“All we can do now is pray” – How my hero Dad gave me hope during the marriage referendum

When the government announced a date for the marriage referendum you could feel a collective inhalation as the LGBT community steeled itself for the onslaught.

When the government announced a date for the marriage referendum you could feel a collective inhalation as the LGBT community steeled itself for the onslaught. This journey wasn’t new for many of us, for others it was a lifelong battle. However, rather than hide itself in muttered words and isolation, the gloves were off and the fight was coming to us. If there were any issues you had with LGBT people, this was the time to air them and it was media and state sanctioned.

This was a simple YES/NO question. An equal argument from both sides, a matter of democracy. That is not how it felt for me. In my eyes I saw the people who had called me a faggot, the men who called me a half-man and hit my wonderful girlfriend, being handed the keys to our future. It was now my job to bend my head and ask them for permission to marry her. I was pretty angry. This didn’t feel like democracy to me.

The months leading up to the referendum were the most vulnerable I have been in many years. I was not alone in this. I remember early into the campaign seeing a thread on my Facebook feed where people from the community were discussing how to hide the fact that they were spending so much time crying. For many it was a reopening of old wounds, some even canvassing on doors of people who had hassled them in school.

There was one particular night I recall talking to a group of friends about how their parents were voting no. I couldn’t understand the pain they must have felt reliving that feeling of isolation and rejection that for so many is a hallmark of coming out. But you don’t have to be LGBT for that. The human experience of pain, anxiety or fear, no matter the reason behind each emotion, is universal. Because of this, we can all support each other through difficult times.

I suffered a lot with my mental health in my teens. The main problem that I was confronted with was the constant need to pretend that I wasn’t suffering. I wanted everyone to think that I was strong and calm. I thought that being a good person meant being straight, polite and wholesome. But that’s not me. I don’t always know what I’m doing, I still have really bad days but I always try to be completely authentic to who I am at the core.

I love deeply, I cry loudly and I ask for help when I need it. Telling the truth is indeed a revolutionary act. I asked my community for help throughout the marriage referendum process and I was delighted to see people show up so willingly. It was testament to the nation as a whole that they saw our struggle and jumped on board to support.

This became apparent as May 22nd drew closer. The vibrancy of the YES campaign came bursting through. The young people I worried so much about became abundantly visible online, each telling their stories. They uploaded videos about their experience, wrote poems and songs, created incredible artwork. Allies jumped out of the woodwork both locally and nationally. All the people who once represented an Ireland I was terrified would reject me, started telling me they had my back.

I am from Mayo, and that’s where my vote still lives. So on voting day, me and my Dad went to the local boy’s school to cast our votes. I got a little emotional on the way out and Dad put his arm on my shoulder and said “all we can do now is pray”. The juxtaposition of his Catholic belief in the Lord and gay rights gave me so much hope and represented an Ireland I was happy to build my future in. I always knew I could rely on his support. My dad is my hero and sharing that moment with him was a real honour.

The real surprise on that day came completely out of the blue. Not long after I voted I was walking through the town, I heard a voice scream from a car. It was the mother of a girl I had gone to school with saying “today is the day, Clodagh. We’re going to fecking do it”. I was blown away by this woman having the courage to care so openly. It occurred to me that never before had this permission existed. We are given permission constantly in society to object, to dismiss, to criticise, but so seldom to embrace.

That weekend was a loving embrace, a welcome home to all the lost LGBT souls of Ireland. Every arrival rang out a song of “I love you”. I don’t think I could ever truly express my gratitude to the people who returned home to vote.

On May 23rd my wonderful girlfriend proposed, and because of all those people who said yes, my yes wasn’t hypothetical or a dream. It wasn’t followed with an addendum, and hopes for a better future. It was a promise to love, honour and protect Aisling. To live as her wife. That is all we wanted this whole time. The right to love.

In telling my story, in asking my community for help, in receiving that help, there is hope and we are changed forever.