Submitted by Jordan M. and shared with permission. .
I used to think I was pretty good at spotting misinformation. I’m online all the time. I know how to read comments, how to tell when something feels off, how to clock an obvious troll. I’m not the guy who falls for chain emails or conspiracy threads. I’m a 26-year-old man. I grew up with this stuff. I figured I was built for it.
Then I shared a post that was wrong.
It wasn’t even some wild, “out-there” thing. It looked official, like something you’d see from a clinic or a hospital: a simple graphic with a confident tone and an official-sounding caption. It was about “abortion pill reversal,” the claim that if someone takes the first pill in a medication abortion, they can “undo it” by taking progesterone.
The post was written like a public service announcement, claiming people were being lied to and could easily and safely change their minds if they’d already started the process. I thought, “Wow, I didn’t know that,” and sent it to a couple friends. I wasn’t trying to start an argument. I honestly thought I was passing along useful information.
My aunt replied almost immediately: “Hey. That’s not accurate.”
No judgment. No lecture. Just that.
At first, I got defensive. Not outwardly, but in my head. I wanted to argue. I wanted to find another link, another screenshot, something to prove I wasn’t that guy. But she followed up with some sources and said, “This is how they get people. It’s designed to look like real medical information.”
So I did what I should’ve done in the first place. I slowed down and started checking. I looked up the phrase “abortion pill reversal” instead of just trusting the account that posted it. I clicked beyond the first result. I looked for actual medical guidance, not just testimonials and influencer clips.
It didn’t take long to learn that mifepristone isn’t meant to be taken on its own. It’s part of a two-step process, and stopping after the first pill isn’t some safe "pause button," and the result can be unpredictable; sometimes it means heavier bleeding or requiring follow-up care. And the progesterone part, the whole “reversal” thing I’d shared, isn’t even a proven fix. It’s just a lie dressed up like a medical fact.
What got me was how they made the claim look legitimate. It wasn’t presented as “here’s our ideology.” It was presented as a healthcare fact. The language was all “options,” “information,” and “choice,” but the intent was to create doubt and delay. And because it’s wrapped in medical-looking packaging, it can, and does, spread faster than the truth.
I felt stupid. Embarrassed, honestly.
But what I felt most was anger. Not at my aunt. Not even at myself. I was angry that there are people who pour time and money into creating confusion and calling it “help,” and that this content is built to travel farther and faster than the truth. I was angry because it works, even on people who think they’re too smart to fall for it.
That’s when I started paying attention differently. I stopped thinking of this kind of misinformation as “random lies online” and started seeing it as a strategy.
You don’t have to be a political junkie to notice it once you know what you’re looking at. It shows up in your feed next to normal stuff. A funny video, a recipe, a clip from a game, and then a confident “medical fact” that isn’t a fact at all. Sometimes it’s a meme, a personal story, or an ad. But it’s always the same: loud claims, zero receipts.
And it’s not just annoying. There are consequences.
When people believe “abortion pill reversal” is a safe, proven option, it sets them up for confusion in a moment when they need clarity and deserve the truth. It can push someone down a path that delays real care, and make friends and partners think they “know what to do” when what they’ve really absorbed is someone else’s agenda.
I started talking with people my age about it, and I realized how common this is. People aren’t uninformed because they don’t care. They’re overwhelmed and trying to live their lives while the internet throws a thousand false claims at them every day. When you’re stressed, scrolling late at night, or juggling work and school, you’re not fact-checking every graphic that flashes across your screen. You’re reacting. You’re sharing. You’re trying to make sense of a world that moves too fast.
That’s how misinformation wins. Not because people are dumb. Because people are human.
What shifted for me was realizing I didn’t just need better habits. I needed better support. I needed places and people who do the work of tracking what’s spreading, calling out what’s false, and translating the truth into plain language without shaming anyone for being confused. I needed organizations that treat accurate information as a public good, not a luxury for people who have extra time and energy.
That’s why I’m grateful for the work Pro-Choice North Carolina is doing to confront reproductive misinformation head-on. I’m grateful for the people who take this seriously, keep telling the truth, and work to make that truth easier to find.
Because here’s the thing I didn’t fully understand until I watched this up close: you don’t “just Google it” when you’re scared. You can’t always tell what’s real when content is built to mimic healthcare. No one should have to become a mini-investigator to get accurate information.
I’m grateful because someone corrected me with care. And I’m grateful because there are organizations, like Pro-Choice North Carolina, doing that same thing at a larger scale, every day, for people they’ll never meet. They’re looking out for the folks who don’t have time to dig through search results, who don’t know which sources to trust, who are already carrying too much.
This experience also taught me a couple of simple questions to ask myself before I share anything: Who is behind this? What are they selling, even if it’s just an idea? What is this trying to make me feel? And do they link to real medical guidance, or just more of their own content?
It’s not a foolproof plan, and I still get things wrong sometimes. But it helps me slow down, choose what’s true, and make better decisions about what I share.
Mostly, I’m grateful that I don’t have to treat misinformation like it’s inevitable. It’s a tactic. And tactics can be challenged.
So if you’re reading this and you’ve ever shared something that turned out to be wrong, I get it. You’re not alone. Let it be proof of how sophisticated this system is, and then take the next step anyway. Learn. Share better information. Talk to your people. Support the folks doing the hard work of truth-telling.
That’s what I’m doing now. And I’m grateful I got the chance to start.
