This quote from Jane Goodall stopped me mid-scroll my yesterday. What does “difficult” even mean for a woman and why is this label so common?
“Difficult” means speaking up. Voicing an opinion that doesn’t chime with the party line. Saying no. Being honest. Setting a boundary. These are all things that can earn a woman the “difficult” label faster than you can say “unnecessary meeting.”
I consider myself pretty laid back and reasonable. Yet I’ve also had the label. “You know how difficult she can be,” said the email inadvertently forwarded to me.
Ouch.
But me? Moi? I didn’t consider myself any kind of firestarter. I just felt comfortable raising things when they could be better, when the reality of work went way beyond the agreements. Not in an unkind way—just, “Hey, this is how it is for me. Can we resolve it?”
And yet, boom! The “she is difficult” label lurking in NHS.net email chains.
The Double Standard We’re All Navigating
Here’s what I’ve observed: men are more likely to give their opinion and believe it is the correct (and final) one, whereas women are more likely to be open to discussion. Men are more confident to interrupt (not always a bad thing) and talk more in meetings.
On an evolutionary level, humans are wired as a species to tune in to the larger frames and deeper voices of men. That was what protected us. The ability to hear and respond to male authority kept the tribe safe.
So when a woman raises a concern in a meeting and gets talked over by a charismatic male colleague, it’s not just bad manners. It’s biology meeting culture meeting workplace dynamics. And we’re all—consciously or not—participating in it. We’re hard-wired that way prehistorically. Women end up having to work harder.
Here’s where it gets tricky. When we do manage to get a word in, when we speak about something we care about, our higher-pitched voices can be easily labeled as “shrill” or “emotional”—and then our point gets dismissed entirely. Not because the point isn’t valid, but because the packaging is judged instead of the content.
So we try to adapt. We lower our voices, adopt certain mannerisms to be taken seriously. And because we’re not being ourselves, that doesn’t sit right inwardly. There’s a dissonance that exhausts us.
The Real Cost of Staying Quiet
What’s the price of not speaking up?
It means selling out on your integrity, your authenticity, honoring what you see as important, expressing your values. Making a point from a place of living a value that matters to you—fairness, honesty, compassion—will be easier because it sits with who you are inside.
Yet there’s still extra work to do: being heard, staying heard, getting it across in the right way.
Here’s an uncomfortable truth: burnout is more common in women at all levels of medicine. The constant self-monitoring, the extra work to be heard, the negative self-talk, the swallowing of valid concerns to avoid being labeled “difficult”—it all adds up. We’re not burning out because we’re weak. We’re burning out because we’re working twice as hard to be taken half as seriously, while also trying to maintain our integrity.
The cost of silence isn’t neutral. It shows up as:
Low-level anxiety or sadness
Chronic irritation at work
Constantly arguing the toss in your
Feeling unfulfilled even when you’re “succeeding”
That 3am question: “Is this all there is?”
There’s a cost in not living authentically. A Values clash. A feeling of wondering all the time, “what if?” and knowing that things could be different.
The Questions Worth Asking
What do you want to say at the end of your life? What would you like to say that you stood for?
If you’re facing a challenge right now—maybe a partnership you didn’t apply for because you convinced yourself you weren’t good enough, maybe a meeting where you stayed silent while someone else took credit for your idea—ask yourself: what value do you want to express?
Maybe it’s fairness—because you’re tired of watching the same people dodge the difficult patients while you field them all.
Maybe it’s honesty—because the gaps between what’s promised and what’s delivered are getting wider.
Maybe it’s courage—because you see what’s happening to your patients, your colleagues, yourself, and someone needs to name it.
Reclaiming the Label
Being “difficult” doesn’t automatically mean being difficult.
If we want labels—and apparently we’re getting them whether we want them or not—then let’s choose our own:
Someone with another point of view
Someone who is aware of their priorities
• Honest
• Courageous
• Clear about boundaries
• Committed to their values
These are all much easier labels to wear.
Your Turn
If you know you’re seen as “difficult” as a woman in medicine, what alternative label would you like to wear?
What’s your most positive, affirming word for yourself?
Not the word your inner critic uses. Not the word that that demanding consultant used. Not even the word you think you should choose.
What word feels true? What word makes you stand a little taller?
Because Jane Goodall is right—it doesn’t take much to be labeled a difficult woman. And honestly? We’re in excellent company.
Drop your word in the comments. I’ll start: Mine is “honest.” What’s yours?
Photo of Jane Goodall from Wiki Commons
Ready to stop being “difficult” and start being heard?
If you’re tired of lying awake at 3am, tired of being talked over in meetings, tired of overworking to prove your worth—I’d love to talk with you.
I work with women in medicine finding their voice and reclaiming their careers without burning out.
[Book a free 30-minute discovery call]—no pressure, just a conversation about what’s possible for you.
https://zcal.co/drclairedavies
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