Meg & Jocelyn York
This piece was written by Meg York of Montpelier, Vermont. She is an advocate for updated protections for LGBTQ+ families nationwide, and has worked toward strengthening families and protecting young people raised by same-sex couples and others.
Jocelyn hugged her knees to her chest as she sat on the floor. I sprawled on the industrial carpet, gazing at her curling hair, her soft blue eyes, her awkward cuteness. It was a queer-straight alliance meeting. She was there as queer. I was a straight ally, or so I thought.
Raised in a conservative, evangelical home, being queer never crossed my mind. When something’s not an option, you don’t consider it. But in my mid-twenties, I began to reconsider myself.
Jocelyn and I became fast friends, doing everything together. We spent time outdoors, organized reproductive rights demonstrations and marched in the streets over the unjust outcome of Proposition 8, which banned same-sex couples from marrying in California where we lived. We laughed. We cried.
I came out as a lesbian.
My parents were shocked. They asked why I was choosing to hurt them. They admonished me not to tell my extended family. “Love the sinner, hate the sin,” they said — except none of it felt like love.
Early mornings, Jocelyn and I would walk together. We recited Mary Oliver poems and planned our wild and precious lives. Days turned into months, months turned into years. We found a new version of love. I am going to marry this woman, I thought.
We got engaged on a bridge in Central Park. I had never seen Jocelyn smile so brightly. In early spring, the trees were just beginning to bud. Jocelyn adorned her hair with little pink flowers. I took photo after photo. I couldn’t get enough of her.
We were in love, but our families were in turmoil. “It’s not God’s plan,” they cried. Though Jocelyn’s parents were more supportive than mine, their acceptance had limits. “Maybe if you just don’t call it a wedding…” We hugged, grieved, and moved to Vermont — one of the few states at the time with the freedom to marry.
We were married in 2012 in Chester. It was just Jocelyn and me. It was beautiful and painful. We longed to be surrounded by friends and family.
For several years, we enjoyed newlywed bliss and navigated administrative challenges. We hiked, swam, skied and paid extra for health insurance because federally, I wasn’t Jocelyn’s spouse. Evenings, we danced in the kitchen, the aroma of cast-iron cooking in the air. We filed taxes, jointly (Vermont) and single (federal). It was love, marriage and enough red tape to make anyone’s head spin.
“My parents aren’t going to be marching in any pride parades anytime soon. Yet, as they have seen what marriage equality means to us and the stability it provides their grandchildren, they have come around. Our lives have touched their hearts and helped them understand that our family is as deserving of love and respect as any other family.”
In 2015, Obergefell v. Hodges affirmed the freedom to marry nationwide and struck down state-level bans. At the same time, my parents were beginning to come around. We breathed a sigh of relief.
Five years into our marriage, we shared that we were trying to get pregnant. My parents fell silent. “Kids need a mom and a dad, Meg.” It felt like the progress we had made was falling away. Like a road in Vermont. Like mud season.
But then, spring arrived: My daughter was born, and then my second daughter, and then my son. And in those years, as my parents watched us raising our three young children, something changed. Last week, my mom commented how thankful she is to have gained another daughter in Jocelyn, and how she couldn’t ask for better parents for her grandchildren.
My parents aren’t going to be marching in any pride parades anytime soon. Yet, as they have seen what marriage equality means to us and the stability it provides their grandchildren, they have come around. Our lives have touched their hearts and helped them understand that our family is as deserving of love and respect as any other family.
Today, most people in our country support marriage equality. This year, attempts to urge the Supreme Court to overturn the Obergefell decision, issued 10 years ago this month, made headlines but ultimately failed — thanks in part to Republican opposition.
Some conservative lawmakers called it cruel to revoke a right couples and families now rely on. Others, despite personal objections, said it’s not their job to invalidate this freedom. In this age of extreme division, that is a victory.
I want people to embrace the full humanity of LGBTQ+ people like me. Like my wife. I want them to see our family and how beautiful it all is. How we must protect equality and legal family security. I’ll never stop working toward that goal. Every day, I work to protect LGBTQ+ families and our children in Vermont and nationwide.
Acceptance can be long, slow and complicated. I know this at the core of my being. I know this in my bones. But I’ve seen that living authentically can open hearts and minds. Love is raw and beautiful and uncomfortable and real.
Like marriage, love unites. And, ten years after Obergefell, I’ve come to see that love doesn’t just win — it transcends.