Let's Brag: Claiming What’s Ours for the Benefit of All

In spite of volumes of feminist manifestos, the tendency to hesitate when claiming the worth of our work continues to linger.

Based on a true story, Netflix’s Joy celebrates the first successful in vitro fertilization (IVF). Mainly, it shines a light on the overlooked contribution of Jean Purdy, one of the three collaborators behind the procedure. Purdy was a lab technician, whose pivotal insights and devotion to her patients were essential to the treatment’s success. Yet her diligence went largely un-credited during her lifetime, overshadowed by her male collaborators, Robert Edwards, a physiologist and Patrick Steptoe, a gynecologist- obstetrician. Purdy died at just 39 years old, never having seen her name etched into the history she helped create.

Watching Joy, I couldn’t help but hear echoes of my own life and work. As if the complexities I’ve wrestled with—of contribution, acknowledgment, and erasure—were being given space to breathe. The film evoked a wave of reflections on how often I’ve grappled with the fine line between advocating for my work and venturing into what might constitute self-promotion. Like so many women, I was raised to avoid celebrating my achievements too openly, lest I seem boastful. The message was clear and persistent: “Good girls don’t brag.” We’re best to sit quietly, to trust that someday —somehow —the powers that be will recognize the value of our labor.

In spite of volumes of feminist manifestos, the tendency to hesitate when claiming the worth of our work—rooted in gendered expectations—continues to linger. Though consciously we might know better, the fear of being perceived as "braggy, loud, or aggressive" is not easy to erase. A study featured in Psychology of Women Quarterly revealed how much this discomfort with “violating the modesty norm” can erode our self-trust and perpetuate the gender gap in motivation and performance.

For me, Joy felt like an invitation to examine how this deeply embedded social signaling is stitched into my self-image, not as an act of selflessness, but as an act of self-sabotage. To ask myself: Why do I shy away from speaking with pride about the ideas and tools that have taken years of dedication to fine-tune? Why do I continue to struggle so much with charging fees that would fully reflect the value of what I have to offer? Why? Why shouldn’t the fact that I get to do meaningful work be enough? What is it that recognition would provide?

The story of IVF’s creation is a triumph of scientific collaboration and perseverance and it also holds up a mirror to those of us who have internalized the “it’s best to downplay your gifts, you don’t want to risk being seen as a show off” message. Purdy’s name was left off the initial commemorations not because her work was less significant, but because she was a woman and perhaps because her credentials were seen as less legitimate as those of her collaborators.

This dynamic feel woefully familiar. Inconceivable is a memoir I wrote about being diagnosed with Diminished Ovarian Reserve. It tells the story of the consequent pilgrimage of self-examination and research that led to the birth of my daughter, defying the medical dogma of the day. After the book was published, through ten years of counseling and teaching I developed not a technological breakthrough, but an original healing modality, the Fertile Heart OVUM Process with its own philosophy and toolkit which has supported thousands of women and couples in birthing their families. In some cases, the process has paved the way for spontaneous conception after IVF has repeatedly failed to yield a viable pregnancy. I documented that work in The Fertile Female.

Yet when my clients generously shared my books and case histories with their healthcare providers, they were, for the most part, received with benevolent condescension. Their inconceivable babies were just anecdotal evidence. Luck.

Joy challenges us to rethink the stories we tell about ourselves. It dares us to imagine a world where women claim their contributions in real time, without apology or hesitation. A world in which we don’t have to fight so hard to be heard. A world where we don’t wait for plaques or posthumous honors but claim what’s ours in order to have the emotional stamina, the support and the resources necessary for continuing to evolve our ideas for the benefit of all.

The need for recognition, for being appreciated for who we are and what we bring to the collective pool of thought is a basic, universal human need.

For me, and for any woman who has ever questioned the cost of fully standing in her power, Joy is a vital reminder: Take up space. Speak your truth. Share your story. If you don’t, who will? And if the weight of that feels daunting, consider this: claiming your work is an act of service—to yourself, your family, colleagues, to your community, to all the midwives that made the birth of your creations possible. It’s an act of service to the people who have yet to benefit from what you have to offer. It’s a way of saying that what you do matters, that it can ripple outward and change lives as profoundly as the quiet brilliance of Jean Purdy has changed the lives she touched.