Sis, It’s Not Just Stress.Why Black Women Deserve Better PCOS Care.
When Silence Fails Us
PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) is not invisible, but its effects can be, especially in Black women. When we’re ignored medically and culturally, our symptoms become normalized and experienced in silence, and then when a figure like Lori Harvey names her struggle publicly, it jolts that silence into mainstream coffee conversations.
PCOS Beyond Hormones
PCOS is defined by irregular ovulation, hormonal imbalances (including hyperandrogenism), and ovarian changes. Over time, the condition drives metabolic risk, think diabetes, hypertension, cardiovascular disease.
But for Black women, those metabolic risks sharpen faster. Studies show that Black women with PCOS are more likely to develop insulin resistance, hypertension, and elevated cardiac risk even controlling for weight or BMI.
Fertility, Race & PCOS: The Unequal Terrain
PCOS disrupts ovulation and thereby complicates fertility. But in Black women, fertility outcomes are further impacted by systemic barriers. We have limited access to fertility treatment, bias in referral, delays in diagnosis, and fewer resources. Some U.S. studies suggest that Black women undergoing IVF (with or without PCOS) have lower live birth rates compared to white women under the same protocols.
Making Pain Believable: The Celebrity Factor
It can be jarring and even painful to live through the chaos of your own body, to experience hormonal hell, and have every symptom minimized or brushed off. Then, one day, a celebrity shares their story and suddenly the world starts to care. The same pain that left you dismissed is now trending under a hashtag.
That contradiction is heavy.
For many Black women, being told “it’s just stress” or “you’ll be fine” has been a familiar refrain, until someone with a platform, access, and visibility names the same struggle. And while it’s validating to see your experience reflected in public, it’s also frustrating that it takes fame for our pain to be believed.
Voices matter. Especially when they bridge the gap between silence and visibility.
Keke Palmer has been vocal about living with PCOS, helping younger Black women recognize their own symptoms and push for answers.
Sasha Pieterse has spoken openly about motherhood after PCOS, proving that fertility is possible even when the path is difficult.
Lori Harvey shared that for years, her symptoms, crippling pain, acne, weight shifts, and hormonal swings were dismissed as “normal.” It wasn’t until a new doctor diagnosed her with PCOS and endometriosis that her pain was finally acknowledged.
She’s said the difference between being dismissed and being believed changed everything because belief is where healing begins.
If Lori Harvey had to fight to be heard, imagine what it’s like for Black women without her visibility.
Symptoms That Speak Louder Than Silence
If you see multiple of these patterns, it’s worth deeper evaluation:
Irregular, absent, or very heavy periods
Acne, oily skin, and hirsutism (facial/body hair)
Hair thinning on the scalp
Difficulty losing weight (especially in the belly)
Dark patches of skin (neck, underarms)
Fatigue, hormonal mood swings
Infertility, miscarriage, or delayed conception
Cultural & Emotional Layers
In many Black households, fertility is often woven into identity, lineage, and legacy, a reflection of womanhood, worth, and wellness. But that framing can make the realities of infertility or choosing not to parent deeply complex and isolating.
PCOS complicates that story even more. It can make conception difficult or unpredictable, leaving many caught between wanting children and grieving the loss of that choice. Others may not want to parent at all, yet still find their autonomy challenged by systems that define Black womanhood through motherhood.
Across generations, silence has made these conversations even harder. There’s often no language, no role models, and few safe spaces to talk about reproductive health, loss, or choice. The absence of open dialogue turns private pain into quiet suffering.
Layered on top of that is medical mistrust, centuries of neglect, experimentation, and bias that make it hard to trust providers or feel safe challenging dismissive care. So many Black women are left navigating the physical and emotional terrain of PCOS alone, carrying both the weight of fertility struggles and the burden of expectation.
Every person should have the right to choose how, when, and whether to parent, and to receive compassionate care that believes them regardless of that choice.
Holistic & Culturally Grounded Care Approaches
Nutrition & Movement
Embrace whole foods that align with your heritage like dark leafy greens, yams, legumes, beans, plantains, and lean proteins. These nutrient-rich foods help regulate insulin levels and support hormone balance.
Consider adding inositol, a naturally occurring vitamin-like compound that’s been shown to improve insulin sensitivity, support ovulation, and regulate menstrual cycles in people with PCOS. Many use myo-inositol or a myo-/D-chiro-inositol blend, often referred to as “natural insulin sensitizers.” Talk with your provider before starting supplements to ensure the right dosage and form for you.
Use movement you enjoy. Dance, walking, yoga, strength training, or neighborhood walks with friends.
Medical & Fertility Strategy
Ask for a full panel that includes hormones, insulin/glucose markers, thyroid labs, and ovarian reserve testing.
If conception is your goal, discuss first-line ovulation medications (like letrozole) or supplements that complement fertility efforts, including inositol.For more advanced fertility needs, explore IUI or IVF options. Demand transparency and accountability from clinics, especially around how race-based differences and bias can influence diagnostic thresholds and treatment outcomes.
Track your cycles, symptoms, and conversations with providers. Knowledge is your leverage in care.
Emotional & Community Support
Seek therapy, support groups, or healing circles that validate your experience.
Share your story.
Advocate for research, funding, and systems that center Black women in PCOS, fertility, and reproductive health studies.
What Must Shift?
If we’re serious about changing outcomes for Black women with PCOS, we have to move beyond awareness. That can look like research that centers us. Studies funded, led, and shaped by Black women whose bodies have too often been excluded from the data.
It means pushing for insurance policies that recognize fertility, metabolic health, and hormone balance as essential care, not luxury services. Every woman deserves access to reproductive endocrinology, fertility support, and preventive metabolic screening, without fighting for coverage or paying out of pocket for basic labs.
It also means transforming how clinicians are trained. We need providers who don’t just memorize symptoms, but understand stories, who recognize that bias in the exam room can be as harmful as imbalance in the body.
And finally, we must amplify Black women’s voices. We need to stop being side notes in medical journals and become authors of our own healing.
Where Do We Go From Here?
Reproductive justice means every person has the power and resources to decide if, when, and how to parent, and to live in safe, healthy environments.
For Black women with PCOS, that means being believed, having access to care without bias, and the freedom to choose what healing looks like, whether that includes fertility, prevention, or rest.
