnecessary. That experience shapes why I stand with those who are beginning their fertility journeys, those navigating treatment now and those who carry its aftermath emotionally and financially.
Where barriers still appear
Barriers take both obvious and subtle shapes. There is a structural problem when clinics and systems are calibrated only for heterosexual couples and when local commissioning leads to a postcode lottery in who gets treatment funded by the NHS. Many same-sex couples are asked to pay for initial rounds of insemination before being considered for NHS-funded IVF, meaning some families spend tens of thousands of pounds or stop trying altogether. These are not just bureaucratic frustrations; they are life-shaping obstacles that determine whether someone can become a parent.
Everyday exclusion matters
Discrimination does not always look dramatic; often it is embedded in routine moments. Questions that pry into private lives, clinic forms that still say “mother” and “father” rather than parent one and parent two, and clinicians who assume heterosexual relationships all make the whole process harder. These everyday slights accumulate, increasing the emotional cost of treatment. Addressing these patterns means rewiring administrative processes and training staff so that the first interaction in a clinic feels inclusive rather than alienating.
Political routes to change
That is why I established and chair the All-Party Parliamentary Group on Fertility. Parliament is the place to hold the system to account and to press for consistent national standards so that geography does not decide who receives care. I have raised these issues repeatedly in legislative settings and will continue to press ministers and commissioners to remove arbitrary barriers, fund appropriate services and ensure that eligibility criteria do not discriminate against people because of who they love or how they identify.
Practical campaigning and community power
Political pressure matters, but so does the strength of the community. Events like the FamilyMakers Show show how people share information, pooled resources and emotional encouragement in ways that health systems often fail to do. Media outlets that centre queer women and gender-diverse people—such as DIVA, now published by the DIVA Charitable Trust—play a vital role in amplifying voices and funding support. Community-led initiatives help fill gaps, but they should complement, not replace, equitable public services.
Everyone should have the opportunity to become a parent, regardless of sexuality or gender identity. To achieve that, we need concerted action on several fronts: standardised access across regions, clearer and fairer eligibility rules for fertility treatment, and clinic practices that are truly inclusive. I will keep using the platforms I have to argue for these changes and to stand with families who deserve better. The determination I saw at the FamilyMakers Show gives me confidence that, together, we can make fertility care fairer for everyone.