If you haven’t read yesterday’s post, Diagnosing Through a Screen, it explores why healthcare professionals should resist diagnosing public figures from social media clips. This essay asks a broader question: why are we so quick to confuse credentials with proof?
There are few phrases on the internet more powerful than this one:
“Trust me. I’m an expert.”
Usually it isn’t even said out loud.
Instead it’s dressed up a little nicer.
“I’m a doctor…”
“I’m a lawyer…”
“I’m a physical therapist with a doctorate…”
“I’m an engineer…”
“I served in the military…”
The implication is the same.
My opinion carries more weight because of who I am.
Sometimes that’s true.
Sometimes.
Expertise absolutely matters.
If my truck breaks down, I’m going to listen to the mechanic before I listen to my accountant.
If I need surgery, I want the surgeon making the decisions instead of the electrician.
If my plumbing explodes, I’m probably not calling my veterinarian.
We specialize for a reason.
But somewhere along the way we’ve started treating credentials as though they’re magic.
They’re not.
A degree doesn’t make someone right.
It means they’ve spent years learning a discipline.
That’s an important distinction.
I spent years becoming a nurse practitioner. I also spent decades as a nurse and a paramedic before that. I learned an incredible amount.
I also learned something equally important.
I don’t know everything.
In fact, one of the biggest lessons healthcare teaches you is exactly how much you don’t know.
Medicine has a wonderful way of humbling people.
Every provider who’s practiced long enough has had a patient who didn’t read the textbook.
Every provider has had a diagnosis that seemed obvious until new information completely changed the picture.
Every provider has looked at a test result and thought, “Well… I wasn’t expecting that.”
That’s why medicine isn’t practiced on confidence.
It’s practiced on evidence.
The internet doesn’t reward evidence.
It rewards certainty.
Think about the people who go viral.
They rarely say:
“Based on the available information, several possibilities exist…”
No.
They say:
“Here’s what’s REALLY happening.”
Certainty gets clicks.
Nuance gets ignored.
One of the more frustrating logical fallacies is called an appeal to authority.
It doesn’t say authorities are always wrong.
It says authority alone isn’t proof.
If Einstein had told me the sky was green, I’d still look up.
Not because I think I’m smarter than Einstein.
Because evidence doesn’t care who’s talking.
Neither should we.
Ironically, the true experts I’ve respected the most throughout my career usually sounded the least certain.
Not because they lacked confidence.
Because they understood complexity.
The surgeon who says, “Here’s what I think, but let’s get another scan.”
The infectious disease physician who says, “The cultures don’t fit.”
The therapist who says, “I need more information.”
Those are professionals.
They’re comfortable saying, “I don’t know yet.”
Social media has turned that into a weakness.
Apparently, admitting uncertainty isn’t good for the algorithm.
I trust people who admit the limits of their knowledge far more than people who seem to have an instant answer for everything.
The loudest person in the room isn’t automatically the smartest.
Sometimes they’re just the loudest.
So yes…
Respect credentials.
Listen to experts.
Absolutely.
But don’t stop thinking simply because someone hangs a diploma on the wall.
Ask questions.
Look for evidence.
Notice whether they’re staying within their expertise.
See if they’re explaining why they believe something instead of expecting you to believe it simply because they said it.
Real expertise welcomes scrutiny.
It doesn’t hide behind initials after a name.
At the end of the day, a diploma tells me you’ve earned the opportunity to be heard.
Evidence tells me whether I should believe you.
That’s a distinction worth remembering.
Especially on the internet.
Be the kind of person your dog and your mom hope you are.