On Wednesday morning, as soon as I awoke, the foremost thought that invaded my mind was: “Today, I ought to try on wedding gowns, yet I am unsure about my legal ability to marry next year.” A sense of constriction gripped my chest, and tears threatened as I wrestled with the reality of my existence as a gay, engaged woman in Trump’s America.
I have consistently been a practical optimist—grounded enough to put in the effort, yet always maintaining faith that it might create an impact. The weekend before the elections, I dedicated my time to canvassing in Pennsylvania and dialing calls to Wisconsin, where interactions with voters in battleground states, supportive of Harris, left me inspired. It seemed women were turning out in great numbers, asserting their votes for her, with some lifelong Republicans opting to break party lines. Despite encountering a few fervent, flag-brandishing MAGA enthusiasts cruising around our canvassing base in pickup trucks, they merely seemed eager to exaggerate their presence beyond reality.
As of today, my greatest fear is the inability to clearly visualize my future. Might a composed Supreme Court dismantle my right to wed? Would I ever have the opportunity to raise children with my fiancée via IUI or IVF? Is the prospect of adopting a child out of reach? If we indeed have a child, could both of us claim legal parenthood? If we travel across state borders, would our marriage go unrecognized? Would I face restrictions visiting my future wife in the hospital during illness or injury? Will my homeland see my family as legitimate?
My betrothed, Liv, and I had our nuptials slated in our Brooklyn community for November 2025. As someone with years of expertise as a weddings writer and editor for events, it has been remarkably exhilarating to finally devise plans for my own festivity. However, when Wednesday dawned, my initial action was to turn to Liv and propose we legally wed at City Hall soon. I had anticipated her opposition or to be told it was a knee-jerk reaction, but she concurred it might not be a poor decision. Our parents also supported this in our group chat. Although the future remained uncertain, we believed that formalizing our marriage now would make it tougher to annul later. Moreover, if relocating to another nation became necessary, navigating immigration together might be smoother. I wasn’t isolated in this thinking. After briefly checking in with another queer, engaged colleague in the wedding sector, Jove Meyer, he revealed he had mirrored the exact dialogue with his fiancé that morning. Clearly, the urgency was audibly resonant for everyone.
