If a person is treated like a patient, they are apt to act like

Hear the sorrowful yet piercing words of Frances Farmer, who declared: “If a person is treated like a patient, they are apt to act like one.” This is no idle phrase, but a cry from the depths of experience, for Farmer herself endured the cold walls of asylums and the weight of a society that labeled her broken. In her words lies a universal truth: that how we are perceived and treated by others shapes how we come to see ourselves. To be seen always as patient is to be bound by the role of weakness, even if strength still resides within.

The meaning of this saying is profound. To treat someone constantly as a patient is to place upon them the chains of dependency. It is to strip away the fullness of their humanity, reducing them to an object of care, of control, or of pity. Soon, the spirit begins to conform to the role imposed upon it: the strong forget their strength, the free forget their freedom, and the vibrant become subdued. What begins as care may turn into a cage, for the soul lives and breathes in accordance with the identity pressed upon it by others.

The origin of Farmer’s insight lies in her tragic life. Once a shining actress, she was declared unstable, institutionalized, and forced to endure treatments that broke body and spirit. In being treated solely as a patient, she was denied the dignity of her other roles—artist, woman, thinker, and dreamer. From such suffering, she understood the danger: that constant labeling can shape behavior, and that endless reminders of one’s fragility can make even the strong forget their resilience.

History gives us many witnesses to this truth. Consider the case of prisoners who, treated like criminals even after release, often return to crime because society has denied them any other identity. Or the child who is forever told they are foolish and incapable—such a child may come to live out the prophecy thrust upon them. Likewise, in hospitals or asylums of old, patients were stripped of autonomy, told they were powerless, until they ceased to fight for dignity and began to act as helpless as they were deemed to be. Such is the power of perception to shape destiny.

Yet Farmer’s words also carry a warning filled with hope. If the treatment of others can diminish them, so too can respect and dignity uplift them. To treat a person not as patient, but as partner, not as object, but as subject, is to awaken within them the memory of their own strength. Just as the gaze of scorn can wound, so can the gaze of honor heal. Thus, the responsibility falls upon us all: how we regard others is not trivial, but a shaping force upon their very being.

The lesson is clear: guard against labels that imprison. Whether in medicine, education, family, or society, remember that people become what they are treated as. If you treat a man only as broken, he may break further. If you treat him as capable, he may rise beyond your expectations. Respect awakens dignity, while condescension breeds dependence. We must take care in how we address the weak, the sick, and the vulnerable, for in our treatment lies either their diminishment or their renewal.

And so, let your actions follow. In your daily life, speak to others with respect, even when they are wounded. Do not reduce them to their sickness, their mistake, or their weakness. See them in fullness, and remind them of the strength they still hold. Offer care, but never strip away dignity. For in doing so, you help them remember they are more than a patient—they are a soul capable of recovery, growth, and greatness.

Thus remember always the wisdom of Frances Farmer: “If a person is treated like a patient, they are apt to act like one.” Let it be a reminder that the gaze of others is powerful, but our own gaze is equally so. Look upon others in a way that calls forth their strength, not their weakness, and in that act, you honor their humanity and kindle the fire of their dignity.