I am an openly gay surgeon.

It wasn’t always that way. Coming out wasn’t an event, a grand announcement, or a celebration. There was no banner with fanfare; there was no card in the mail; there was no staged spotlight. Instead, it was an ocean of religious, cultural, societal, and family conflicts ebbing with countless hours of therapy, distractions, and even a half-marathon. I feared sinking rather than swimming—and for good reason. Throughout my graduate education in Boston, I came out to select friends and family. And yet, at the start of medical school, I ran straight back into the closet to escape the incessant gossip that can infect a large student body. My parents were disappointed with me, with one adjective seemingly staining everything else I had accomplished thus far. I only started coming out in medical school after visibly seeing LGBTQ+ attendings around me. But once again, at the start of residency, I hid from my own attendings, this time in fear of judgment in the workplace and its potential impacts on my training.

Now why—why—would I put so much weight on 1 domain of my life? I certainly could have remained silent and progressed through residency with small talk about the Chicago weather. I feared having something taken away or withheld from me in the operating room. I feared engaging in casual conversation with my attendings, because inevitably my relationship status would come up. I feared that my patients wouldn’t want to hear my assessment because of how I spoke. I tiptoed around conversations about my personal life at work to prevent my sexual orientation from being implied. This fear kept me stunted and unable to put my 2 feet on the ground.

As I gained more confidence with my clinical and surgical skills, I contemplated what kind of surgeon I wanted to be. There were so few openly LGBTQ+ urologists. Even searching for my own primary care doctor was challenging because I struggled to find someone like me. I grew frustrated looking at the landscape of urologists and how underrepresented I felt, let alone how underrepresented my fellow LGBTQ+ community must feel. Hiding who I was not only hindered my growth as a surgeon but also prevented me from being visible to my patients. There had been a ball and chain that tugged on every move that I made. And the largest modifiable barrier to being open was my own trepidation.

Coming out to my attendings was a set intention. One by one, I told each attending, and to my surprise and relief, I began to feel the strength of the entire department behind me. I do not feel that my training has been hindered due to my sexual orientation. My amazing coresidents continue to inspire me to be unapologetically myself. There may be those who refuse to work with me because of this 1 adjective. The gossip could vine through the operating room. Still, I proudly wear my pride pin at work. It’s a signal of empathy for everyone struggling with themselves or others to communicate in a safe space. I am fortunate to have an entire department who stands with me in that effort.

So yes, I am an openly gay surgeon. I don’t make this statement to distinguish myself. Rather, I proudly share my journey to promote visibility and inclusivity for patients, students, trainees, and other surgeons. From me, you will get kindness, compassion, empathy, and authenticity—whether as a patient or a colleague. I am a fierce advocate and surgeon for those seeking surgical treatment and urological health management, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity. I have embraced being vulnerable despite others’ attitudes or perceptions. We ask of this vulnerability from our patients every single day. By treating their needs, we accept them and the situations that they’re in. So why shouldn’t we do the same for each other?