Praise, Gender and the Hidden Bias

Growing up, my sister and I lived in a home where equality wasn’t just an ideal—it was the norm. Our parents, both progressive and loving, never made us feel less than anyone, least of all men. We had every opportunity we could ask for, every encouragement to pursue our dreams, and the unwavering belief that we could achieve whatever we set our minds to and never question our worth or place in the world. It wasn’t until much later, as an adult, that I began to see the subtle ways misogyny operates—even in the most well-meaning spaces.

It was my father, of all people, who unknowingly sparked this realization. He’s always been my biggest cheerleader, someone who saw my successes and celebrated them loudly and proudly. But one day, during a conversation with his friends, he referred to me as “his son.” At first, I didn’t react. I thought it was an affectionate remark, an old phrase that carried no harm. But the more I thought about it, the more it unsettled me. Why would being called a son be the highest compliment? Why would my achievements and strengths make me worthy of being compared to a man? My father wasn’t intending to be sexist—he never has been—but this moment revealed to me how deeply woven these ideas are into the fabric of our society.

If something as innocuous as a compliment can carry these gendered implications, imagine the impact in fields like healthcare, where the stakes are infinitely higher. Misogyny in healthcare often isn’t loud or obvious—it’s quiet, systemic, and deeply entrenched. It shows up in ways that make women feel dismissed, ignored, or undervalued, from being told their pain isn’t “that bad” to having their symptoms written off as stress or anxiety. It’s in the research gaps that leave women’s health underfunded and understudied. It’s in the medical textbooks that prioritize male anatomy as the default. It’s in the way women are conditioned to tolerate pain in silence or apologize for advocating for their health. The truth is, that the same world that celebrates us as daughters are also subtly reinforcing the idea that our worth has to be measured against something else, something male. In this world, women are seen as “lesser” by default—less rational, less deserving, less important.

As daughters in a household that championed “equality”, my sister and I didn’t see it growing up. We didn’t see how subtle biases our dad never intended to pass on would seep into the way we would see ourselves or would be treated by the world outside. How they would become barriers that stood in the way of equality, not just in the home, but in every space we would occupy including impact the healthcare we would receive.. My father’s comment, though meant as a heartfelt compliment, reflected a larger narrative: that strength, resilience, and capability are traits traditionally associated with men. And it’s that reality we need to change.

Looking back, I know my father didn’t mean any disrespect. Quite the contrary. In his mind, calling me his “son” was his way of saying he was proud of me and acknowledging my strength and capability. But that’s the point—it shouldn’t take a comparison to a son to recognize a daughter’s worth. As women, we deserve to be valued for who we are, not for how closely we measure up to traditional ideas of masculinity. And just like in every other part of life, in healthcare, we deserve a system that listens, values, and prioritizes us, not one that dismisses or minimizes our experiences.

The work to unlearn these biases starts with each of us in every space where these ideas persist. It begins with asking uncomfortable questions, challenging the status quo, and imagining a world where a woman’s strength isn’t surprising and her pain isn’t ignored. It is in finding power in the stories we tell and the conversations we have and calling out these moments, no matter how small they seem. It’s not about pointing fingers but about breaking down the systems and narratives that perpetuate these biases and push for a world where daughters are celebrated for being who they are - because a daughter—just as she is—is more than enough!