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Barriers to Vestibular Care for the Spanish-Speaking Community
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Finding the right care for a vestibular disorder can be difficult for anyone. Symptoms like dizziness, vertigo, imbalance, and brain fog can be hard to describe; vestibular disorders are often misunderstood, and many patients see multiple healthcare providers before getting an accurate diagnosis. For people whose primary language is Spanish, those challenges can be even greater.
Language is one obvious barrier, but it’s not the only one. Cultural differences can influence how people describe their symptoms, when and where they seek care, and how comfortable they feel asking questions or advocating for themselves. Some people may also have reasons to distrust the healthcare system based on their own experiences or those of their family or community. And even when patients are actively looking for answers, finding reliable, easy-to-understand information about vestibular disorders in Spanish can be challenging.
Today, we’re going to explore these issues from both sides of the healthcare experience. Joining us is Johan, a Spanish-speaking vestibular patient, who will share his personal experience navigating the healthcare system, and Jesus Gomez, a Spanish-speaking audiologist with vestibular training, who will offer a clinician’s perspective on the barriers Spanish-speaking patients may encounter and what healthcare providers can do to better serve them.
Guests
Johan, also known as “The Chappiness Guy,” is a vestibular patient, advocate, and VeDA Ambassador. After developing vestibular migraine and PPPD at age 33, he turned his experience into an opportunity to support others. Through his Find Your Chappiness YouTube channel and Vestibular TALKS interview series, Johan raises awareness, shares patient stories, and helps people with vestibular disorders feel less alone. He also moderates a WhatsApp group for Spanish-speaking vestibular patients.
Jesus Gomez, AuD, PhD, is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Speech, Language, and Hearing Sciences at the University of Colorado Boulder and Director of the Vestibular Sciences Lab. He earned his Doctor of Audiology degree from the University of Tennessee Health Science Center and his PhD in Communication Sciences and Disorders from James Madison University. His research focuses on vestibular science, fall risk, and improving the accessibility of vestibular and fall-risk assessment across different language groups. His overarching goal is to advance equitable approaches to vestibular care.
Barriers Beyond Language
For many Spanish-speaking vestibular patients, the hardest part of finding good vestibular care isn’t simply translating words—it’s finding someone who truly understands what they’re going through. Johann’s story reflects what countless patients experience as they search for answers in systems that are already confusing, even before language and cultural barriers enter the picture.
A Spanish-Speaking Patient’s Journey
Living in Canada, Johan’s primary challenge wasn’t English fluency. It was locating a clinician who actually understood vestibular disorders and knew what to do about them. He described seeing multiple doctors, undergoing many tests, and enduring long waits—sometimes six months to two years—just to see a specialist. Even then, clear explanations and a concrete path forward were often missing. To the outside world, he looked “fine,” but inside he felt profoundly unwell. That disconnect between appearance and reality is one of the defining frustrations of vestibular illness.
Even in English, words fall short. Terms like “dizziness” and “vertigo” are often used interchangeably, when they actually describe different sensations. Patients may struggle to articulate what they feel: “I’m not spinning, but I’m not just ‘off balance’ either.” When another language is layered on top of that, the difficulty multiplies. In Johan’s Spanish-speaking WhatsApp group, people often don’t know which doctor to see, which tests to ask for, or how to describe complex sensations in a way that clinicians will recognize and take seriously.
Culturally, many Spanish-speaking patients are also taught to “tough it out.” Johan notes a common pattern: a family member reports symptoms and is met with reassurance that minimizes their experience—“Everyone gets dizzy sometimes; you’ll be fine.” What might sound comforting actually invalidates the severity and persistence of vestibular symptoms. This attitude, combined with the invisibility of vestibular disorders, can leave patients feeling dismissed not only by medical professionals, but by those closest to them.
In that void, many turn to the internet and social media. Desperate for answers, they encounter an overwhelming mix of information—some helpful, much of it misleading. Johan sees patients drawn toward “magic pill” cures, unproven supplements, and anecdotal treatments that promise quick fixes. It’s an understandable response to feeling ignored or misunderstood by the healthcare system. But it can drag people further from appropriate care and deepen their distrust when those “solutions” don’t work.
That’s why Johan is so intentional about the boundaries of peer support. In his Spanish-language WhatsApp group, he focuses on validation, shared experience, and pointing people toward reliable resources, rather than telling them what their diagnosis is or what treatment they should pursue. He frequently directs people to vetted information from organizations like VeDA and encourages them to seek out clinicians who truly understand vestibular disorders. Peer support, he emphasizes, is not a substitute for medical care—but it is often the first place a patient feels genuinely seen and believed.
For someone who has been repeatedly told “your tests are normal” or “this is just anxiety,” that kind of validation is powerful. It rebuilds the confidence needed to advocate for themselves—asking for interpreters, bringing family or friends to appointments, and insisting on answers that acknowledge the full reality of their symptoms. Johan’s experience shows that the emotional and cultural dimensions of care are just as important as the technical ones. Trust must be rebuilt both within the healthcare system and within families and communities that may not yet understand what vestibular disorders really mean.
A Clinician’s View: Building Trust and Access in Spanish-Speaking Communities
From the clinician side, Jesus Gomez sees how language, culture, and clinical complexity collide in the exam room. Seemingly small distinctions—like the difference between vertigo, dizziness, and imbalance—can shape an entire diagnostic workup. When those nuances are lost in translation, patients may be directed down the wrong path, endure unnecessary testing, or miss the correct diagnosis altogether.
Even with a medical interpreter present, there are pitfalls. Spanish isn’t monolithic; it spans many dialects and regional expressions. An interpreter may be trained in medical terminology but unfamiliar with how a particular community describes symptoms. Words that are crucial to vestibular evaluation—vertigo, rocking, spinning, swaying, imbalance—may be flattened into a single generic term. That means the patient and clinician begin from a place of misalignment, with the patient already at a disadvantage.
Jesus emphasizes the essential role of a detailed case history in vestibular assessment. Understanding triggers, timing, symptom quality, and associated factors is often more informative than any single test. When communication breaks down, the whole diagnostic process is compromised. And when patients have waited months—or years—for a specialist visit, a miscommunication in that one appointment can set them back even further.
He also sees how trust, or the lack of it, shapes health-seeking behavior. Many Spanish-speaking patients come into the clinic wary, unsure whether they’ll be understood, believed, or helped. Some downplay their symptoms—“It’s just a little dizziness”—because they’ve learned that expressing the full extent of their distress can lead to dismissal or confusion. Others avoid care altogether or accept preventable risks, such as recurrent falls, as an inevitable part of aging.
For older adults in particular, Jesus worries about the intersection of vestibular issues, language barriers, and fall risk. Falls are not an unavoidable part of growing older, he notes—they are a major public health concern and often preventable with appropriate assessment, education, and environmental changes. But if patients think “this is just what happens with age,” they may never seek help, especially if they fear they won’t be understood in the clinic.
To change this, Jesus is committed to meeting patients where they are—literally and figuratively. Community outreach is central to his approach: offering hearing screenings, fall-risk checks, and educational events in neighborhoods builds familiarity and opens doors. Over time, these efforts signal to Spanish-speaking communities that there are clinicians who understand their language, their culture, and their fears—and who are willing to invest time in earning their trust.
In the exam room, Jesus advocates for slower, more collaborative conversations. He encourages clinicians to explain tests while they’re being done, invite questions, and ensure that patients leave knowing not just what the results were, but what they mean. Too often, patients walk out unable to explain to their families what happened during the visit. That gap further undermines trust and reinforces the sense that medical care is something done to them, rather than with them.
Educational materials are another practical tool clinicians can use, even if they don’t speak Spanish themselves. Jesus recommends accessible handouts and visual resources, such as simple videos explaining conditions like BPPV. With auto-generated captions and clear visuals, these can help bridge gaps in both language and health literacy. When complex terms are broken down into images and everyday language, patients can better grasp what’s happening in their inner ear and why certain treatments are recommended.
Finally, Jesus highlights the importance of systems-level supports like professional interpreter services and patient advocates. Many patients and families don’t realize that insurers or healthcare systems may offer trained interpreters at no cost. Helping patients access those services—and encouraging them to bring a trusted person to appointments—can dramatically improve understanding and outcomes.
In Summary
Together, Johann and Jesus show that improving vestibular care for Spanish-speaking patients isn’t just a matter of translation. It requires honoring lived experience, challenging cultural and generational assumptions about dizziness and falls, and reshaping clinical practice to prioritize clarity, validation, and trust. When patients feel heard and supported—by peers, by clinicians, and by systems—they are far more likely to seek care, stay engaged, and find a path toward better balance and quality of life.
