It’s one of those shameful disclosures that gets tougher to share as time goes by.

I haven’t always been an ally to the queer community.

And it wasn’t just because I was apathetic towards their plight; I actually used my heterosexual privilege toward limiting their civil rights.

I would love to blame it on young age or the religious brainwashing of a cultish pseudo-Christian religion, but in the end it doesn’t truly matter why, because no matter what, it happened.

Proposition 22 was placed on the ballot eight years prior to Proposition 8. Proposition 22 sought to add the words “between a man and a woman” to the legal definition of marriage within the state constitution of California.

There was no doubt in my mind that the whole “gay marriage” thing was immoral. I had been told it was biblically wrong, and I knew it went against the religious belief system in which I was raised.

I knew whom and what I was going to vote for, and I knew that my opinions were correct because my parents and the man who headed the church told me so. I voted for Proposition 22 along with the majority of Californians, and with a punch of a chad, I helped to solidify oppression in my home state.

I am so very sorry.

After that vote, it didn’t cross my mind once. I was a single, white heterosexual female living in Southern California, and it wasn’t something that impacted my life.

In the years after I had voted on Proposition 22, I moved across the country and back, I eloped to Las Vegas with my best friend, and gave birth to our two daughters. I matured a bit, I experienced new places, and met new people. I also lost my religion.

Life continued, and before I really could give any additional thought to marriage equality, Proposition 8 made its way through the legal system to be voted on by the people.

As a 28 year old mother and wife, I had a different awareness about Proposition 8, one that I knew brought me to a natural conclusion. In the previous election I didn’t have to invest any real thought or reflection, I was told what to do and I did it - no questions asked.

This time, with my fellow citizens’ rights being voted upon, I was faced with a moral and ethical question. If I could get married to the person I loved, and be protected under the laws of the United States, then what gave me the right to prevent any other adult from being able to do the same?

When Proposition 8 passed in California, I cried.

The weekend after the election we went to my parent’s house for Sunday dinner and a conversation started that I will never forget. I encountered a choice; I could either defend an entire group of people whom I did not know and stand up to the bigotry of my parents and brothers, or just sit silent.

It was a pivotal moment in my life. I was taught to stay sweet and be a peacekeeper. I mastered the art of remaining silent; keeping my opinion to myself, no matter how severe the atrocity.

Until the one day I couldn’t.

Dinner ended in hurt feelings and words that should never be spoken between a parent and child. But it was also the day I realized that the change in my own beliefs wasn’t enough. In order to be an ally to an oppressed group of people, I must understand my privilege, I had to use my privilege to enact change and that cannot be done by remaining silent.

My family slowly stopped talking to me after I spoke out against their bigotry - granted, the relationships had been shaky for a while and my loss of religion played a huge part in that.

However, I also know that the change from oppressor to ally was something that solidified my mother’s realization that I wasn’t who she wanted me to become.

I wish I changed their minds about equal rights, but my voice wasn’t powerful enough to break through their cemented bigotry.

And I realized it never would be, so I let them go.

And all the time in the universe will never make it easier.