Accessing Reproductive Healthcare as a Black Woman

This page was adapted from We Deserve More: The Workbook, developed in partnership with reproductive health advocate Kaitlyn Joshua of Baton Rouge, Louisiana and informed by this article from KFF: Five Facts About Black Women’s Experiences in Health Care

This is not new, and it’s not rare

For many Black women, navigating the healthcare system comes with a level of awareness that isn’t always talked about, but is deeply felt. It’s walking into an appointment already knowing that you may have to explain yourself more than once. That you can be clear, prepared, and intentional about how you show up—and still leave feeling like something didn’t fully land. Like you weren’t taken as seriously as you should have been. Like you have to decide, in real time, whether to push harder or let it go.

That feeling isn’t coming from nowhere. And it isn’t something you’re imagining.

We see it reflected in the data, but more importantly, it shows up in lived experience again and again. Black women are more likely to have their pain dismissed, more likely to have symptoms minimized or explained away, and more likely to experience delays in diagnosis. In pregnancy and postpartum care, the stakes are even higher—Black women are three to four times more likely to die from complications than white women, even when access, income, and education are the same. That doesn’t happen by chance. It happens because of how care is delivered, and how concerns are responded to in the moments that matter.

What it can feel like in the room

Most of the time, it doesn’t look like something obviously wrong. It looks like something that’s just slightly off, but hard to name.

A concern that gets acknowledged but not really explored. A symptom that gets labeled as “normal” without much explanation. A question that gets answered quickly, but not in a way that actually helps you understand what’s going on. You leave the visit thinking, I don’t feel better about this, but I don’t know how to push it further without sounding difficult.

And that’s the part that can be hard to trust—because each individual moment can feel small enough to second-guess. But when those moments keep happening, across different visits and different providers, they start to form a pattern. And in healthcare, patterns matter. Because when something is dismissed or delayed, it doesn’t just stay in that one appointment. It shapes what happens next.

This is about response, not awareness

Most providers know that disparities exist. That part isn’t hidden.

But knowing something exists doesn’t always change what happens in the room. What matters is how someone responds when you say something doesn’t feel right. Whether they pause long enough to really listen. Whether they take what you’re saying at face value, or filter it through assumptions before acting on it. Whether your concern is treated with urgency, or something that can wait.

Those differences in response are where outcomes start to shift. Not in big, obvious ways at first—but in small moments that build over time.

The reality patients are navigating

This is the part that often doesn’t get said out loud: you can do everything “right” and still walk away not being heard, not being believed, or with something important actually missed.

You can come in prepared. You can explain your symptoms clearly. You can ask thoughtful questions, advocate for yourself, even bring someone with you. And still leave without a clear answer, or without the kind of attention your concern needed in that moment.

And sometimes, that doesn’t just stay a frustrating visit.

We know that for many Black women, these kinds of experiences are not rare. About one in five report being treated unfairly by a healthcare provider because of their race, and many describe having to prepare in advance for how they’ll be perceived just to be treated fairly.

So when something feels off in the room, it’s not just a feeling. It’s often part of a pattern.

And when concerns are dismissed or delayed, it doesn’t just stay in that one visit. Sometimes it means something was overlooked. Sometimes it means care was delayed. And over time, those moments can shape health outcomes, or even whether someone feels safe coming back for care at all.

It’s easy to turn that back on yourself. To wonder if you should have said it differently, pushed a little harder, asked one more question. But that’s not a failure on your part.

It’s a reflection of the system you’re moving through, and the way it doesn’t always respond with the same level of urgency, attention, or trust.

And it’s exhausting that getting appropriate care can require this much effort just to be taken seriously in the first place.

Tools to help you navigate the system

If you’ve had experiences like this, it makes sense to want something concrete to hold onto the next time you walk into a visit. Not because it’s your job to fix the system. But because you deserve to feel more steady inside of it.

And you’re not imagining the need for that. Many Black women describe walking into healthcare settings already preparing for how they might be treated—thinking about how they present themselves, how they speak, how to avoid being dismissed before the conversation even starts.

That kind of awareness doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from experience.

There’s no perfect script, and you shouldn’t have to perform to receive care. But having a few ways to anchor yourself in the moment can make a difference.

Sometimes that looks like slowing the conversation down.

You can say, “I want to make sure we fully address this before I leave,” or “Can you walk me through why you’re not concerned?” Not to challenge for the sake of it, but to create space for a more complete answer.

Sometimes it’s about naming what you’re feeling more directly. “This doesn’t feel normal for me,” or “I’m concerned something is being missed.” You don’t need perfect medical language. Your experience is enough.

If something is being dismissed, you can ask what the next step would be if things don’t improve.“If this continues or gets worse, what would we do next?” That question helps clarify whether there is an actual plan, or if something is being brushed aside too quickly.

It can also help to get things documented.

You can say, “Can you note in my chart that I brought this up and what we discussed?” That creates a record and can shift how seriously concerns are taken in the moment.

And if you leave feeling unsure, you’re allowed to follow up. You’re allowed to get a second opinion. You’re allowed to trust that feeling in your body that something isn’t right.

Because the reality is, when concerns are dismissed or care is delayed, it doesn’t just stay a moment. For many, it changes how likely they are to seek care again, or whether they feel safe doing so at all.

None of this should be necessary just to receive appropriate care.

But until the system consistently meets patients where they are, these are ways to move through it with a little more clarity, more grounding, and more control.

You Don’t Have to Navigate This Alone

If you’re trying to figure out what to say, what to ask, or how to advocate for yourself in real time, you can find more guidance at the Provider Visit Planner and on the Your Questions, Answered page.

In an Emergency, Bias Still Shows Up

This isn’t new.

It’s something people have been saying for a long time. Going to the ER in pain, bleeding, knowing something isn’t right—and still being told to wait. Still being told it’s normal. Still being sent home when it isn’t.

And for Black women, that risk has never been evenly carried.

Black women are still three to four times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes in the United States. Not because of what they did or didn’t do. Because of how care is delivered, how symptoms are responded to, and how long it takes for someone to be taken seriously.

That doesn’t suddenly change in an emergency. If anything, that’s where it matters most.

And now, on top of that, care itself is shifting. Abortion bans have changed how providers respond in real time.
What used to be straightforward—treating a miscarriage, managing bleeding, intervening early—is now sometimes delayed while providers wait, question, or hesitate.

People are being told to come back later.
To wait until it gets worse.
To prove how serious it is before care is given.

We’ve seen what happens when care is delayed. Infection. Hemorrhage. Complications that escalate quickly. Outcomes that didn’t have to happen that way.

And when you put that into a system that already doesn’t respond to Black patients with the same urgency, the stakes get even higher. Because in emergency care, time matters.

Delays matter. Dismissal matters.
Being told to wait matters.

So if you find yourself in that moment—bleeding, in severe pain, knowing something isn’t right—
this is where being clear and direct matters.

In the ER: What You Can Say and Do

You do not need perfect language. You need clear language.

Say what is happening in your body, and say it directly.

  • “I’m in severe pain—this is a 9 out of 10.”

  • “This is not normal for me.”

  • “I’m worried something serious is being missed.”

  • “I am concerned about management for ____ (preeclampsia / infection / heavy bleeding.)”

  • “I need to be evaluated before I leave.”

If you feel like you are being dismissed or discharged too quickly, you are allowed to say that.

  • “I don’t feel safe going home.”

  • “Can you explain why you’re not concerned?”

  • “I’d like that documented in my chart.”

  • “I’d like to speak with the attending physician.”

If something changes in your body while you’re there—more pain, more bleeding, new symptoms—say it again.
You are allowed to repeat yourself.

Using a Support Person

If you can bring someone with you, it can change how the room responds.

Not because you shouldn’t be believed on your own.
But because the system doesn’t always respond the same way when someone else is present. And someone else can help advocate for you in different ways than you can advocate for yourself.

Before you go in, you can be clear with your support person:

  • “If I’m being dismissed, I need you to speak up.”

  • “If I freeze, can you say something for me?”

  • “Can you write down what they say so I don’t miss anything?”

In the room, they can:

  • Repeat what you’ve already said if it’s being ignored

  • Ask, “Can you explain that again?”

  • Say, “She said this started earlier and it’s getting worse.”

  • Step in if the conversation is being rushed

And if things don’t feel right, they can help hold the line:

  • “We’re not comfortable leaving yet.”

  • “Can you document that?”

  • “Who is the attending physician?”

This is about making sure what’s happening in your body is taken seriously. You deserve that.

If Something Feels Off

Trust that.

Not because you have all the answers.
But because you know when something isn’t right in your body.

You are allowed to stay.
You are allowed to ask again.
You are allowed to come back.
You are allowed to get a second opinion.

You are allowed to be clear, even if it makes the room uncomfortable.

Because your safety matters more than their comfort.

A Note on Voice and Perspective

I want to name where I’m coming from as I share this. I’m a white woman. I do not claim to know what this experience is like as a patient. But as a clinician who has seen the harm of this system from within it, it doesn’t feel right to stay quiet.

I’m not trying to take up space that isn’t mine or speak over what Black women have long been saying and experiencing. At the same time, this is the system we are all moving through right now. And while increasing the number of Black clinicians is essential, and we know that improves outcomes, that is not the reality for most people in many care settings today.

So this is coming from a place of wanting to be honest about what exists, as it exists. Of showing up in the conversation without stepping around it.

And of recognizing that this work is informed through collaboration with Kaitlyn Joshua, along with the lived experiences, research, and advocacy that Black women have been naming for a long time.

“The gaps in care aren’t random.
They follow the same lines of inequality
that have always existed.”

-Nikki Sapiro Vinckier
We Deserve More: How Reproductive Healthcare is Broken and What You Can Do About It