A medical school classmate recently said to me, “You won’t be remembered for your failures.” Her words were exactly what I needed to hear after failing my medical school licensing exam. She was right—I am more than my failures. I have failed, but I am not a failure. There is a difference. Failing is something that happens to you. Failure is what can define you, but only if you allow it. My failures are part of my story, not the whole of it.

Years ago, I struggled to accept a one-point failure on my medical licensing exam, the year after the passing benchmark had been raised by one point. This occurred only a few weeks before the unforeseen announcement that the scoring system for the exam would inevitably change to pass/fail. In addition to other life circumstances that may have impacted my exam performance, I experienced a two-hour power outage six hours into the eight-hour test. The point (no pun intended) is that standardized test scores are nuanced and impacted by many personal and external factors. The numerical score I received on a prior attempt at the exam would have also been passing just a few years earlier when the scoring cut-off was different.

Failure is taboo in society, especially in the medical world. For a field known for its rigor, it is ironic that failure isn’t discussed more often. Many doctors have a history of failing exam scores, yet are still successful in their specialties. But this is rarely talked about. In my medical school journey, many doctors have disclosed their failures after learning about my own. Their stories of struggle, dedication, and ultimate success are buried beneath the idealistic standard of the medical student, resident, and doctor who never slips below academic excellence. This creates a perpetual cycle of students, and later physicians, who carry with them testimonies of failure and triumph that go untold.

So much emphasis is placed on numbers and test scores that many forget the heart of the practice of medicine is service. Failure doesn’t erase or diminish one’s capacity to serve. However, it can be challenging to serve the health and well-being of others within a field that offers little grace in promoting the health and well-being of its servants. The high demands and even higher expectations start in training and continue into practice. Stories of failure remain under wraps for fear of dismantling one’s image and disrupting the status quo.

While there are some who may only see my story for its failures, I will always be grateful for those who offer grace in acknowledging its resiliency. Medicine can be brutal, but the dynamic journey of highs and lows can be a rewarding learning experience and an opportunity to strengthen others if we allow it to be. I am the student who has failed her licensing exam multiple times. But I am also the student who persevered through academic and personal challenges and graduated high school and college with honors. In my speech to my high school graduating class, I encouraged my peers to press forward in life, striving to do their best, rather than striving to be the best. Over the years, I have been challenged to put these words into practice by extending grace to myself and to others.

In college, I noticed a longstanding trend of pre-medical students dropping their aspirations in “weed out” courses just because they felt like they wouldn’t succeed. Chemistry was hard, but through faith and hard work, I overcame that challenge and earned good grades. Afterward, I was motivated to take up a part-time job as a general and organic chemistry tutor to help others overcome this hurdle. Grace in action is a beautiful thing to witness and an extraordinarily gratifying gift to extend. This is what many have done for me along my medical journey by sharing academic insight, offering spiritual encouragement, and inspiring perseverance through their testimonials of success despite academic challenges.

Each of our stories is significant. Just as physical or mental illness does not define a person, neither do failures. What defines you most is the perspective you choose to embrace. Over the years of my non-linear medical school journey, I have had to ask myself, “Will you keep going or will you quit? Will you get back up or will you remain defeated? When you think about the pages of your life story, what will you be remembered for?” While I may not know all the intimate details of each personal story shared with me, I do have my own story to reflect on and learn from. I am still living it, and I feel called to share it with others.

Becoming a physician is an esteemed career path known to be challenging for anyone brave enough to endure its rigorous path. The medical field is full of ambitious, passionate, and selfless people who decided that the journey is worth the toil it takes to become a doctor. For years, they studied long hours, devoted their time, and sacrificed their finances in hopes of one day serving their community. The notoriously challenging journey is one that many aspire to; however, many parts of this path don’t get discussed. When excellence is the standard and failure is seldom talked about, one can see why medicine is so competitive. It’s easy for those in the medical field to feel pressured to live up to impossible or otherwise unhealthy standards.

I can only imagine the empathy that could be unleashed in how we treat each other and our patients if we created a supportive atmosphere where more doctors felt comfortable sharing their testimonies openly and extending grace freely. Such radical vulnerability and generosity are contagious and have the potential to be transformational. This shift sets the precedent for the next generation of doctors to nurture one another, and those within our care, with the perspective-shifting faith and hope we each need to thrive.

Ashley McCray is a medical student.