When Doctors Dismiss Symptoms, Patients Suffer Psychological Damage and Lose Trust in Health Care — A Pattern Known as “Symptom Invalidation,” Often Referred to as “Medical Gaslighting.”

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I met Rachel Morgan in a quiet corner of a downtown café. She was warm and articulate, but there was a guarded weight in her posture. As we sat down, she shifted carefully in her chair, subtly adjusting her hips and shoulder as if even stillness had to be negotiated.

Rachel has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (hEDS) — a genetic connective tissue disorder that’s rarely recognized early, frequently misdiagnosed, and often dismissed as psychosomatic. She has lived with chronic pain since her teens, yet didn’t receive a diagnosis until her thirties. Her story is not unusual. That’s precisely what makes it so enraging.

This interview is not about rare disease awareness. It’s about medical dismissal, systemic ignorance, and the quiet psychological erosion that occurs when you're told, repeatedly, "there's nothing wrong with you."

When Pain Becomes the Background Noise

Eric Dawson: Rachel, let’s begin at the beginning. When did the symptoms start, and what were they like?

Rachel: I was 13 the first time I dislocated a joint. I was walking up the stairs at school when my knee just — slipped. It was sharp pain, then numbness. I couldn’t walk properly for days. The school nurse said I probably twisted it. My doctor said the same. But then it happened again a few months later. Then with my shoulder. Then with my fingers. I kept getting told I was “double-jointed” or “just really flexible.” They said it like it was a good thing.

Looking back, that was the start. But at the time, I thought maybe I was clumsy. I got used to wrapping joints and taking painkillers. I played volleyball, so I figured this was just part of being active. I didn’t know it wasn’t normal.

The Chronic, Invisible Unraveling

Eric: So your teenage years were already marked by injury. When did it stop being manageable?

Rachel: Around 18, 19 — things changed. I couldn’t sit in class without my back burning. I’d sleep eight hours and still feel exhausted. I started waking up with pain in places I hadn’t injured — like my wrists or hips. My ankles rolled constantly. I’d get these weird episodes of brain fog — I’d lose track mid-sentence. I brought all this up during a physical once, and the doctor told me, “You're probably just stressed. Try yoga.”

It was always something external. “You’re a college student, of course you’re tired.” “It’s anxiety.” “Maybe you’re sleeping in a bad position.” No one ever actually examined me beyond a glance.

Losing Confidence, Then Losing Yourself

Eric: Did you begin to internalize that? To believe them?

Rachel: Completely. It messes with your head. You start thinking, Maybe I am weak. Maybe everyone feels this way and I just can’t handle life. That’s when the shame sets in. I stopped mentioning pain to doctors. I stopped telling friends. I kept thinking, “They’re going to think I’m exaggerating again.”

One doctor literally told me, “You don’t need medication, you need a mindset shift.” He never looked at my joints. He didn’t even touch me. I cried in the car afterward, and then I felt stupid for crying.

Eric: Did you ever stop seeking help entirely?

Rachel: For a while, yes. I went dark on the medical system from 25 to almost 29. I convinced myself this was just how my body worked — a bad draw. I built my life around the pain. No standing jobs. No long road trips. I even avoided dating seriously because I thought, Who’s going to want someone who can’t even open a jar half the time without pain?

The Crucial Appointment

Eric: What changed? What broke the cycle?

Rachel: I moved to a new city. New job, new insurance, new doctor. I wasn’t even planning to talk about my pain — it was just a general checkup. But during the exam, she noticed I was constantly shifting in my seat, readjusting my shoulder. She asked, “Do you always sit like that?” I froze for a second.

Then she started asking real questions: how often do you dislocate? How’s your fatigue? How’s your sleep? Has anyone tested you for connective tissue disorders?

She did a Beighton score test — which checks for hypermobility — and I scored 8 out of 9. She immediately referred me to a geneticist and a rheumatologist. Six months later, after a mountain of paperwork, imaging, and bloodwork to rule out other things — I was diagnosed with Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.

Eric: How did it feel to finally have a name?

Rachel: Like oxygen. Like I’d been underwater for ten years and someone finally pulled me up.

But also? I was angry. Furious. Because I started thinking back on all the moments that could’ve gone differently — if just one doctor had taken me seriously. If someone had asked a second question instead of prescribing yoga. I wasn’t dramatic. I wasn’t weak. I was right.

Living With the Diagnosis — and With the Past

Eric: Has your life changed since the diagnosis?

Rachel: Yes and no. Physically, not much has changed — there’s no cure. But I’ve finally got a care plan. Physical therapy helps. Bracing helps. Pacing myself helps. I’ve learned to advocate for myself and say no when my body says no.

The biggest change is emotional. I stopped gaslighting myself. I stopped apologizing for my pain. That’s huge. I also found online support groups, and it was like I had landed on a planet where everyone spoke my language. For the first time, people got it — without explanation or judgment.

The Psychological Cost of Being Ignored

Eric: What’s something people don’t understand about medical gaslighting?

Rachel: That it doesn’t just delay your diagnosis — it destroys your sense of reality. When you’re told for years that your pain is in your head, you begin to lose trust in your own body.

Even now, when I have a bad flare and need to cancel plans or miss work, I hear that voice in my head whispering, “Maybe you’re exaggerating again.” That’s not my voice — that’s the echo of all the doctors who made me feel like I wasn’t worth investigating.

And the kicker? I’ve met women who were dismissed for decades before getting diagnosed. Many are left with permanent joint damage, PTSD, even disability. This isn’t rare. It’s systemic.

Not Just Rare — Misunderstood

Eric: What do you wish more people — especially doctors — understood about EDS?

Rachel: That it doesn’t always look like what’s in a textbook. That it affects every part of the body, not just joints. That it’s often inherited, but family members may be undiagnosed too. And most of all: that pain without a test result is still pain. Just because you can’t see it on an X-ray doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Also, listen: when a young woman tells you she’s in pain, believe her. Don’t tell her she’s anxious. Don’t hand her a meditation app and send her home.

If You’re Struggling to Be Believed…

Eric: What would you say to someone reading this who’s where you were five years ago — stuck, scared, and not being taken seriously?

Rachel: You are not imagining it.

You are not lazy, dramatic, or weak. Your pain is real. Keep going. Keep documenting. Bring someone with you to appointments. Print out symptom lists. Demand referrals. If one doctor won’t listen, find another. Be relentless. You shouldn’t have to fight this hard — but if you do, don’t give up.

And when you do finally get that diagnosis? Allow yourself to be angry. Grieve the time lost. Then breathe. You weren’t crazy. You were right all along.

What This Story Tells Us About the System

Rachel’s story is far too common — not because Ehlers-Danlos is common, but because dismissal is. The system isn’t built for nuance. It’s built for pattern recognition. And when someone doesn’t fit the pattern, they’re too often ignored, minimized, or shamed into silence.

We need better training. We need more time per patient. We need fewer assumptions and more questions. But above all, we need to believe patients when they say, “I’m in pain.”

Because sometimes, the difference between life and a decade of hell is just one doctor saying, “I believe you.”