What if I told you the sky was green—would you believe it? Would you pause and begin to reason away how I could have formed such a conclusion? Perhaps you’d judge me quietly, smiling as you categorized me as a delusional fool, or would you wait patiently for an explanation?

 

Every day, this is my experience as I listen to my patients, and they, in turn, listen to me. I hear their stories—their histories—some meandering, some direct and blunt, pulsating with urgency. Some trail off at the end, while others crescendo into a yearning, burgeoning with questions, waiting for a burst of clarity. This is what I strive to offer, yet it has grown increasingly difficult over the years.

 

In today’s world, there are many voices claiming authority—some accountable, some not; some with experience, or so they claim, while others gain status from vapors of air and repetition, feigning knowledge at every turn. I remember a mother, a few years ago, telling me something outrageous: that she was instructed to feed her newborn an extraordinary amount of formula every hour. Her initial doubts seemed reasonable enough to quell, and I spoke directly, offering an in-depth explanation in plain terms, touching on physiology and anatomy. Afterward, she paused and said, “That sounds good enough, but who am I supposed to believe?”

 

I asked her where she learned about these things, and she acknowledged that she had turned to the internet for answers. I couldn’t help but think of the competing voices in her head—a cacophony of pseudo-experts. Then again, what qualifies someone as an expert in a field where all of humanity shares a connection with nature? “Medicine has evolved, yet in an age where plurality complicates its voice, it should still strive to align with the living world, seeking deeper answers for the soul and our existence.

 

Now, more than ever, there is a pressing need to guide patients through an abyss of precarious thoughts, accusations, and do-it-yourself solutions that multiply daily, drowning out common sense. I’ve listened as patients told me they avoid almond milk due to the risk of cyanide poisoning, use urine to treat conjunctivitis, or apply bleach on their skin—remedies deemed successful without evidence.

 

It’s not only what I say, but who I am that affects whether my words are trusted. I know the education and expertise I carry, yet I often see the distrust in my patients’ eyes. I walk into a room and sometimes, those who look like me will call me “Aisha,” or “Nurse,” without acknowledging my title. Some carry-on side conversations as I speak, dismissing my words with the sucking of teeth, as if the air in the room has thinned. Others recall stories of distant doctors who “knew better”—doctors who look nothing like me, as if I need help interpreting my own diagnosis.

 

I also often face a gaze of wide-eyed wariness. Some families seem afraid to question me but tread carefully, as if walking on a creaky wooden floor. They ask gentle questions while a ticker tape of doubt runs in their minds, convinced that I am somehow deviating from common practice.

 

And then there are those who tell me outright that they verify my work by consulting another doctor—someone who does not look like me—just to ensure that I know what I’m doing. These patients surprise me when they return, satisfied that the “other” doctor confirmed what I had said all along. They never question the “other” doctor, only me, despite my years of experience.

 

It has become clear to me that many are socialized to believe in people, not for their qualifications or expertise, but because of a narrative that deems certain individuals inherently “smarter.” It’s hard to describe the hot, sinking feeling that comes with the persistent condescension toward my accomplishments. It feels like being a kindergartener who just earned a gold star, not a physician with over a decade of experience. The mockery in the air is subtle, but it is hard to ignore.

 

I remember once being at a theater here, a White woman grabbed me by the waist to move me aside as I navigated my way to my seat. Her smile was bright, her expression one of condescending pity, as if I needed her help to manage the simple task of walking past. The casual entitlement she displayed, the invasion of my personal space, made me feel violated. Her hands on me were not just a physical act; they symbolized a right she felt she had over me, a right to diminish and control, all while believing she had done a good deed.

 

That same look—of masked superiority—is something I encounter almost daily. It appears when people come to my office and mistake my students for the ones in charge because they don’t expect someone who looks like me to be a doctor. I recall a town official once insisted on speaking to a White student instead of my team of Black nurses, believing the student was the authority in the room. When the official finally demanded that he meet with me, taking me away from patients, he demanded that I copy down a phone number for him.   I instead gave this duty to one of my staff members and went back to my work.  As I returned to my patients, it was clear that this official felt slighted, as though I had not played the role he had pre-assigned for me.

 

Growing up in this country means learning to prepare for these moments—to account for the racism, the micro-aggressions, and to debrief afterward. We try to understand the ignorance, define it, and then move on. But it’s exhausting. Racism is not only an individual burden but a societal limitation. When we condition ourselves to believe that only certain people—those of a particular skin color—are capable of intelligent thought, we stifle our collective creativity and hinder our potential for growth and innovation.

 

If we don’t wake up soon, we risk allowing these limitations to not only shape our futures but to jeopardize the very well-being and progress of this nation. We must recognize that every voice deserves to be heard and every mind has the potential to contribute meaningfully, regardless of the color of the skin in which it resides. Otherwise, we will remain trapped in a cycle of prejudice, unable to achieve the greatness that lies just beyond our self-imposed barriers.