On April 18, 2015, after eight years together, Ashlee and I got married. It was less than a year after Pennsylvania legalized marriage equality, and just two months before the U.S. Supreme Court paved the way for nationwide marriage rights for same-sex couples in the landmark Obergefell case.
Our officiant grinned as he said, “In accordance with the laws of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania” before pronouncing us wed, seeming to invite the guests to share in the still-new excitement. “Welcome into your lives and hearts, our newest legally wed couple, Jen and Ashlee,” he emphasized to applause before we headed back down the aisle.
In 2015, the excitement and optimism were still palpable, in part because the marriage equality victories cascaded so quickly. When I joined PGN as a staff writer in 2007, the same year Ashlee and I started dating, marriage equality was legal in just one state. When we got engaged in 2013, that number stood at 16. Two years later, on our wedding day, it was 37. It felt like progress was begetting progress; Pennsylvania’s time came, and it seemed right that the entire U.S. followed.
The fruits of decades of labor from LGBTQ+ community members seemed to be finally coming to fruition. And then it all changed when the country elected a virulently anti-LGBTQ+ president in 2016. The promise of progress, as we knew it at that time, seemed to become shaky — and it became vastly more so when Trump was re-elected last year.
In the last decade, the previous 10 years of wins for LGBTQ+ rights — from marriage equality to nondiscrimination laws and the evolving visibility, safety and rights of transgender people — have become tenuous. Those years of victories seem to be building a strong foundation for the future of LGBTQ+ rights, but we have all seen that that foundation can be sledgehammered in just moments by the strike of a pen.
It’s a striking realization, likely one that LGBTQ+ activists of previous generations were all too aware of. Yet, for “geriatric millennials” (I’ve learned to embrace the term) like us, the path of LGBTQ+ progress during our coming-of-age years was largely heading in one direction: forward. Now, as the administration changes again, there is doubt, there is fear, there is a real struggle to recapture that optimism about the LGBTQ+ fight that so abounded a decade ago.
The last few years have driven home the reality that progress isn’t linear on any fight for equality. It’s not a check-the-box activity with a finite ending. There will be ups, downs, ins, outs, forks in the road, potholes, unexpected obstacles in the path, and it takes continuous work, investment and eyes forward — just like marriage.
A path of unforeseen possibilities
Ashlee and I had been together for eight years by the time we tied the knot, so we knew marriage wasn’t going to be all hearts and roses, and that the non-honeymoon moments could be those that really test, and also make, a marriage. Our officiant alluded to this during the ceremony: He shared how in our eight years together, we had built a wonderful circle of family and friends, gone on amazing travel adventures and grown in our careers, but at the same time endured the loss of several people close to us, experienced failures and frustrations. It was our ability to stand strong together when our path didn’t unfold like we thought it would that made our relationship.
In the decade since that day, that idea has certainly held true.
We delighted in the purchase of our first home in 2016 and welcomed a puppy into it a few months later. At the same time, we learned the frustration and fear of being first-time homeowners with a leaking roof and piling bills. We went into the baby-making process with excitement that was quickly tempered by several failed IUI attempts then rebounded with the birth of our first son in 2018. We listened in awe as he said his first words, and then scrambled to find the words to help him through epic meltdowns. Our hearts melted as he took his first steps, and nearly stopped every time he broke free from our hands on a walk.
When I finally got pregnant with twins, we were elated (after the initial shock and panic!), but that quickly dissipated into fear as my problematic pregnancy progressed. Through the twins’ journey in the NICU and after, yo-yoing was an everyday occurrence: Avery had a good day, August had a bad; August was released from the hospital, Avery had to be resuscitated.
As all three have grown, we’ve experienced the intense joy of watching them play sweetly together, followed by the intense screaming of sibling rivalry. We rejoiced in their milestones on the same day we had to rush them to the hospital, and watched with anguish as they faced obstacles and pride as they picked themselves up from them.
In the background, we’ve both started new jobs, Ashlee survived nursing school with NICU preemies and a toddler during COVID, and I survived becoming a remote worker with kids at home. We’ve had amazing successes, but at times they’ve been short-lived; and we’ve experienced significant trauma that we emerged from. The last decade has been nothing near constant: It’s been fluid, unexpected, challenging in ways we couldn’t have imagined, and rewarding in ways we couldn’t have dreamed of.
Embracing the mundane
It’s a scientific fact that we remember the most emotionally extreme moments — those highest highs and lowest lows. So, looking back on 10 years of marriage, the most vivid in my recall are those peaks and valleys — yet, just like in the fight for LGBTQ+ equality, it’s what happens in the in between that matters most. The day that the U.S. Supreme Court legalized marriage equality for all Americans was indeed a high point in the history of the LGBTQ+ rights movement. But that one day of celebration wouldn’t have ever happened had it not been for years and years of fights and failures, small steps and unwavering investment.
Looking through a decade of marriage from that lens brings up a host of different recollections: the exhaustion we felt as we collapsed into beach chairs in our bare dining room after 12 hours of moving into our new house … the hilarity of Jackson’s first diaper explosion after he came home from the hospital … struggling together to put Avery’s feeding tube back in on our living room floor … Ashlee’s constant nagging that I take too long making my dinner when a new episode of “Handmaid’s Tale” was released … playing “Rock, Paper, Scissors” for who had to get a screaming August … lining up nine bags of croutons on the counter I passively-aggressively purchased after Ashlee complained I hadn’t gotten a bag last shopping trip … tagging each other into kid meltdowns in just about every room in the house … the dead inside look we sometimes give each other when a kid does an absolutely inane thing … lifting the kids up to see our wedding photos on the wall and pointing out friends and relatives they know.
In our wedding officiant’s speech, he mentioned that I had told him I was looking forward to all the “seemingly mundane” things about married life: “walks to the ice cream shop, Christmas mornings, family parties, weekend getaways” (childless me didn’t realize how impossible that last one would be!). In hindsight, those things are nowhere near mundane. Those everyday experiences — the laughing, the fights, the boring times and the overwhelming times, the frustration and the ease. Each of those small experiences went on to make an impact.
Our ridiculous crouton fight taught us both that humor can break up tension. When we were almost in tears trying to get Avery’s feeding tube placed, Ashlee’s calm helped me navigate my panic, and my panic helped her stay motivated. Each time we’re able to help each other out with a difficult kid meltdown, we practice and model emotional regulation, good for both us and the kids. Through our progress and our pitfalls, that we’re one another’s constant has helped us grow in trust, in confidence and in love.
These weren’t those scrapbook-worthy moments or the ones we’ll talk about at our next wedding anniversary. But they are what have kept me and Ashlee, and our family, strong. They’ve provided a sense of steadiness, helped our kids understand us and their family, built the foundation that will enable us to withstand those lowest moments when they arise.
I think it’s the same in the fight for LGBTQ+ rights. The months and years to come — just like those that preceded victories in the past — may bring tough conversations, protests, storytelling, community-building, letter-writing, phone-banking … all of those seemingly mundane things that will add up, that will keep the community cohesive, inspired and fighting forward.
Just like in a marriage, there will be hard days to come and good days to come. And what we do in between them matters most.
