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Language isn’t neutral.
It carries history, identity, and power. For centuries, women fought to be recognised in pregnancy and birth after being dismissed, excluded, and silenced by medicine and society. That fight was not about being called “people.”
It was about being named and seen as women.
Yet now, in the name of inclusivity, there is a push for “pregnant women” to be replaced with “pregnant people.” On the surface it may seem harmless, even progressive, but underneath lies a problem: it risks erasing women all over again.
This debate is playing out everywhere: in policy, media, and especially online. Here are just some of the comments I have seen that highlight the divide:
“But women are people too so what difference does it make?”
“It’s not hard to be inclusive.”
“For a non-binary pregnant person, seeing ‘people’ being used does feel a lot nicer.”
“Wow, so many commenters not liking to be considered people. Personally, I love not being reduced to an incubator. Also, if you have an issue with being called a person then yeah, you are reducing yourself to an incubator. Woman and person are not the same categories. If you are not a person, then what are you? A robot? A ghost? Women are still people.”
“I didn’t go through that to be called a birthing person!”
“Birthing person is so dehumanising. Feels like we’re in a dystopian world like The Handmaid’s Tale.”
“So now people are too scared to say women are the only ones to get pregnant because someone might be offended?”
These are not just throwaway lines. They reveal a deeper tension: inclusivity for some can feel like invisibility for others.
Below is a real comment from a public discussion on The Guardian Newspaper Facebook page.
It highlights the kind of backlash women often receive when they raise valid concerns about language and visibility. This isn’t about the individual commenter, but about the wider pattern where women are guilted or shamed for speaking up about issues that affect them.
“You transphobes will find any reason to lose your goddamn mind over less than 1% of the population. Shut up already. Real women don’t worry about trans women, so stop being a mean girl.”
My response was simple:
“I am hardly a transphobe, but I won’t shut up about erasing women.”
Because that’s what this is really about – not hostility, but visibility. Women have spent centuries fighting to be named and recognised in the context of pregnancy and birth. Speaking up about that isn’t hate.
It’s history, truth, and the refusal to disappear quietly.
It’s interesting that whenever women raise legitimate concerns about language and visibility, the discussion quickly turns to name-calling or attempts to shame rather than genuine dialogue. This isn’t about being “transphobic” or “losing our minds” – it’s about recognising that language carries power, history, and meaning.
Less than 1% of the population identifies as trans or non-binary, yet the push to replace “pregnant women” with “pregnant people” impacts 100% of women. That’s not inclusion – that’s erasure. Inclusivity should add recognition, not remove it. We can acknowledge that some non-binary or trans people experience pregnancy and still affirm that the vast majority of pregnancies occur among women.
It’s also telling that those who argue for these linguistic changes often attempt to guilt or silence women who question them. Why is it acceptable to shame women for wanting to retain the language that generations of feminists fought for – language that finally recognised women’s bodies, needs, and experiences after centuries of invisibility?
Real inclusivity honours everyone. It doesn’t require one group to disappear for another to be seen.
So yes, less than 1% of the population matters – but so do the other 99%. Respecting trans people doesn’t mean erasing women. The goal should be balance, not exclusion in the name of inclusion.
Yes, women are people, but the word “woman” is not interchangeable with “person.” Women campaigned for generations to be recognised in reproductive health, research, and policy. Neutralising that language risks undoing those gains.
Medical accuracy: Researchers have warned that removing terms like “women” and “mothers” from maternity literature risks dehumanising women and sometimes even producing medical inaccuracy.
Media standards: Even the AP Stylebook, often at the front of linguistic shifts, still affirms that phrases like “pregnant women” remain correct and appropriate when referring to the majority.
https://www.theblaze.com/news/ap-stylebook-pregnant-women-pregnant-people
Biological reality: The fact remains: pregnancy is a female function. To refuse to say “women” in this context is to deny reality, and that undermines trust in language itself.
This is not about exclusion. Absolutely non-binary and trans people who experience pregnancy deserve to be recognised and affirmed. As one non-binary commenter shared, seeing “pregnant people” feels more inclusive. That matters.
But inclusivity should be additive, not subtractive.
We don’t need to erase women to include others.
A better approach is simple and could be:
“Pregnant women and pregnant people.”
“Mothers and birthing people.”
“Women, and people who are pregnant.”
Inclusivity matters, and for those who identify as pregnant but not as women, the language of “pregnant people” can feel affirming. That recognition is important – but it shouldn’t come at the cost of erasing women. True inclusivity must respect everyone in the conversation.
That’s inclusivity without invisibility.
We see the same issue with language around infant feeding. The term “chest feeding” is sometimes suggested as a replacement for “breastfeeding,” yet the fact remains: it is all breast tissue. Women fought hard for breastfeeding to be named, normalised, and protected. Erasing the word “breastfeeding” doesn’t create inclusivity – it undermines decades of advocacy.
I’ve seen some comments on social media where it is claimed that using the word “woman” reduces women to incubators. The truth? The opposite. Taking “woman” away strips women of the identity they fought for. It risks rendering them back into invisibility in the very arena where they fought hardest to be seen.
As feminist pioneers like Norma Meras Swenson, co-author of Our Bodies, Ourselves, knew that reclaiming language about our bodies is central to autonomy. Margaret Sanger’s activism for birth control, Loretta J. Ross’s work in reproductive justice, and Millicent Fawcett who constantly emphasised that women must be recognised as women in the political and social fabric, not absorbed into the background as mere “people” without specific rights.
Their legacies were all built on one principle: women must be named, heard, and acknowledged ….. forever.
Losing that word means losing hard-won ground.
The deepest worry was summed up in that last comment:
“So now people are too scared to say women are the only ones to get pregnant because someone might be offended?”
That’s not inclusivity. That’s silencing. If we cannot say that women are the ones who become pregnant, then we undermine women’s health, research, advocacy, and history.
Silencing the word “woman” in pregnancy risks blurring vital sex-based data in medical research, weakening policies and funding targeted at women’s health, and undermining decades of advocacy that made women’s maternity experiences visible in the first place. Beyond that, it echoes the historic erasure of women’s voices in childbirth.
Inclusivity should add recognition, not erase it. The danger is not just semantic – it’s practical, historical, and political.
A common retort is: “Why are you so offended at being called a pregnant person?” But this question flips the burden back onto women and trivialises their concerns.
Here’s one analogy: Imagine if Anzac Day were suddenly rebranded as “Public Holiday for People Who Served.” Yes, service members are people but stripping away the specific recognition of who they were and what they stood for would feel like a profound disrespect to the history and sacrifice behind that day.
And another: Consider if Mother’s Day was renamed “Primary Caregiver Day” because not everyone who parents identify as a mother. While technically correct, it would erase the very reason the day was created: to celebrate and honour mothers specifically. Again, women would rightly feel diminished, as if their unique role had been flattened into a vague, neutral category.
And to flip the perspective: Imagine if we decided “man” was outdated and men were to be referred to only as “adult people.” International Men’s Day becomes International Adult People’s Day. Men’s Health becomes Adult People’s Health. Men would feel erased, stripped of identity, and told that their history, advocacy, and struggles didn’t deserve specific recognition.
The outrage would be immediate and justified.
So why are men not standing by women in this argument? If men would never tolerate their own identity being erased, why do they fall silent when women raise the same concern?
And perhaps most strikingly: think about Indigenous recognition. We would never suggest replacing Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples with the bland label “Australian people.” While technically true, it strips away identity, history, culture, and the unique struggles and strengths of First Nations peoples. To do so would rightly be seen as erasure. The same principle applies to women: neutralising their identity into “people” may seem inclusive, but in reality, it diminishes the very group whose fight for recognition made progress possible.
It’s the same with pregnancy. Being told to accept “pregnant person” ignores the generations of struggle it took to have women recognised in reproductive healthcare. What may feel like “just a word” to some is, for the majority of women, the erosion of identity and hard-won visibility.
We can, and must, respect all identities. But respect for one group should not mean erasure of another.
The solution isn’t choosing between “pregnant women” or “pregnant people.” The solution is recognising both, in a way that is accurate, respectful, and historically conscious.
Because when women lose the language to describe their own reproductive experiences, they risk losing far more than words. They risk losing the very visibility they fought so hard to win.
Say “pregnant women” proudly.
Say it alongside “pregnant people” if you wish.
But never erase women.
Erasing the word erases the history – and our history matters!
Open Letter to MANA – Sign-On | Woman-Centered Midwifery
Experts Are Concerned Inclusive Terms Are Dehumanising Women
Researchers challenge global trend to desex language – Women’s Forum Australia
Binary – Why Accurate Language Matters
If you have any questions or would just like more information please don't hesitate to get in touch by clicking the button below and filling out the contact form.
Contact Vicki