The Empty Seat Project

03/03/2026

U.S. Healthcare System: Spending More for Less

The United States has one of the most advanced medical systems in the world. It has leading hospitals, new medical technology, and highly trained doctors. Even with these strengths, Americans often experience worse health outcomes than people in other wealthy countries (Tikkanen & Abrams, 2020).

Health outcomes are usually measured using life expectancy, infant mortality, maternal mortality, and rates of disease. When researchers compare these measures across developed countries, the United States often ranks near the bottom (OECD, 2023).

One important example is life expectancy, which is the average number of years a person is expected to live. Americans live several years less than people in many other high-income countries (OECD, 2023). This gap has grown in recent years, especially after the COVID-19 pandemic.

Another important measure is infant mortality, which counts how many babies die before their first birthday. The United States has a higher infant mortality rate than most wealthy nations (CDC, 2022). Experts often connect this to differences in access to prenatal care, poverty, and health insurance coverage.

The maternal mortality rate in the United States is also much higher than in other developed countries (CDC, 2022). Many maternal deaths are considered preventable with earlier care, better follow-up, and improved access to medical services.

These patterns show a surprising problem: the country that spends the most on health care does not always produce the best results.

Access to Health Care

One major reason for weaker health outcomes is access to care. Unlike most wealthy countries, the United States does not have universal health coverage. While many Americans receive insurance through jobs or government programs, millions of people remain uninsured or underinsured (Tikkanen & Abrams, 2020).

Even people with insurance sometimes struggle to afford care. High deductibles, copayments, and prescription costs can cause patients to delay treatment. When people skip preventive care or wait too long to see a doctor, health problems can become more serious.

Primary care access is also different in the United States. Other countries often focus on regular doctor visits, prevention, and early treatment. The U.S. system is more focused on specialized and emergency care, which is usually more expensive and happens later in illness.

Chronic Disease

Chronic disease is another major factor affecting health outcomes. Chronic diseases are conditions that last a long time, such as diabetes, heart disease, asthma, and obesity.

The United States has higher rates of several chronic diseases than many other wealthy countries (OECD, 2023). Obesity, in particular, is more common in the U.S., which increases the risk of other health problems.

Chronic illness can lower quality of life and shorten life expectancy. It also increases health care spending because people need long-term treatment and medication.

Prevention plays a big role in reducing chronic disease. Countries that invest more in public health programs, nutrition support, and preventive care often see better long-term outcomes.

Social and Economic Inequality

Health is affected by more than medical care. Social and economic conditions also play a major role. These are often called social determinants of health.

Examples include:
• income
• education
• housing
• access to healthy food
• safe neighborhoods

In the United States, health outcomes vary widely between different groups of people. For example, maternal and infant mortality rates are higher among low-income families and some racial groups (CDC, 2022).

Rural communities may also have fewer hospitals, fewer doctors, and longer travel times for care. These differences can lead to worse health outcomes.

Many wealthy countries invest more in social programs that support families, children, and workers. These investments can improve health over time.

Health Care Costs

The United States spends far more per person on health care than other wealthy countries (Tikkanen & Abrams, 2020). However, Americans do not necessarily visit doctors more often or stay in hospitals longer.

Administrative complexity is another challenge. The U.S. health system includes many insurance companies, payment systems, and rules. This complexity increases costs without improving health outcomes.

High costs can make care harder to afford, which can lead to delayed treatment and poorer health.

Prevention and Public Health

Public health programs focus on preventing illness before it begins. These include vaccinations, screenings, nutrition programs, and education about healthy behaviors.

The United States spends less on public health, as a share of total health spending, than many other wealthy countries (OECD, 2023). When prevention is underfunded, chronic disease and emergency care costs can increase.

Investing in prevention often improves health outcomes over time and reduces long-term costs.

The United States spends more on health care than any other wealthy nation, but health outcomes are often worse. Americans have shorter life expectancy and higher rates of infant mortality, maternal mortality, and chronic disease.

Several factors help explain this problem. These include unequal access to care, high rates of chronic illness, social and economic inequality, and higher health care costs. The U.S. system also spends less on prevention compared to many other countries.

Improving access to care, supporting public health programs, and addressing social factors could help improve health outcomes in the future.

References

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (2022). Maternal mortality rates in the United States.
https://www.cdc.gov

Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development. (2023). Health at a glance 2023: OECD indicators.
https://www.oecd.org/health/health-at-a-glance/

Tikkanen, R., & Abrams, M. K. (2020). U.S. health care from a global perspective, 2019: Higher spending, worse outcomes? Commonwealth Fund.
https://www.commonwealthfund.org

Roughly 55 percent of Medicaid enrollees are working full or part time, and a number aren’t eligible for health insurance through their jobs. Read more in an explainer here.

02/28/2026

A Warning from Oklahoma: When Culture Wars Replace Real Leadership, Part Two

In conversations about Oklahoma’s current struggles, it is easy to assume the state has always ranked near the bottom nationally in education, health outcomes, and economic well-being. That is not entirely true. While Oklahoma has long faced challenges tied to rural poverty and economic volatility, there were periods in the twentieth century when the state performed closer to the middle of national rankings, particularly in public education and access to community-based services. The decline was not inevitable. It was shaped by policy choices made over time.

For much of the mid-twentieth century, Oklahoma’s public institutions reflected a broader national commitment to investment in schools, infrastructure, and social programs. Public education funding, while never among the highest in the nation, was more stable relative to state revenue. Teachers’ salaries were more competitive within the region, and public universities remained affordable pathways into the middle class. Community hospitals were more widely distributed, especially across rural areas, and public health services were more accessible than they would later become.

The turning point began in the late twentieth century and accelerated in the early 2000s. A series of economic and political shifts gradually reshaped the state’s priorities. One of the most significant changes involved tax policy. Oklahoma enacted multiple rounds of income tax cuts over several decades, often with the promise that economic growth would offset lost revenue. While these cuts reduced taxes for many residents, they also constrained the state budget. Education, healthcare systems, and social services increasingly had to compete for fewer public dollars.

Between roughly 2008 and 2018, Oklahoma experienced some of the deepest per-student education funding cuts in the United States when adjusted for inflation. Teacher pay stagnated compared with neighboring states, contributing to shortages and increased class sizes. The statewide teacher walkout in 2018 became a visible symbol of how strained the education system had become. Although funding improved somewhat afterward, the long-term effects of those cuts are still visible in student outcomes and workforce retention.

Healthcare infrastructure changed as well. Rural hospital closures, physician shortages, and limited preventive care access gradually widened health disparities between Oklahoma and much of the country.zi. When hospitals close in rural communities, the effects ripple outward. Emergency response times increase, prenatal care becomes harder to access, and chronic conditions go untreated. Over time, these gaps contribute to higher infant mortality rates and poorer overall health outcomes.

Economic changes also played a role. Oklahoma’s economy has long depended heavily on the energy sector. When oil and gas markets fluctuate, state revenue often follows. This boom-and-bust cycle makes long-term planning difficult and can lead to sudden budget shortfalls. States with more diversified economies tend to maintain steadier investments in public systems, while Oklahoma has periodically been forced to cut services during downturns.

At the same time, the political environment shifted toward a stronger emphasis on tax limitation and smaller government spending. Supporters of this approach argued that reducing taxes would attract businesses and stimulate growth. Critics warned that underfunding public institutions would eventually weaken education systems, healthcare access, and workforce development. Over time, many of the outcomes visible in today’s rankings reflect that tension between lower taxation and public investment.

As these structural challenges grew, the political conversation increasingly centered on cultural conflict. Instead of sustained debate about education funding formulas, rural healthcare access, or poverty reduction, legislative sessions often became dominated by symbolic policy fights. These conflicts did not create Oklahoma’s economic or social challenges, but they helped divert attention from them.

This shift in focus matters. Public institutions rarely decline all at once; they erode gradually when investment and attention drift elsewhere. Schools struggle to retain teachers. Rural hospitals close one by one. Food insecurity rises quietly. Rankings slip over years rather than overnight. By the time the effects are widely recognized, rebuilding systems becomes far more difficult than maintaining them would have been.

Understanding what changed in Oklahoma is important because it shows that decline is not simply the result of geography or culture. It is the result of policy decisions, economic realities, and political priorities interacting over time. States do not fall to the bottom of national rankings by accident, and they do not climb back up without sustained commitment to public investment.

If Part One of this argument is that Oklahoma’s current situation should serve as a warning about political distraction, Part Two is that it should also serve as a reminder about the long-term consequences of policy choices. Investments in education, healthcare access, and economic stability often take years to show results, but disinvestment can produce equally lasting effects.

Oklahoma’s story is not finished. The same forces that contributed to decline can be reversed by different decisions in the future. But recognizing how the state moved from closer to the middle of national rankings to near the bottom is essential. Without that understanding, it becomes easier to blame symptoms rather than address causes, and easier to fight cultural battles than to rebuild the systems that help people thrive.

02/27/2026

A Warning from Oklahoma: When Culture Wars Replace Real Leadership (Part One)

I was born and raised in Oklahoma. It is where I grew up, went to school, and learned how communities take care of one another. Because of that, I feel a deep connection to the state and the people who live there. It is also why I believe I have earned the right to criticize it. Criticism, when it comes from care and experience, is not betrayal; it is concern for what a place could be if it chose a different path.

Oklahoma should serve as a warning sign to other states about what happens when political energy is spent fighting cultural battles instead of addressing real problems affecting people’s daily lives. For years, the state has ranked near the bottom nationally in education, healthcare access, child well-being, and economic stability. These are not partisan talking points. They are measurable realities that shape the futures of children and families across the state.

Education is one of the clearest examples. Oklahoma schools have struggled with funding instability, teacher shortages, and low student achievement for decades. Many students are not reading or doing math at grade level, and graduation outcomes lag behind much of the country. These challenges affect workforce readiness, economic development, and long-term opportunity. Yet education reform rarely receives the sustained attention that culture war issues do in the state legislature.

Poverty is another persistent challenge. A significant percentage of Oklahoma children grow up in households that struggle to meet basic needs. Food insecurity remains high, with many families relying on school meal programs to ensure their children eat regularly. Healthcare access, especially in rural communities, continues to be limited, contributing to worse health outcomes, higher infant mortality rates, and increased strain on families already dealing with economic hardship. These are complex problems that require thoughtful policy solutions, long-term investment, and political courage.

Instead, Oklahoma politics often gravitates toward cultural conflicts that affect relatively few people but generate strong emotional reactions. Debates over transgender student athletes, library content, or symbolic curriculum controversies dominate headlines and legislative sessions. These issues can be framed in ways that make politicians appear decisive and active, but they do little to improve educational outcomes, reduce poverty, expand healthcare access, or address hunger.

This is what makes culture war politics so tempting and so dangerous. It is easier to mobilize voters around identity and fear than to solve structural problems. Passing a bill aimed at a small, vulnerable group can be done quickly and publicly. Fixing education systems, healthcare access, or poverty requires years of coordinated effort and often lacks immediate political reward. The result is a form of political theater that creates the appearance of action without producing meaningful improvement in people’s lives.

In this way, culture war politics can become a kind of avoidance strategy. Leaders can claim they are protecting communities or defending values while sidestepping the harder work of governing. The problems remain, but the conversation moves elsewhere. Over time, this pattern normalizes low expectations for public outcomes while rewarding symbolic victories.

Oklahoma’s national rankings should be a wake-up call, not just for the state but for any place tempted to follow a similar path. When education, health, and economic indicators consistently lag behind the rest of the country, it signals that policy priorities may be misaligned with the needs of residents. States that invest in schools, healthcare access, and family stability tend to see improvements in long-term economic growth and public health. Those that do not often remain stuck in cycles of underperformance.

None of this means Oklahoma is defined only by its struggles. The state is filled with hardworking teachers, healthcare providers, community organizers, and families doing their best to support one another. Local communities often step in to fill gaps left by policy decisions. That resilience is real and worth recognizing. But resilience should not be used as an excuse for poor leadership or misplaced priorities.

Other states should pay attention to Oklahoma’s example. When political leaders focus primarily on culture war issues they themselves elevate into crises, they can avoid accountability for outcomes that are harder to fix. It is a form of lazy politics; it substitutes symbolic conflict for practical governance. The danger is not just the policies themselves, but the habit of governing through distraction.

Real leadership is measured by whether people’s lives improve. Are schools stronger? Are families more secure? Are children healthier? Are communities more stable? These questions matter more than any cultural controversy dominating a news cycle.

Look out for part two coming tomorrow!

02/26/2026

When Discomfort Is the Ethical Choice: A look into the phone call between the president and the U.S. men’s hockey team

(Trigger Warning for s*xual assault.)

If you are wondering why there has been such a strong reaction to the phone call between the U.S. men's hockey team and the president, or if you feel the response has been an overreaction, then this is for you. Moments like this give us an opportunity to examine something deeper: how ordinary people become complicit in a culture that devalues women, often without meaning to.

I want to begin with a personal story, one that still returns to me years later.

In 2013, while I was in the Air Force, I was riding in the back of a truck with several other airmen. One of them started telling a story about a guy he knew. At first it was harmless. He described the guy as goofy, awkward, someone you might roll your eyes at. Then the story shifted.

He described a party where this man slipped into a room where his friend’s girlfriend was passed out drunk. The man pretended to be her boyfriend and tried to have s*x with her. She woke up, realized what was happening, and kicked him out of the room.
Afterward, according to the airman telling the story, the man bragged about what he had done. The part that made everyone laugh was the language he used. The punchline, apparently, was the phrase: “I got two pumps deep.”
The truck filled with laughter.

I remember sitting there thinking, very clearly, That’s r**e. He r**ed her. I didn’t laugh. But I also didn’t say anything.
I was afraid. I had already seen what happened to people who became unpopular. They were given extra work, undesirable assignments, or quietly pushed to the margins. I told myself that speaking up wouldn’t change anything anyway, that it would only make my life harder.

But here I am, more than a decade later, still thinking about that moment. Still feeling the weight of my silence. Still wondering whether avoiding that discomfort was worth it. Because at the end of the day, you are the one who has to live with yourself.
Since then, I have tried to be more intentional about speaking up and educating others about how silence functions. Silence is rarely neutral. Silence is easily translated as agreement. Or worse, permission.

Think about the men in that truck. When they laughed, they didn’t just ignore the harm done to the woman. They reinforced the idea that this was a funny story, one worth retelling. Through their laughter, whether genuine or awkward, they validated a culture that minimizes s*xual violence. The message was clear.
Now let’s fast-forward to the president’s phone call with the U.S. women’s hockey team.

Each time a joke was made at the expense of those athletes, each time their accomplishments were undercut with humor, a message was sent: the devaluation of women is acceptable. Humor is often used as a shield, something we are told not to take seriously. But this ignores the long history of humor being used as a tool of oppression. We do not have to look far to find examples of people in power using jokes to diminish marginalized groups.

Context matters. And it matters deeply when the person making those jokes has a long, documented history of degrading women.
This includes bragging about walking in on naked contestants at beauty pageants, including Miss Teen USA, where some contestants were as young as fourteen, allegations that have since been corroborated. It includes being held civilly liable for the s*xual assault of E. Jean Carroll. It includes a recorded conversation where he boasted about grabbing women without consent because of his fame. It includes appointing Supreme Court justices who helped roll back women’s rights to bodily autonomy.

It includes repeatedly equating women’s value with their appearance, mocking bodies, s*xualizing professional women, and responding with disgust when a female lawyer asked for time to pump breast milk. It includes public comments about dating young girls “in ten years,” spoken casually and without shame.
And it includes efforts to block the release of information connected to Jeffrey Epstein, reportedly warning allies that doing so would “hurt my friends.”

This is the backdrop. This is the pattern.
So when people laugh along, when they dismiss it as “just jokes,” they are not being neutral. They are participating. Laughter, like silence, sends a signal. It tells the speaker that this behavior is acceptable, that it will be tolerated, and that it will continue.
The only way this changes is if people are willing to be uncomfortable.

When a joke or comment comes at the expense of a group that has historically been harmed, call it out. Choosing comfort over values is still a choice, and it is a trade. You may gain short-term ease, but you lose something far more lasting.

Cultural shifts do not happen because the powerful suddenly become kind. They happen when ordinary people decide that the discomfort of confrontation is preferable to the quiet shame of complicity.

And it is worth remembering this: if a joke makes you uncomfortable, you are likely not the only one in the room who feels that way. When you speak up, you do not just challenge the moment. You give courage to others who are silently hoping someone else will say something first.

02/25/2026

02/24/2026

Leonard Matlovich and the Cost of Honesty

Leonard Matlovich’s gravestone bears one of the most striking epitaph,’s in modern American history: “When I was in the military they gave me a medal for killing two men and a discharge for loving one.” The sentence captures a moment in U.S. history when military service, civil rights, and public attitudes toward s*xuality collided, and it reflects the life of a man who helped force that conflict into the national conversation.

Leonard Matlovich served in the United States Air Force during the Vietnam War, completing three tours of duty. He was considered an exemplary airman and received both the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star for his service. By most measures, he represented the model of patriotic sacrifice and discipline that the military sought to promote. Yet during this same period, the U.S. military maintained strict policies banning gay people from serving openly. Sexual orientation, rather than military performance, could end a career.

In 1975, Matlovich made a deliberate decision that would change his life and influence the broader struggle for LGBTQ rights. With the support of early gay-rights activists, he informed his commanding officer that he was gay, intentionally challenging the military’s policy. His action was not impulsive; it was carefully planned as a test case designed to expose what he and others believed was discrimination. Later that year, his story reached a national audience when he appeared on the cover of Time magazine, making him one of the first openly gay service members widely recognized by the American public.

As expected, the Air Force discharged Matlovich. However, the story did not end there. He challenged the decision in court, arguing that his exemplary service demonstrated that s*xual orientation had no bearing on military effectiveness. After years of legal battles, the Air Force agreed to a settlement that included back pay and a change in the nature of his discharge. Although this did not immediately end the military’s ban on gay service members, the case helped shift public discussion and laid groundwork for future challenges.

Matlovich later became an activist for gay rights and for people living with AIDS, a disease that carried heavy stigma in the 1980s. When he died in 1988 from AIDS-related complications, he chose not to list his name on his grave marker. Instead, he asked that it carry the now-famous inscription contrasting military honor with personal rejection. The decision reflected his belief that the message was larger than his own life. He wanted the gravestone to represent anyone who had served their country while being denied dignity because of who they were.

The contradiction expressed in the epitaph highlights a broader tension in American history: the gap that can exist between national ideals of equality and the policies enforced by institutions. Matlovich’s life demonstrated how individual acts of protest can influence public opinion over time. While the military’s ban on openly gay service members continued for decades after his discharge, his case helped set the stage for later policy changes, including the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy in 1993 and its eventual repeal in 2011.

Today, Leonard Matlovich’s gravestone in Washington, D.C., stands as both a memorial and a statement. It reminds visitors that social progress often comes through personal risk and public confrontation. More broadly, it serves as a reflection on how societies define honor, service, and belonging, and how those definitions can change over time.

02/20/2026

Here are my notes on the most recent episode of the Necessary Conversation Podcast.

Mary Lou (ML) Cycle and Feedback Loop - Episode Midweek Show Feb. 18th 2026-

Before describing the interaction, it is important to clarify Unconditional Positive Regard (UPR). Developed by Carl Rogers, UPR is the practice of offering consistent respect, empathy, and nonjudgmental acceptance toward a person, regardless of their views or behavior. It does not mean agreement or endorsement. Rather, it creates a psychologically safe environment in which defensiveness lowers and genuine reflection becomes possible. Without that safety, insight rarely occurs.
What follows illustrates how a feedback loop can form when confirmation bias, identity threat, and defensiveness intersect.

Step 1: Triggering Evidence
ML: “Did you see that so-and-so is in the Epstein files?”
The implication is that being listed increases suspicion. ML is applying a principle: association suggests possible wrongdoing.

Step 2: Consistency Challenge
Chad: “Trump is in the Epstein files more than anyone.”
The implicit question is whether the same standard will be applied consistently.

Step 3: Special Pleading
ML: “But I have already explained that.”
Here, the standard shifts. An exception is created. Rather than applying the same suspicion framework, ML signals that this case is different. The reasoning becomes asymmetrical.

Step 4: Attempt to Identify the Fallacy
Chad: Attempts to point out the inconsistency.
This increases pressure rather than insight.

Step 5: Virtue Positioning
ML: “I’ve already said they should all be put away.”
This reframes the discussion around moral stance instead of logical consistency. The focus shifts from evaluating evidence evenly to affirming shared condemnation of wrongdoing. The underlying double standard remains unexamined.

Step 6: Escalation and Identity Threat
Chad: Pushes harder for logical coherence.
At this point, the conversation moves from content to identity.
ML: “I feel like you are trying to trick me.”
The experience shifts to suspicion and defensiveness. The fear of being embarrassed or exposed overrides reflective capacity. Cognitive flexibility narrows under perceived threat.

Step 7: Conditional Future Concession
ML: “If it turns out to be true, I’ll turn on Trump.”
This is a psychologically safer position. It defers discomfort to a hypothetical future scenario that feels unlikely. It preserves current beliefs while appearing open-minded.

Observations on the Feedback Loop
Several processes are occurring simultaneously:
Confirmation bias: Suspicion increases when evidence aligns with preexisting beliefs; skepticism increases when it challenges them.

Special pleading: One standard for out-group figures, another for in-group figures.

Identity protection: The implication that one is defending immoral behavior feels like a moral accusation.

Defensive maneuvers: Deflection, virtue signaling, conditional openness.

When ML hears, “You are defending Trump the pedophile,” the accusation activates moral disgust and self-protection. She is offended by the suggestion that she would defend predatory behavior. At that point, the nervous system shifts into defense mode. Reflection decreases. Protecting identity becomes more important than examining reasoning.

The more Chad presses for logical consistency, the more ML experiences threat. The more threatened she feels, the more protective moves she deploys. Each defensive move reinforces Chad’s perception of inconsistency, which increases his pressure, which heightens her defensiveness.

The core issue is not simply logical fallacy. It is psychological safety. If ML feels attacked, she will defend identity before examining evidence. If Chad feels dismissed, he will intensify argumentation. The feedback loop sustains itself.
Breaking the cycle would require slowing down the identity threat. Rather than confronting the inconsistency directly, a UPR-informed approach might sound like:
“I’m not saying you support wrongdoing. I’m trying to understand how you decide when association raises suspicion and when it doesn’t.”

“What makes this case feel different to you?”

This shifts from accusation to curiosity. Only in an environment where dignity feels intact can someone examine whether they are applying a double standard.

The lesson in this cycle is that cognitive bias is rarely corrected through pressure. It softens through safety.
Teaching someone about confirmation bias is less about correcting their thinking and more about helping them see how thinking works. Confirmation bias, the tendency to search for, interpret, and remember information in ways that confirm what we already believe, is not a flaw in intelligence or morality. It is a cognitive efficiency strategy. The brain prefers coherence over uncertainty. When we understand this, the task shifts from confrontation to cultivation of awareness.

The first step in teaching confirmation bias is normalization. If the concept is introduced as something only “other people” fall into, defensiveness follows immediately. A more productive frame is this: every human brain filters information. We cannot process everything, so we prioritize what feels consistent with our existing beliefs. Confirmation bias is simply one of the ways we do that. When learners feel included rather than accused, they become more open to reflection.
Next, it is important to explain the function of confirmation bias. It reduces cognitive load. It protects identity. It maintains emotional stability. Imagine holding a belief about being competent at work. If one ambiguous comment from a supervisor automatically triggered a full reevaluation of your competence, functioning would become exhausting. The mind therefore looks for confirming evidence: praise, successful projects, supportive colleagues. The bias preserves psychological continuity. The problem arises not because confirmation bias exists, but because we are unaware of it when it narrows our view too much.

Concrete examples are essential. Abstract definitions rarely shift awareness. Consider a person who believes their friend is inconsiderate. When the friend forgets to call, the event is logged as proof. When the friend shows up with help or support, that information is minimized or explained away. The narrative tightens. Or in political contexts, an individual may consume news sources that reinforce their worldview while dismissing opposing sources as biased or unreliable. The person feels informed, yet their information ecosystem is self-reinforcing. These examples help learners see how confirmation bias operates quietly in everyday life.

However, recognition does not happen through explanation alone. It requires slowing down cognition. Teaching confirmation bias involves building metacognition, the ability to observe one’s own thinking. A useful structure is simple: What happened? What did I immediately conclude? What evidence supports that conclusion? What evidence challenges it? The goal is not to force neutrality but to widen the field of data. Even the act of asking what evidence contradicts a belief interrupts automatic confirmation processes.

Language cues can also serve as teaching tools. Words like “always,” “never,” “obviously,” or “this proves” often signal that a conclusion has hardened prematurely. Encouraging learners to notice these internal statements increases awareness of cognitive closure. When someone says, “This proves they don’t respect me,” a gentle follow-up might be, “What else could it mean?” Curiosity replaces correction.
Emotion plays a central role. Confirmation bias strengthens when we feel threatened, ashamed, or afraid. Under stress, the brain favors certainty. Therefore, teaching confirmation bias without addressing emotional regulation limits effectiveness. When people are dysregulated, they are less able to tolerate ambiguity. Helping someone calm their nervous system often precedes helping them expand their thinking. A regulated brain is more flexible.
It is also important to emphasize that recognizing confirmation bias does not require abandoning convictions. The objective is intellectual humility, not relativism. People can hold strong beliefs while remaining open to disconfirming information. In fact, stronger beliefs become more resilient when they are tested rather than insulated. Teaching this distinction reduces the fear that awareness equals weakness.
Modeling is perhaps the most powerful instructional tool. When educators or therapists openly acknowledge their own susceptibility to confirmation bias, they demonstrate psychological safety. Statements like, “I notice I’m looking for evidence that supports my first impression,” signal that awareness is ongoing work, not a moral test. This modeling shifts the learning environment from debate to exploration.

Finally, teaching confirmation bias must include patience. Insight rarely arrives in a dramatic moment. More often, it emerges gradually, as individuals catch themselves mid-assumption. The first time someone says, “I might be only seeing one side of this,” a cognitive door has opened. From there, practice deepens awareness.

In the end, teaching confirmation bias is about fostering flexibility. It is about helping someone recognize that the mind prefers coherence, but growth requires complexity. When people learn to gently question their own conclusions, they do not lose their perspective. They gain depth. And in that depth lies the capacity for wiser decisions, healthier relationships, and a more nuanced understanding of the world.