“i don’t know how to explain it”
There is a moment many young people experience at some point in their lives, usually sitting in a clinic room with bright lights and a ticking clock on the wall.
A doctor asks a simple question.
“So, what seems to be the problem?”
And suddenly, everything that felt so real and obvious before becomes strangely difficult to describe.
You know something feels wrong.
You know something has changed.
But when you try to explain it, the words don’t quite arrive.
“I don’t know how to explain it.”
For many young people, this moment is not rare. It is quietly common.
And often, it is not because the symptoms are imaginary or exaggerated. It is because describing what is happening inside your own body is much harder than most of us expect.
The gap between feeling and language
Most of us grow up learning the language of everyday life.
We learn words for emotions.
Words for school subjects.
Words for relationships and responsibilities.
But the language of the body is rarely taught in the same way.
Many young people are never taught how to describe different kinds of pain, or how to distinguish between symptoms that may seem similar on the surface. Words like persistent, sharp, radiating, cyclical, or intermittent are not part of ordinary conversation. Even the names of body parts or internal systems can feel unfamiliar.
So when something begins to feel wrong, the experience exists first as a feeling rather than a clear explanation.
You might notice that something hurts more than it used to.
Or that your body reacts in ways you cannot predict.
Or that something small keeps returning again and again.
The feeling is real. But the language is still forming.
Without the words, the experience can become difficult to communicate — not only to doctors, but sometimes even to yourself.
When uncertainty becomes silence
When young people struggle to explain what they are experiencing, many respond in a similar way.
They soften their description.
They hesitate.
They say things like:
“It’s probably nothing.”
“I might just be overthinking it.”
“It’s hard to explain.”
Part of this hesitation comes from uncertainty. If you are not sure how to describe something, it can feel safer to minimise it.
Another part comes from the environment many young people grow up in. Conversations about health, particularly certain kinds of health, are often brief, awkward, or avoided altogether. Some young people are raised in communities where speaking openly about the body is uncommon. Others simply do not have opportunities to practise these conversations.
Over time, this can create a quiet habit: feeling something is wrong, but not quite knowing how to bring it into words.
The difficulty of describing the body
The body communicates through sensations.
Tightness.
Pressure.
Fatigue.
Sharpness.
Dull aches.
Changes in energy.
Shifts in appetite, sleep, or concentration.
But sensations do not arrive labelled. They arrive as experiences.
Imagine trying to describe a colour you have never named before, or a smell you have never encountered. The experience is immediate, but translating it into language takes time.
For young people especially, this translation is still developing. Many are encountering certain symptoms or bodily changes for the first time. Without previous reference points, it can be difficult to know what is normal, what is temporary, and what might need attention.
This is why so many young people begin explanations with the same phrase.
“I don’t know if this makes sense, but…”
Why language matters in healthcare
Language plays a surprisingly important role in medical conversations.
When symptoms are described clearly, it becomes easier for health professionals to understand patterns, timelines, and possible causes. But when someone struggles to find the right words, their experience can become harder to interpret.
This does not mean the experience is less real. It simply means the bridge between sensation and explanation is still being built.
For young people, this bridge often grows through practice. Each conversation about health becomes an opportunity to notice more carefully, to reflect on what the body is doing, and to slowly build a vocabulary that makes those experiences easier to share.
Learning the language of your own body
One of the most empowering things a young person can begin to do is pay closer attention to their own patterns.
Instead of asking “What is wrong with me?” it can help to ask quieter questions:
When does this usually happen?
How long does it last?
What does it feel like exactly?
Has anything similar happened before?
Sometimes writing these observations down can make a difference. Over time, small details begin to form a clearer picture.
What once felt like an indistinct discomfort may gradually become easier to describe:
A pain that appears at certain times.
A symptom that worsens with stress or fatigue.
A sensation that moves from one place to another.
The more familiar someone becomes with these patterns, the easier it becomes to explain them.
You do not need perfect words
One of the most reassuring truths about healthcare conversations is that explanations do not need to be perfect.
You do not need to know every medical term.
You do not need to sound precise or technical.
Sometimes the most honest descriptions are the simplest ones.
“I’ve noticed this happening more often.”
“It feels different from before.”
“I can’t explain it exactly, but it worries me.”
These sentences are enough to begin a conversation.
Healthcare should not depend on someone having flawless language. It should begin with listening.
A quiet form of confidence
Learning to speak about your own health is not something that happens overnight.
It develops slowly, through curiosity, reflection, and experience. Each time a young person learns a new word, recognises a new pattern, or asks a question they once felt unsure about, the language becomes a little clearer.
Over time, something subtle changes.
The body no longer feels like a mystery that must be ignored. It becomes something that can be understood, described, and cared for.
And when a doctor asks, “What seems to be the problem?” the answer may still begin with uncertainty — but it no longer ends there.
Because even if the words are still forming, the willingness to speak about what you feel is already a powerful beginning.
For truth, voice, and empowerment,
The Aletheia Project
Originally published by The Aletheia Project on Medium.
