Since the day I started my residency (okay, maybe day 2), I realized that my favorite part of the entire experience wasn’t the rotations or the schedules or even the learning curve—it was my coresidents. I’ve heard rumors that not every class is as intertwined as ours, but I truly wouldn’t have it any other way. We’ve laughed together, cried together, and learned a lot more than just pharmacy from each other. My biggest advice for anyone starting a PGY1 is simple: stay open to these relationships. They end up being some of the best parts of the year.

That’s why early commit is such a strange thing to navigate. A lot of us walk into the PGY1 with a pretty clear goal: stay for the PGY2. Logistically, it makes sense—you already know the system, the people, and the hospital, and you avoid a move, which, in my case, was a huge bonus.

But in a tight-knit class, this also means some of your biggest supporters can suddenly become the people you’re “competing” with. And even when everyone is being mature about it (and most people are), it doesn’t always feel neutral. It can feel very personal. It’s your life, your next year, your community—so of course it lands that way. That’s the part that doesn’t really get talked about enough.

One thing I learned pretty quickly is that it is completely normal for your goals to shift during the PGY1. Almost my entire class came in interested in critical care at a program with a single PGY2 spot. I listed interest in, I kid you not, 4 different areas—and honestly, I probably could’ve added more. This really is the time to explore, change your mind, and figure out what actually fits versus what just sounded right on day 1.

I remember asking my RPD early on whether uncertainty would hurt me competitively if I didn’t have a clearly defined interest right away. Her response stuck with me: taking the time to figure out what you actually want is never viewed negatively by programs that are looking for residents who are genuinely excited and committed.

What I didn’t fully anticipate was how much noise would come with the process. Once deadlines start creeping closer, everyone has an opinion—asked for or not. I was the last in my class to decide because I was stuck between 2 specialties and needed almost all of my last rotation to figure it out. In this stretch, I felt like I was answering the same question every day: “Have you decided yet?” Each conversation came with a slightly different angle, a new pro/con list I hadn’t thought of yet.

Being the last to decide also meant I had a pretty good sense of who was applying where. That part is hard to avoid in a small group. My honest advice in this respect is, try not to let it steer you. I say “try” because it definitely still crept in for me. I found myself analyzing every interaction—every comment, every encouraging word—trying to decode what it meant about my chances. It’s a very public process, and it has a way of bringing out a lot of insecurity.

That’s where coresidents come back into the picture.

I’ve heard enough early commit stories to know this can sometimes create tension in otherwise really strong groups. It’s easy for the “competition” piece to take over everything if people don’t acknowledge it. In my case, I didn’t want to just hope it would quietly resolve itself.

Once I knew who I was potentially up against, I had a conversation with them. Nothing dramatic—just honest. Something along the lines of: I’m applying for X, I know you are too, and regardless of what happens, I don’t want this to change how I support you or how we work together.

It was awkward for about 30 seconds. Then it was fine.

We actually ended up being really intentional about checking in with each other throughout the process. Interview-day sticky notes, quick “good luck” texts, the whole thing. And honestly, it made the experience less isolating.

Then comes decision day.

There’s no great way to prepare for it other than accepting that you might not get the outcome you want—and it probably won’t feel great if you don’t. I found it helpful to control whatever parts of the process I could: when I wanted to hear the news, who I wanted around me, and how I wanted to structure the day.

One thing that mattered a lot in our group was making sure people heard their decisions directly, not through the pharmacy rumor mill. This expectation alone helped reduce a lot of unnecessary stress. If you’re in a similar situation, it’s worth being explicit about that early on.

And regardless of the outcome, it’s a lot of emotion packed into a very professional setting. This combination is tricky. Even if things don’t go your way, you still have months left at that institution and, in many cases, relationships that will outlast residency itself. How you handle this moment tends to stick with people longer than the outcome does.

Burning bridges is easy. Rebuilding them isn’t.

Things ended up working out incredibly well for both my coresidents and me. But even if they hadn’t gone the way I wanted for them, the immediate reality would have been the same: you still go back to the same group of coresidents who have been there through everything else—long days, hard rotations, small wins, and everything in between. That doesn’t just disappear because of a decision.

If anything, what has stuck with me most about early commit is how quickly things can feel all-consuming—and how quickly they also become just part of the story you carry forward into whatever comes next.