After years of pounding the post-baccalaureate pre-med pavement, I did it.  I got accepted to medical school.  And I did it as an out lesbian on my application.

Disclosing my sexual identity on my AMCAS personal statement felt like a big risk even though my mentors assured me that it would pay off in the end.  My hesitation to be out on my primary application was due, in part, to a protective reflex I had developed from encountering subtle and not so subtle forms of homophobic bullying during my many years of working.  I had become so accustomed to having one foot in and one foot out of the closet in order to survive in conservative work environments that I automatically assumed I would have to do the same when applying to medical school.

Essentially, I hesitated to discuss my sexuality and commitment to LGBT causes in my personal statement because of fear.  Fear of possible rejection for being open and authentic from tens of medical school admissions committees across the US.  Fear of failing to make a long held dream of mine come true after working so hard and sacrificing so much.

Intellectually, I knew that those worst case scenarios were unlikely to pan out since many out LGBT medical school applicants had gone before me (including one of my closest mentors) and had successfully gotten themselves into medical school.  The times were definitely changing with the reversal of DADT and the surge in marriage equality victories around the nation, which helped LGBT medical students and physicians rethink and reverse the previous trend of not disclosing professionally.

All I had to do was take a look at the Point Foundation Scholarship’s alumni bios and read AAMC’s press releases on diversifying the physician workforce to know that outing myself on my application was not that big of a risk but was rather a powerful and welcomed step forward in reducing LGBT health disparities in the US.  My brain was convinced of the rightness for me to disclose, but my heart was not there yet.

Making the decision to be out on my application was not easy, but became the right one for me after many heart-to-heart conversations with my partner.  In the end, the negative consequences of concealing my sexuality and work with various LGBT communities greatly outweighed the potential positives.  Closeting myself to protect my privacy would compromise my partner’s agency by making her existence invisible in my public life as a future physician.  Asking her to swallow that bitter pill was unfair, which I knew before she even responded.  I saw the beginnings of hurt and budding resentment flash across my partner’s face as she said to me, “Whatever you think is best … ,” which made it clear that I could not deny my sexuality, my partner, and future family without harming their well-being, and ultimately, my own.

I had to be real and sensitive to my partner’s emotional needs, as well as my own, to get my heart in alignment with my mind about my decision to disclose on my primary application.  It was a journey, but I’m glad I took my time to think, feel, and talk it out with loved ones, mentors, and community leaders like the executive and associate directors of the Lesbian Health and Research Center.  Otherwise, I would not have had the confidence and focus to write an authentic and beautiful narrative showing where I’ve been and where I’m going in the world of medicine.

Michelle S. Davis is a medical student.