Ten years ago, I stood beside the woman I loved and said, “I do,” under a clear spring sky in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We were surrounded by friends, family, my cute dog, and an overwhelming feeling of history in the making. The Supreme Court had just legalized same-sex marriage nationwide, and we wasted no time stepping into that long-denied space, hearts full, hands trembling, knowing we were among the first wave of people finally granted the legal right to say “yes” to love.
Now, 10 years later, we’re choosing a different kind of love — one that respects what we had, while letting each other go. We’re getting divorced.
It’s not a dramatic ending. No salacious plot twist, no villain, no scandal (at least not the kind that would end a marriage). Rather, it was the slow unraveling of something that once felt solid. We grew apart. We became different people from the ones who made those vows. In other words, we are ending our marriage the same way so many others do: with sadness, with dignity, with complicated love, and with a mediator.
And honestly? I find a strange comfort in that.
Because the truth is, same-sex marriage is marriage. It’s joy and struggle and compromise and, sometimes, heartbreak. It’s morning coffees and late-night disagreements, parenting wins, and existential ruts. It’s loving someone and sometimes realizing you can’t anymore — at least not in the same way. When we fought for marriage equality, we weren’t just fighting for wedding cake and tax breaks; we were fighting for the full human experience. That includes the freedom to leave, to start over, to evolve.
Divorce doesn’t mean we failed. It means we lived and allowed ourselves the opportunity to try.
There was a time when people said marriage equality would “destroy” the institution of marriage — that letting queer people in would unravel the sacred tradition, as if straight people hadn’t already done a stellar job of that with reality TV weddings and divorce rates hovering near 50%. But here I am, 10 years later, proof that we can do the mundane, messy, deeply human thing of ending a marriage, too. Just like straight people. And we deserve that right just as fully.
I’m not ashamed that my marriage is ending. I’m proud we had the chance. We built a life, are raising two incredibly cool kids and the same cute dog, and shared a decade of memories that no court or document can undo. Now, with equal parts grief and gratitude, we’ve moved into the next chapter — apart, but forever shaped by what we were able to have.
Happy 10th anniversary, marriage equality. I’m still so glad you exist. Even if mine didn’t last forever, the right to try was everything. And I’m so, so thankful that I have the right to maybe one day try again.
Jill Layton started writing professionally over a decade ago when she realized her emails and texts were kind of funny. She’s a writer for Scary Mommy, Bustle, Best Products, and other fun sites. She also writes radio ads and is a ghostwriter for a comedian — don’t tell anyone. She’s the mom of two sarcastic kids and the world’s most perfect dog.
