Let’s not sugarcoat it.
Going to the doctor can feel like walking into a fight you didn’t sign up for. Not a check-up. Not a conversation. A whole-body shutdown.
If your stomach flips when you book the appointment, if your voice disappears the second you sit on that crinkly paper, if your whole body whispers don’t go — you’re not dramatic.
You are responding to a history of not being heard.
Whether you have medical PTSD, chronic illness trauma, or a perfectly rational hatred of the entire system, this is for you.
I’ve been the patient in pain trying to convince someone to take me seriously. I’ve also been the practitioner doing my best to hold people with care inside a system that makes it nearly impossible.
So I want to offer what I’ve learned. Not tips and tricks, but grounded support.
This is how to prepare for a medical appointment when your body remembers too much and you’re already tired before you even walk in.
Start with clarity
Make a list before you go. Seriously. It doesn’t have to be cute. Open your notes app or grab a napkin.
Write down what you’re experiencing, what questions you have, what you want to ask for, and what you need to say no to.
Things like
- These are the symptoms I’m noticing
- Here’s what I’ve already tried
- Today I really want answers, or a referral, or bloodwork
- I do not want to be weighed
- I need you to explain things clearly without rushing
When you’re in survival mode, it is easy to forget what matters to you. The list is there to help you come back to yourself.
Regulate before you enter the building
This part is everything.
Find one thing that brings your nervous system back into your body. Maybe it’s slow breathing or gripping your hands together. Maybe it’s putting on a playlist you associate with your power.
Maybe it’s whispering to yourself
I am allowed to take up space here
I do not need to perform politeness to be worthy of care
I will not abandon myself again
This isn’t about pretending to be calm. It’s about reminding your body that you’re not walking in alone.
Bring a backup human
If you can bring someone with you, do it. That might look like
- Someone to take notes
- Someone to interrupt if you get interrupted
- Someone who knows your story and will mirror your truth back to you when you start to minimize
If you can’t bring anyone, ask a friend if you can text them before and after. Let someone know you’re going in. Create a signal that says
I need support
Even if I’m handling it
That’s not weakness. That’s wise.
Practice saying what usually gets stuck in your throat
If certain words or truths feel hard to say in the moment, practice them before. Speak them out loud. Let your body hear your voice say them.
You can even write them on your list. Something like
I’ve had bad experiences with doctors and I want to name that upfront
This is hard to talk about but I need to
I’m here for help, not to be dismissed
You might say it differently in the moment, and that’s okay. Practicing gives your nervous system something to hold onto.
Plan your aftercare like it’s part of the appointment
You are probably going to feel weird after. Even if it goes okay. Maybe especially then.
Do not expect yourself to bounce back.
Ask yourself now
What can I give myself when this is over
Can I plan quiet time
Do I need food ready
Do I want a walk, a bath, a nap, a friend, a scream into a pillow
Aftercare is part of the work. It is not extra.
You are not overreacting
You are responding to something very real.
If medical spaces feel overwhelming or unsafe, it is not because you are broken. It is because you were trained to survive a system that does not prioritize your safety.
This is not about learning to be a better patient.
This is about staying with yourself.
You deserve to feel held. You deserve to feel heard.
And until that becomes the standard, I will keep helping you move through this mess with strategy, softness, and audacity.
You are not alone in this. I promise.