Growing up gay in the South taught me to read a room—to look for signs, both obvious and unspoken, that I was safe. Now, as an OB-GYN resident in a place where open support is rare, those signals still matter. The difference? Now, I get to decide which ones I display.
Sometimes, inclusion starts with something small: a rainbow pin, a pronoun sticker, or a Pride-themed watchband. These details might seem minor, but they send a powerful message: You belong here. For patients who often feel judged or ignored in healthcare, even a quiet gesture can make them feel safe enough to breathe, speak openly, and be their true selves.
Visibility is advocacy. In places where LGBTQ+ support isn’t obvious, subtle cues can reassure patients they’re not alone. I’ve had patients cry—not from pain, but from relief. Relief that they didn’t have to explain or justify who they are. Those moments stay with me.
But real allyship takes more than shared identity—it takes action. That’s why I bring Pride flags into clinics, wear inclusive symbols daily, and encourage tough conversations. I answer awkward questions, help colleagues understand gaps in care, and stay open even when it’s uncomfortable. The work matters.
Yet, not everyone welcomes it. Pride displays have been called “divisive” or “too much,” as if visibility is an attack. Even as a doctor, I still notice the judgment—the pauses, the tone shifts—when someone realizes I’m queer.
But that’s why we keep going. For every critic, there’s a patient too afraid to come out, a trans person unsure if they’ll be respected, or a same-sex couple bracing for bias. One moment of safety can change everything.
Pride isn’t just about celebration. It’s about making space, loudly and visibly, for those pushed to the edges. If a sticker, a flag, or one honest talk helps someone feel seen—it’s worth it.
I’m just one thread in this fight. But I hope the spaces I help build feel a little warmer, kinder, and more whole for those who follow.
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