Women’s reproductive health treats pain like background noise

Women’s reproductive health in India has advanced by science, not empathy. “If your period pain is too debilitating, have a child—or wait till you have one”, “Lose some weight, and your PCOS will come under control”: This kind of dismissive advice, once expected from aunties, now comes from doctors.

Despite decades of progress, women have been excluded from clinical trials until the 1990s. Today, they have access to cutting-edge fertility technology like egg-freezing, IVF. Yet, the statistics on women’s reproductive health reveal a quieter crisis: women, both urban and rural, not only lack awareness about their own bodies, but feel  increasingly unheard and unseen within the healthcare system.

“When I was diagnosed with mild polycystic ovarian disorder (PCOD), I felt like it was brushed off because it wasn’t ‘severe’,” says content creator Vanshita Jain, 23. “Doctors would tell me to lose weight or take a pill, but open conversations about lifestyle changes and several mental health implications were conveniently skipped. I felt dismissed, like my concerns weren’t valid enough to be addressed in detail.”

Jain’s story is far from rare. One survey found that 84 per cent (4 in every 5)  women said their healthcare professional wasn’t listening to them. Another revealed that couples who went through miscarriages were dissatisfied with the emotional support they received from hospitals. 

How stigma erases women from their own healthcare

Women are trying to bridge the awareness gap by educating themselves about reproductive health and voicing their pain points, doctors are becoming increasingly averse to answering them. Women often leave clinics with files full of diagnoses and prescriptions but little clarity, and a host of unaddressed fears and emotions. 

“I meet women who’ve read a lot online but are still anxious and unsure about what their diagnosis actually means. Information alone doesn’t help without emotional counselling, without someone to say, “This is hard, and your feelings make sense”,” shares psychotherapist Utkarsha Jagga.

This absence of emotionally available doctors has become a quiet fault line in the healthcare system, one that undermines women’s health and their autonomy.

When Megha Desai, founder of The Desai Foundation, visited a rural area in Northern Rajasthan, a conversation with a local woman left her unsettled. “When a 29-year-old woman asked, “How come you never talk about periods being white in colour?”, I was confused. Upon investigating, I found out that she was affected by a yeast infection, which she mistook for a change in her period.” It reveals how alarmingly low the baseline understanding of women’s reproductive health continues to be, even among women.

“WITHOUT EMPATHETIC COUNSELLING, THESE EXPERIENCES TURN ISOLATING AND EVEN TRAUMATIC” — Navneet Kaur

FemTech India’s founder, Navneet Kaur notes “Over 65 per cent of women use digital health services, and teleconsultations for women’s reproductive health have increased by 120 per cent. This is because 70 to 80 per cent of women prefer digital interventions over traditional in-person visits due to convenience, privacy, and faster service.” The preference isn’t just about convenience, it reflects the discomfort of in-person care in a system that discourages questions.

“Awareness isn’t just about medical facts; it’s also about creating the freedom to ask questions without shame,” says psychologist Sanam Devidasani agrees. “However, we would rather ask Google about our symptoms instead of speaking to family, friends, or professionals. Many doctors aren’t trained to see the emotional impact of reproductive health issues.” The result is a culture where women feel invisible—first by society, then by the healthcare system.

The toll of medical gaslighting on women’s health

Mood swings from hormonal imbalances, debilitating pain caused by dysmenorrhea or endometriosis, or anxiety during pregnancy or IVF —the emotional fallout of reproductive health issues multiples without support.

“At 15, it was not easy, as the awareness wasn’t as much, and doctors were treating me like an adult,” says Mumbai-based event planner, Dhwanika Parmar,  She describes her PCOD diagnosis as nothing short of a horror experience. “I really wish I had met better doctors who were kinder to me in this process, and not touching a teenager’s body, getting medically checked for the first time in her life, that aggressively.”

When Pooja Shah Mistry, 33, a UK-based lawyer and journalist, discovered she was pregnant, the initial months were anything but easy. “A woman is in her most vulnerable stage, both physically and emotionally, when pregnant. Not to mention that for some, the financial burden of being pregnant can seem overwhelming,” she says. “I was very fortunate to have a health visitor come to my house for up to six weeks postpartum to ensure I didn’t have postpartum depression. As someone who has lived in America and India, I can never imagine that to be the case if I gave birth in either of the countries, where childbirth feels transactional and an assumed part of a woman’s identity, lacking any sort of empathy.” 

“I REALLY WISH I HAD MET BETTER DOCTORS WHO WERE KINDER TO ME IN THIS PROCESS, AND NOT TOUCHING A TEENAGER’S BODY, GETTING MEDICALLY CHECKED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HER LIFE, THAT AGGRESSIVELY” — Dhwanika Parmar

Even that support felt limited to Shah. A more consistent system of care throughout the pregnancy would have helped her ease into it.

Medical gaslighting remains a major  issue in women’s reproductive health. A 2024 study among patients with vulvovaginal pain, which affects the external female genitals and vagina, found that 45 per cent were told that they “just needed to relax more”, 39 per cent were made to feel “crazy”, and a 55 per cent had considered giving up on care entirely. Another study published in The New England Journal of Medicine found that women are seven times more likely to be misdiagnosed than men. 

“When I approached my doctor in my perimenopausal phase with excruciating hip pain, they shrugged it off for the longest time. Eventually, when the doctor was convinced the pain was bad enough to get a hip X-ray, she suggested I get Hormone Replacement Therapy to tackle my pain,” shares Desai. 

“Without empathetic counselling, these experiences turn isolating and even traumatic. At the same time, the education system offers little more than a cursory biology lesson, leaving young women to “figure things out” on their own,” notes Kaur. 

Even IVF, often described as a straightforward medical process, takes a heavy emotional toll. “Every cycle brings endless waiting, uncertainty, and hope—and when it doesn’t work out, the disappointment is crushing,” says Bengaluru-based Shruti Singh. “It’s not just about injections and scans, it’s about the emotional toll of living in that in-between space month after month. No one really prepares you for that side of things.” 

Why emotional support is missing from reproductive care in India

Despite its clear necessity, emotional counselling has never been built into India’s women’s reproductive healthcare system. The reasons are complex, spanning economic, cultural, and structural barriers.  

In rural areas, gynaecologist consultations can cost as little as ₹139. With medical inflation in India flaring up as high as 12 to 14 per cent in 2024, expecting additional counselling feels financially impossible for many. The 74.2 per cent shortfall of gynaecologists means most doctors are already too overburdened to spend extra time offering support.    

“The focus is on survival and economic stability, leaving little space for emotional health,” says Kaur. “Mental health services are limited, underfunded, and concentrated in urban centres, leaving the areas that need it most completely underserved. It’s often seen as a luxury or non-essential service, rather than a necessary support. As a result, organisations and institutions rarely think to incorporate it, even in environments where stress, trauma, or emotional challenges are common.”

Neha Motwani, founder of Luma Fertility, a Mumbai-based fertility clinic, highlights that women’s reproductive health has only cropped up on the larger medical radar in the last 40 to 50 years. “For the longest time, all the focus has been on achieving success rates, then followed by perfecting it,” she begins. “Patient-led thinking was much required, but overshadowed by the quest to create a market and scale it.”

“WOMEN ARE EXPECTED TO BE EMOTIONALLY AVAILABLE FOR EVERYONE ELSE BUT THEMSELVES. THE SYSTEM DOESN’T STOP TO ASK: WHAT DOES SHE NEED EMOTIONALLY? WHAT SUPPORT MIGHT HELP HER THROUGH THIS?” — Shruti Singh 

Singh believes cultural norms play a role. “Culturally, women are expected to do everything—hold down jobs, manage homes, take care of families—and do it all without complaining, without asking for a break, without prioritising themselves.” She noticed the same attitude flowing into healthcare. “Women are told to be strong, but the truth is, they are often expected to be emotionally available for everyone else but not for themselves. The system doesn’t stop to ask: What does she need emotionally? What support might help her through this?” 

Emotional counselling can transform women’s healthcare 

A 2015 study shows that only 25 per cent of the women were informed of Caesarean section steps and risks before signing. Another 2020 study found that only 36 per cent of the women using modern contraceptives knew about all available options. Beyond awareness, emotional support directly impacts women’s agency over their health. 

“When I was diagnosed with adenomyosis, I had no idea what it even was, and my doctor very casually advised me to get pregnant because ‘that would cure it’,” says Devidasani. “I wasn’t even married then. It showed me how easily women’s feelings can be brushed aside. That’s exactly where emotional counselling can make a difference.” 

When women feel validated, they begin to make decisions for themselves, not out of fear or shame, notes Devidasani. “That’s where empowerment begins.”

Some healthcare providers are trying to shift the culture. “When the focus isn’t just restricted to physical care, and extends to emotional support, it provides women with a safe and empowering space,” says Dr Surabhi Siddhartha, consultant obstetrician & gynaecologist, Motherhood Hospital, Kharghar. “For example, a young patient struggling with PCOS told me how just being heard and reassured helped her stay consistent with the treatment and manage the condition.” 

“AWARENESS ISN’T JUST ABOUT MEDICAL FACTS; IT’S ALSO ABOUT CREATING THE FREEDOM TO ASK QUESTIONS WITHOUT SHAME” — Sanam Devidasani

Motwani designed a fertility clinic without baby pictures on walls, flexible scheduling for working women, an in-house psychologist, and a 24x7 helpline chat service. “Women feel comfortable, empowered and can overcome their inhibitions about egg-freezing or IVF when they consult with us,” she says.

“At FemTech India, we approach emotional support by bridging gaps between women, innovators, healthcare providers, and policymakers through advocacy, awareness campaigns, research, and thought leadership to show that emotional support is central to health, productivity, and equity,” shares Kaur. “It’s important to remember that medicine and counselling go hand-in-hand,” adds Jagga.

The lack of emotional support is not just a failure of the healthcare system but of the society that shaped it. Women’s reproductive health has long been framed as a private burden, not a public concern. That silence has protected the system more than it has ever protected women. 

Change won’t come from clinics alone. It will surface in living rooms, when stigma stops slipping quietly from one generation to the next. 

Women’s reproductive health has always been treated as something to manage, not something to understand. The system keeps getting better, not kinder. The internet can inform. It can’t demand care. 

Progress begins when listening stops feeling like a favour and endurance stops being mistaken for strength.