Today’s our two-month wedding anniversary. Don’t worry, I’m not going to be one of those who celebrates then announces monthly anniversaries. I actually think people who celebrate/announce anything monthly are as problematic as people who have “birthday weeks” or a 28 and half month old baby.

I share that today’s our two-month anniversary to share this: even after these two months, I’m still being asked, “Now that you are married, do you feel different?” And I’d joke and share how I’ve been with my now-husband for 10 years so the only difference really is the paper. But if I’m going to be terribly honest, the answer to that question is an undeniably shocked, grateful, stunned, emotional, heartfelt, “I do.”

I still remember exactly where I was back on June 26, 2015 when gay marriage became the law of the land. I was frozen and dazed in the middle of the hallway of the preschool I taught at, looking at my phone, and thinking, “Am I reading this right?”

NEVER! In my wildest dreams did I think that gay marriage would be something real in my lifetime. Truthfully, I didn’t even dare dream it at all. But there I was reading a dream come true. I had a coworker who was also gay. I just looked at her and embraced her. Like, what the fuck? We matter now. That’s what I thought. We finally matter. The following day I was all over Facebook and Twitter joshing how now I have to find a husband.

I would meet my future husband in August of that very same year, ironically enough. But that’s a different story entirely that deserve it’s own attention. For now I’m just going to marinate in this new sensation.

The “different” feeling struck me for the first time while at the DMV getting my new license. I had to update my home address and I didn’t really have proof of residency as powerful, at least I thought, as our marriage license. The people at the DMV were so helpful and nice (I know, I was mind fucked by that too) and one of them even said, “You can use your husband’s information to complete the change.”

“Your husband’s information,” literally echoed through my head. There was no attitude, no condescension behind her words. There were no weird looks. She said it loud as hell. No one turned to gawk at us. Yes, I scanned the room to see if we were being stared at. It was normal. Just normal. My husband paid the fee for my license and the lady behind the counted responded with an “I know that’s right,” and finger claps gesturing her approval.

I was in awe.

My new life.

I love!

Later that day, my husband and I went to a church that is being operated by the Pride Center to watch the Pride Chorus perform. It was a beautiful church inhabited by amazing people. There were married gays, married straights; there were children that had gay parents, and straight parents. There were so many people there singing and rejoicing. The theme was overcoming great obstacles. The chorus was amazing. I got to meet so many people. People who kept congratulating my husband and I on our recent nuptials. I looked around this amazing space filled with these amazing people and thought, “This must be what straight feels like.” This was also the week before The Supreme Court was going to decide whether or not to hear arguments to overturn Obergefell v. Hodges. “I’ve never felt so connected to a community or so accepted in a space and they want to take it away,” I grimly thought to myself in silence. Thank God we got the ending we did. For now.

So yes. The answer is I feel completely different. I feel complete and realized. Loved and connected. Important and indispensable. The latter two things I’ve never felt ever before in my life.

I finally belong somewhere. Something is finally mine. I now know why so many people become so overprotective.

And what I have is worth protecting. Oh yes! Tooth and nail. And now that I know what this is like, I will never again refer to David as “my partner” as to help some feel comfortable. I will address him as what he is—my lawful husband! And pray that if that causes someone to have to carry a cross, that their cross is not as heavy as the one I carried for decades in the shadows of supposed inferiority.