My show’s about to open at Edinburgh Fringe – but I’m hiding a huge secret

The future of my career could hinge on the success of my upcoming show, writes comedian Isabelle Farah. So why am I so worried that it could all come crashing down... just because I’m pregnant?

The truth is, there’s never really a ‘good’ time to be pregnant (Claire Haigh)

The last thing you should be thinking about as a comedian about to head to the Edinburgh Fringe is how your pregnancy will affect your ability to sell your wares – and yourself, to potential casting agents or other lovely people who may wish to put you in their future projects. Yet that’s exactly what I find myself doing... and my show opens tomorrow. Tomorrow!

The truth is, there’s never really a “good” time to be pregnant – that’s doubly true when you’re a freelancer who, regardless of what I have earned in the last few years, am only entitled £184.03/week maternity allowance for 39 weeks. But since I turned 38 in January (and biology being what it is), my partner and I decided that now is as good a time as any to grow up and take the plunge.

I became pregnant in spring, and immediately worried about how I might increase my income over the next nine months to finance time off with my newborn, and still contribute 50 per cent of our outgoings, like the good feminist that I am. How much time off could I actually afford to have? How quickly could I feasibly return to work after growing and exiting a baby from my body?

Fellow comic Katherine Ryan wrote about pregnancy not being insurable on set in 2022; how she concealed her pregnancy until she was nearly at term for this reason. One comedian friend I spoke to had two lots of filming cancelled after they found out about her pregnancy She had to get Equity (the trade union for comedians) involved.

Two other comics announced their pregnancies after they’d booked acting jobs and – after much annoyance from producers – their parts were reluctantly adjusted to include their bumps. The sad fact is, women in entertainment encounter problems far more often than the high-profile tribunals reported in the press.

Equity does intervene and if discrimination is proven then the performer will get their fee and possibly some damages. But you won’t necessarily get to do the work, which is frustrating in an industry where you’re only as visible as your last job.

A cursory Google search shows Allianz production insurance openly lists: “The inability of any female to continue her performance because of pregnancy or menstruation, or conditions pertaining thereto” as uninsurable. In 2024! Talk about a bad joke.

It’s not specific jobs that are off the cards for me – it’s the potential of work at a time when I need it most. It’s the unknown: will people consider my pitches, fight my corner, assume that I don’t want to work, or forget about me for the time I’m out of action?

Early pregnancy was physically and psychologically challenging. I had three threatened miscarriages and spent several days in the waiting room at UCLH Early Pregnancy Unit. At home, in bed for 22 hours a day and no energy to release endorphins, depression and anxiety sat comfortably in my bones.

My resolve, lying in bed drinking lemon squash with a straw, was that, all being well, once out of the first trimester I would finesse my show, hide my pregnancy until 24 weeks, have plenty of work offers pouring in – and then announce my pregnancy with a flourish; contracts signed and people desperate to work with me either side of my due date. A perfect plan, right?

After all, my own mother had done it: she was single and working in an A&E department in Riyadh when pregnant with me. She hid it until 28 weeks. I remembered her advice: “Don’t touch your belly, adapt your clothes, each week your belt goes higher above your bump.”

So, I stopped thinking of myself as pregnant. I had lost weight due to nausea in the first trimester and so aesthetically this wasn’t a problem – at first. But at 14 weeks, I had to go out for rehearsals. My jeans looked tight. I put on a pair of trousers with an elasticated waist that I normally don’t wear out of the house anymore. I even wondered: “what did I eat to cause this?””

Then, at 14 weeks 4 days: I woke up with energy I hadn’t felt since April. I got ready to go out, still frustratingly bloated. Except I wasn’t, was I? I could have hidden this for longer, but what was I doing to myself? After a difficult early pregnancy, I realised I simply hadn’t allowed myself to enjoy or be excited by it.

Eventually, I had to bite the bullet and accept that my perfectly formulated “hide the bump” plan had hit a snag, and I’d have to give up and hope for the best.

The fact is that discrimination is rife, not just in our industry, but in all of them. Trying to navigate it is exhausting. Worrying about it is exhausting; reading about it is exhausting – the constant refrain about how women are “leaving it too late”. It’s exhausting trying to figure out how (and when, and if) you’ll ever be able to afford it. Will I be eligible for enhanced parental leave? Will my career be in the toilet if (or when) I go back?

I don’t blame anyone for trying to keep pregnancy hidden for as long as possible, for whatever reason. But it’s 2024 – no one should have to, for fear of losing work. It’s time we all grew up.

Isabelle Farah will be appearing in Nebuchadnezzar at Assembly George Square Studio Five from 31 July-25 August