By: An Anonymous Contributor

I was 25 the first time I went to the gynecologist.

I’d heard the warnings all my life: “You need to go if you’re sexually active.” But every version of “sexually active” that doctors mentioned seemed to include one thing I didn’t have—penises.

Growing up queer in a small town, no one ever explained how or why a lesbian should go to the GYN. So I avoided it, half out of fear, half out of feeling like I didn’t belong there.

But then I met someone. Someone who made me feel more seen than I’d ever been. She was kind, curious, and careful. And after we spent a weekend together—the kind you feel in your chest for days afterward—I decided it was time to care for myself the way I wanted to care for her.

So I booked the appointment.

The Waiting Room

Walking into the clinic was like walking into someone else’s life. The pastel posters on the walls talked about birth control, pregnancy, and abstinence in a language that still left people like me invisible. I shifted in my seat, scrolling through social media posts that I didn’t read, wondering if the nurse would assume I was straight, wondering if I’d have to come out—again.

When they called my name, I felt my heart kick. My palms were sweaty. But I stood up and followed.

The Exam

The nurse asked the usual questions.

“When was your last period?”
“Are you sexually active?”
“What kind of birth control do you use?”

When I said, “I’m a lesbian, so I don’t use birth control,” she paused.

But then, she nodded. “Got it. Thanks for sharing.”

That tiny moment felt enormous.

The doctor came in, and I did the same dance—explaining, clarifying. She was kind, professional, and most importantly—she listened. She asked about protection, STIs, my relationship history, and my mental health. She didn’t assume. She asked.

The actual Pap smear? Uncomfortable, sure. Slightly awkward. But quick. Nothing like the mountain of anxiety I had built it up to be.

Afterward

I cried a little in the car—not because it hurt, but because it felt like I’d crossed some kind of threshold.

I had taken control of my health. I had shown up for my body.

Advice for Others

If you’re nervous about going to the gynecologist as a lesbian, you’re not alone. But here’s what I want you to know:

1. Your health matters.

Even if you’re not having sex with men, you still need pelvic exams, Pap smears, and STI screenings based on your sexual activity. HPV and other infections can still be transmitted between women.

2. You don’t owe anyone your full story.

But if you choose to share, a good provider will respect you. If they don’t—find another one. You deserve a safe space.

3. Ask for LGBTQ-friendly care.

There are LGBTQ+ directories that can help you find providers who understand and affirm your identity.

4. It’s okay to be scared.

But the moment you prioritize your health—especially in a system that hasn’t always included you—is a revolutionary act of self-love.

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Final Thought

Our bodies carry stories. Not all of them are simple. But showing up for ourselves, sitting on that paper-covered table, asking the questions—we get to rewrite those stories with strength, tenderness, and pride.

Going to the GYN didn’t change who I was. But it reminded me of something I forgot: My lesbianism is not invisible. And my body is worth care.