At 16 years old, I earned my first pair of scrubs.

I studied relentlessly. Long nights of my nose in the textbooks and clinical hours filled with  questions. The quiet pressures of having to prove myself continued to linger. When I became a  Certified Nursing Assistant, I wore that title like a badge of honor. I stepped into a nursing home expecting the hardest part of the job to be the physical demands: lifting patients, racing to answer call  lights and enduring exhaustion.

I was wrong.

The physical strain was the easiest part, what I was not prepared for was how my age would  disqualify me in the eyes of others.

While some were welcoming and opened their arms to a new and eager CNA, others turned their backs and judged from a distance. Comments were made around the facility, some about how I was brought to work by my dad instead of driving myself, I was mocked for asking questions and often found myself alone with no help.

From then on, I was under the impression that unfair treatment would take root from seniority. And I was correct. When I was 18, I began working as a medical assistant. I was trained in multiple areas and trusted with real responsibility. Despite the efforts to recognize my potential and skills, my age followed me into every room.

I was left out of conversations, decision making, and sometimes talked down to despite doing the same work as everyone else. It was not about my ability; it was about how others perceived me.

One time, I had been training a new hire while juggling clerical work. Along with scanning  documents, answering phone calls, and collecting vitals, I had been asked to stock some supplies. I completed most in the morning, but by the afternoon the workload became overwhelming. I used every spare moment to get the stocking done, yet it was not enough.

That is when the burden of the unfinished task became mine alone.

A senior medical assistant, someone I deeply respect – turned her frustration on me. Her voice rose. Her words cut. There were others in the office capable of doing it, none were confronted, none were singled out. Only me.

In that moment, she used her position of authority to directly blame and pressure me in a way that felt deeply unfair and ultimately isolating. This experience demonstrated a power gap. This is described by Phillip Wilson as “…the actions and behaviors that exist between two individuals where one is in a superior position over the other.”

This is not about just one experience; it is about a pattern. Young healthcare workers who are  entering the field should not have to navigate being dismissed and excluded by their colleagues. They should be able to enter a workplace that values growth, encourages questions and recognizes effort regardless of age or title. Respect should be a baseline, not rationed out based on seniority.

People will argue that experience and education are valid dividing factors in the hierarchy in  healthcare. And I agree, people should be well educated and well-versed in their careers, along with being well respected for the work they do. However, the presence of a wide power gap can disrupt quality of care and create a stigma of having to “earn your voice”

But staying quiet does not make it right.

To move toward that kind of environment, medical offices and hospitals need to take intentional  action to close the generational power gap, rather than ignoring it. This starts with leadership, where supervisors and senior staff set the tone and model respect, communication, accountability and inclusion. This backbone can help bridge divides and allow staff  to guide newer employees through open communication. With that, this model of behavior should be expected from every individual in the workplace, including the newer employees.

In closing the generational power gap, it is not about removing the hierarchy in healthcare, it is about ensuring every voice is valued and respected. As everyone in healthcare has their purpose and potential, the presence of a power gap can lead to that being forgotten and even resignation from a career.

Remember, there is a reason we are the youngest in the room: we are just getting started. That should be supported, not looked down on.

Lorelai Nabung is a Health Science major at Mitchell College.