The reason I refuse diluted language is because I have watched institutions dilute women's experiences for decades. Yesterday I was scrolling
The reason I refuse diluted language is because I have watched institutions dilute women’s experiences for decades.
Yesterday I was scrolling online when I came across a post from a man who identified himself as a doctor.
According to him, pregnancy and childbirth are not a big deal.
Animals do it all the time, he explained. Women should stop whining about it and stop acting as if it is some extraordinary experience.
A lot of people seemed shocked.
I wasn’t.
People of a certain age who are Black, disabled, women, or who have spent years navigating healthcare have met doctors like him before.
Not necessarily him. But his type.
The kind who passed every test.
The kind who mastered anatomy.
The kind who can identify organs, systems, pathways, and procedures.
Yet somehow failed the human part.
Failed curiosity.
Failed humility.
Failed empathy.
Failed the ability to sit across from another person and genuinely wonder whether there is something they do not yet know.
The tragedy is that these people do not stop becoming doctors.
They keep seeing patients.
They keep making decisions.
They keep teaching.
They keep speaking with authority.
And because they have authority, many people assume they must also have wisdom.
Those are not the same thing.
One of the most frustrating experiences a patient can have is trying to explain what is happening inside their own body only to discover that the person listening has no intention of listening at all.
You arrive with information.
They arrive with conclusions.
You describe symptoms.
They defend assumptions.
You explain what you are experiencing.
They explain why your experience cannot possibly be what you say it is.
The conversation ends before it begins. You are not being heard.
I thought about all the women who spent years trying to explain symptoms associated with PCOS.
The fatigue. The weight gain. The painful cycles. The unwanted hair growth. The emotional toll. The confusion. The frustration.
The feeling that something was wrong.
Many were not imagining it.
Many were not exaggerating.
Many were not confused.
Yet countless women spent years being dismissed.
Lose weight. Try harder. Exercise more. Watch what you eat. Shave. Be patient. Come back later.
Again and again, women attempted to provide information about their own bodies.
Again and again, too many were ignored.
What strikes me is how often the medical conversation centered on one question.
Can she have a baby?
As if her value began and ended there.
As if the exhaustion, pain, embarrassment, depression, anxiety, metabolic issues, and other symptoms were secondary concerns.
As if the woman herself was secondary.
For generations, women have watched institutions focus on what women can do for others while paying far less attention to what women themselves are experiencing.
Then people wonder why women become skeptical.
Why women compare notes.
Why women trust other women.
Why women conduct their own research.
Why women hesitate.
Why women question.
Why women push back.
The answer is not complicated.
People remember being ignored.
People remember being dismissed.
People remember being talked over.
People remember being told they were wrong about experiences they were actively living.
And then comes the part that always surprises me.
After years, decades, sometimes centuries of women reporting the same concerns, the same blind spots, the same patterns, someone eventually arrives and asks women to change.
Change your language.
Change your perspective.
Change your concerns.
Change your priorities.
Change your understanding.
Change how you describe your experiences.
And my response is simple.
No.
Not yet. Maybe never.
Not until women see evidence that institutions are willing to listen.
Not for a week. Not for a month. Not for a public relations campaign.
Consistently. Over time.
Not until women see concerns taken seriously.
Not until women see action attached to listening.
Not until women see humility where certainty once lived.
Not until women see institutions capable of saying, “We got that wrong.”
Because listening is not nodding politely while waiting for your turn to speak.
Listening is allowing what you hear to change what you do.
Women have spent generations being asked to adapt to institutions.
Perhaps it is time for institutions to demonstrate that they can adapt too.
Then we can talk. Maybe. Because it has been a very, very, very, very, very, long time.
Until then, many women are not refusing change because they are stubborn.
They are refusing because they have been paying attention.
The reason I refuse diluted language is because I have watched institutions dilute women’s experiences for decades.
Not in theory. In practice.
When women described coercive control, it was minimized.
When women described stalking, it was minimized.
When women described strangulation, it was minimized.
When women described PCOS symptoms, many were minimized. Now PMOS(impacting 170 million worldwide)
When Black women described racism in healthcare, many were minimized.
When disabled people described barriers, many were minimized.
When Survivors described danger, many were minimized.
Then, after years of minimizing what people are saying, those same institutions often ask for softer language, broader language, more inclusive language, more flexible language, less direct language.
Learn to listen.
When I say I refuse diluted language, some people assume I am talking about vocabulary.
I am not.
I am talking about trust.
The result is predictable. This is a play. A con. A ruse. A distraction. I do it with kids. Lovingly, of course.
The toddler gets really upset and furious because I said, no.
I get them onto something else. Something new. Something they have to learn about. They love that. In fact, I keep several fascinating things around for those moments. When they get upset, I pull them out. The old things don’t distract them, but something new, even a doodad from the Dollar Tree, works at least for a bit.
With adults it works like this…..
People speak.
Institutions reinterpret.
People describe their experiences.
Institutions rename them.
People report harm.
Institutions soften the language.
People ask to be heard.
Institutions ask them to be patient.
Over time, a lesson emerges.
Precision protects. “I said what I said.” The first several hundred years.
Women did not imagine coercive control.
Women did not imagine stalking.
Women did not imagine PCOS symptoms.
Women did not imagine medical neglect.
Women did not imagine violence.
Many spent years trying to describe realities that powerful people refused to see.
Because now some of those same institutions are asking women to use broader language, softer language, more flexible language, and less specific language. And this time they will listen. They promise. Pinky swear and everything.
My answer is simple.
Trust is earned.
If institutions want women to reconsider how we speak about our experiences, then first show us decades of listening.
Show us consistency. Show us accountability. Show us change. Show us that when women report something, the response is curiosity instead of correction. Show us that listening leads to action.
Then we can have a conversation about language. But do not try to change a tone you are not even listening to in the first place.
Trust is not built through a policy announcement.
Trust is not built through a new glossary.
Trust is not built through a training session.
Trust is not built because an institution says, “We’ve changed.”
Trust is built when people experience change repeatedly over time.
Years. Sometimes decades.
A woman whose grandmother was dismissed, whose mother was dismissed, and who was dismissed herself is not going to wake up on Tuesday and suddenly trust because a committee issued a statement on Monday.
Human beings do not work that way.
Trust accumulates. So does distrust.
One of the mistakes institutions often make is assuming that trust should be immediate while accountability can be gradual.
Women are frequently asked for instant trust.
But women are offered slow change.
Those are unequal terms.
If an institution wants trust, then it must demonstrate reliability long enough that trust becomes reasonable.
Not demanded. Earned.
I think that’s why so many women respond to the phrase:
“We will think about it.”
Just:
“Show us.”
Show us women being heard.
Show us girls being protected.
Show us patients being listened to.
Show us concerns being taken seriously.
Show us that when women speak, the response is not correction, explanation, minimization, or reinterpretation.
Show us consistency.
Then give it time.
Because trust grows at the speed of experience.
A century of dismissal cannot be repaired by a slogan.
A generation of being ignored cannot be repaired by a rebranding effort.
Women have been asked to be patient for a very long time.
It is not unreasonable for women to ask institutions to be patient now.
Earn it. Then we’ll talk.