The Unreliable Narrators of Our Own Life

Ever heard of the "Cassandra phenomenon"? It's got nothing to do with modern psychology and everything to do with an ancient Greek myth that feels painfully familiar to women today.

Cassandra was this Trojan princess blessed (or cursed) with the gift of prophecy. The god Apollo fancied her, and when she rejected his advances, he didn't take it well. Instead of simply removing her prophetic abilities, he devised a far more twisted punishment: she could keep her accurate visions, but no one would ever believe her. Can you imagine anything more frustrating? She correctly predicted the fall of Troy and warned everyone about that suspicious wooden horse, but her family and fellow citizens dismissed her as hysterical and mad. They literally called her crazy while she was telling the absolute truth.

Fast forward a few thousand years, and not much has changed, has it? Women are still routinely disbelieved when speaking uncomfortable truths, our expertise questioned, our warnings brushed aside—only to have those same insights accepted and celebrated when repeated by men. This pattern is so common that psychologists now use "Cassandra phenomenon" as a legitimate term to describe how women's concerns are minimised in healthcare, workplaces, and everyday life.

I wish this was ancient history. It's also my story from three weeks ago.

The Chronic Disbelief of Women

I decided it was time to address my crippling perimenopause symptoms. Armed with careful observations and research, I announced I was ready for Menopause Hormone Therapy (MHT, also known as HRT). What followed was a masterclass in dismissal.

The woman who met me for the first time on Saturday night told me I needed to "detox my liver." My dear uncle helpfully explained that men also go through hormonal changes (Jesus H Christ!). My gynaecologist's gatekeeper receptionist asked if I was sure I wasn't "really stressed."

What's stressing me out is the continuous questioning of my own experience!

This pattern isn't accidental. Historical biases have positioned women as less authoritative or rational than men, creating what experts call a "credibility deficit"—women are given less initial presumption of competence or expertise.

Tennis champion Serena Williams shared in a 2018 Vogue article how she had to fight to be believed by medical staff after childbirth. Recognising symptoms of a pulmonary embolism, Williams repeatedly requested a CT scan while nurses suggested she was confused from pain medication. When they finally performed the scan, they found exactly what she had suspected: multiple blood clots in her lungs.

If a woman who spent 40-odd years devoted to understanding her body and made bazillions from that self-knowledge isn't believed in a life-threatening situation, what chance do I have?

As Caroline Criado Perez writes in "Invisible Women": "Women are disbelieved not because of the weakness of their evidence, but because of the category to which they belong."

The Health Toll of Being Dismissed

The cost of being chronically disbelieved is enormous and cumulative. There's the constant self-doubt that creeps in: "Am I overreacting? Maybe I AM just stressed." You waste precious mental energy preparing to defend your experience rather than addressing it.

Physically, symptoms go untreated—women with endometriosis wait 7-10 years for diagnosis. Women having heart attacks are more likely to be sent home from A&E than men with identical symptoms.

You start to distrust your instincts. Professionally, you're labelled "difficult" for self-advocacy. Your personal relationships strain when partners minimise your experiences.

A survey by the British Medical Journal revealed that 56% of women experiencing perimenopausal symptoms consulted a doctor three or more times before receiving appropriate help. This isn't just frustrating—it's dangerous.

How much energy have you spent trying to convince others of what you already know to be true about your own body and mind? Last week I was exhausted just thinking about how many doctors I had to call to get something that I am dead certain I need.

And this comes at a time when women are already depleted—navigating perimenopause, working, motherhood, caring responsibilities, or all of the above. We have the least energy precisely when we need it most to fight these battles.

The Narky Paradox: Our Impossible Bind

This creates what I call the narky paradox: the very behaviour women are penalised for becomes our only path to results. The system forces us to become what it punishes us for being.

I made five polite calls to my gynaecologist's office asking for low-dose MHT to get some relief until I could get to my appointment six weeks away. Each time I was dismissed with a "we'll call you back." The calls never came.

Finally, I sent a firm email demanding proper care, which resulted in an appointment in three working days.

We're caught in an impossible bind—be nice and be ignored or be difficult and be labelled. Getting narky works, but the cost is high. The labels "emotional" or "difficult" stick. We waste energy performing anger when already depleted, perpetuating a system where reasonable requests are ignored until they become demands.

Remember former Australian Prime Minister Julia Gillard's powerful 2012 "Misogyny Speech"? While later recognised as a watershed moment, the immediate media coverage dismissed it as an "angry rant," focusing on her tone rather than her message.

When women show any strong emotion, we're dismissed as "being emotional" rather than passionate or persuasive. If that's how I show interest in myself, why should I be punished for my enthusiasm or my communication style?

Why should basic respect require such an exhausting performance? Especially when we're already running on empty.

Rise and Be Heard When No One Else Believes You

What I wish had happened? Simple acknowledgment: "I hear you're in pain. Let's see if we can help you before your appointment in 6 weeks' time. Your experience matters."

I know the problem isn't me—it's the system that questions women's authority.

If you're experiencing disbelief in any area of your life, here are some strategies to become your own fierce advocate:

Trust your experience and your body. Document your symptoms. Create a "health passport" that details your symptoms and history to help articulate your experience clearly. You are the expert on your own lived experience – own that authority.

Get narky if you need to. Your health is more important than a doctor's bruised ego. Sometimes the system requires you to be "difficult" to get the care you deserve. If someone doesn't like it, that's on them.

Find communities with similar experiences. Their validation can fuel your courage when your confidence wavers.

Bring allies to important appointments. Sometimes a second voice helps you be heard—someone who won't speak for you but will amplify your words.

Don't internalise the dismissal. This is a systemic problem, not a reflection of your credibility. When they dismiss you, stand taller in your truth.

The Sweet Victory of Being Heard

UPDATE! I post this the day after my appointment and after taking a few victory laps around my flat. I saw a new doctor who was quite excellent, and it looks like I'm switching medical professionals faster than you can say "perimenopause." Empathetic and attentive, she acknowledged my symptoms and prescribed me a low dose of MHT.

Sound familiar? If someone had simply believed me three weeks ago, I could have skipped the drama entirely. But I'm not dwelling on that today. I'm celebrating finding a doctor who treats me as the expert on my own experience, whilst being validating, responsive, and human. Now excuse me while I take a deep sigh of relief.

After all, being recognised and believed is what makes a society truly human.

What's your experience with being believed—or disbelieved—about your own life? I'd love to hear from you.