06/08/2026
There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from sitting in a doctor’s office and realizing, again, that you know more about your own condition than the person across from you.
Not because you went to medical school. But because you live in this body every single day. Because you have spent years researching, tracking symptoms, connecting dots, and paying attention to every shift and change.
Because when you have a disease that medicine still does not fully understand, waiting for someone else to figure it out is not a strategy you can afford.
And still you sit in that chair and try to explain what you are experiencing. And sometimes the doctor really listens. And those appointments feel like oxygen.
And sometimes they do not.
Sometimes you are interrupted. Talked over. Minimized. You watch them glance at the clock. You leave without answers to the questions you came in with.
And you sit in your car afterward feeling angry and lonely and exhausted in a way that is hard to explain to someone who has never had to fight to be believed in the one room that is supposed to be about your health.
For Black women, that fight has an extra layer. And I will not pretend otherwise.
You are not imagining it. You are not being difficult. You are the expert on your own body and that deserves to be taken seriously.
This week on Substack I wrote all of it out. Link in bio to read the full piece.
MSWarrior