“You wanted to talk about your ‘down below’”, my GP said, the fifth or sixth clinician to avoid saying the words vagina and vulva to me in a matter of weeks.
“My vagina, yes”, I said, wishing at least one of these medical professionals could say the word out loud.
This was a conversation I was already dreading, and these doctors and nurses’ unwillingness to use clinical language did not help. I was talking to them about my body and about sexual assault – a profoundly uncomfortable conversation to have. Their apparent inability to overcome their own discomfort and use grown-up, anatomical language felt infantilising and disrespectful. I’m not a child.
“Down below” is what I have heard the most, but “the physical side of things”, “your privates”, and even “downstairs” have made appearances.
Initially it felt patronising, then frustrating, then demeaning, and ultimately offensive. Because when the name of a body part is unspeakable or unmentionable, even (especially) among medical professionals, it implies an inherent shamefulness in the word. Which implies shamefulness in that part of the body.
And when the conversation is not only about genitals, but also about sexual assault – replete with shame and stigma – this intensifies.
View this post on Instagram
The more clinicians swerved the words, the more I ranted to friends about it, and the more creative I got.
I started creating art around the very basic idea of medics using the same language their patients use about body parts. If a patient speaks of their “down below”, then a medic should probably mirror that. If they speak of their “vagina”, then that’s the language to use in the consultation.
Making the art helped me to process some of the complicated feelings I had about these already very vulnerable consultations, including the frustration and the increasing shame they made me feel.
View this post on Instagram
One friend jokingly suggested having some kind of jack-in-a-box to take to appointments that popped up with the words “Just say vagina”, so I collaged that, too. It helped me to work through some of my feelings about it, and also reintroduced some much-needed levity at a difficult time.
A relentless flurry of euphemisms also discourages clear communication. “Down below” or “between your legs” could mean anything, whereas “vulva” or “labia” or “cervix” have reasonably clear definitions. Psychologists Virginia Braun and Celia Kitzinger looked into slang used for genitalia and found, unsurprisingly, that they are remarkably imprecise: “The average number of different definitions per word was around four. Only two words were defined in the same way by everyone”.
As retired academic Debbie Cameron concludes, “It’s a vicious circle: sexism produces ignorance and shame, ignorance and shame lead to silence and vagueness, silence and vagueness reproduce ignorance and shame, and they in turn allow sexism to continue to flourish”.
There is clarity in using the correct language, and this matters in medicine.
It’s not like anatomical language is perfect. Pudendum, once used for all external genitalia but now predominantly used for women’s, stems from the Latin “to be ashamed”, while vagina translates roughly to “sheath” (for a penis). In German and Dutch, much of the language around the genitals of people with vaginas is built around the word “shame”.
View this post on Instagram
But as Zo Anderson wrote in O Positive Health, “We know that language has power. Simply put, the words we use to refer to something plainly reflect how we feel about it. […] If part of your body is considered a source of embarrassment—something we can’t even talk about freely—how can you address concerns frankly during clinical visits? How can you identify an issue or consult with your medical provider about what’s happening around or in that body part?”
The messaging behind these unwelcome euphemisms feels inherently patriarchal, and when this ties in with not feeling – or being – believed or taken seriously in a medical system teeming with medical misogyny, survivors of sexual assault can be left without much-needed treatment. Instead, there’s a sense that we should keep quiet and not make a fuss.
Dr Helen Hammond talked on Twitter about how her patients using euphemisms meant having to use “valuable consultation time trying to get them to specify which bit of their genitalia they are talking about”. But what if it’s the other way round and the patient can specify, but the doctor can’t? That creates a whole new world of difficulty.
If you want to talk about your “bits” or your “vajayjay” with your friends, fill your boots. Or even “’VCVC’, which stands for the delightfully comprehensive phrase vaginal-cliteral-vulval complex.”
But if you’re a clinician talking to a patient who is clearly using the words vagina and vulva about a sensitive problem involving assault, don’t obfuscate the issue and reinforce a taboo by refusing to show her the same respect and use the same words in return.
This helps you both to understand precisely what the problem is, and how it might be treated.
It might also help her to trust that you take her dignity seriously – and believe her – at the same time.
4th November 2025
Philippa Willitts
Philippa Willitts is a Sheffield-based freelance journalist and editor who specialises in writing about issues affecting disabled people and the LGBTQ+ community, with a particular focus on gender-based violence. She enjoys exploring her city’s many green spaces, watching comedy, spending time with friends, and making colourful things from thread and card. She has previously interviewed Luna Dolezal about why shaming people is not an effective way to create a better world.