1,201,607 Reasons Our Love Was Finally Recognised

From symbolic vows to full equality, this is the story of our three weddings and the vote that changed everything.

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I once declared I’d stay single for five years after moving to Dublin. Then I went out on my first weekend and met Gerard. That was that.

Since then, we’ve had three weddings. Not because we’re attention seekers (well, not entirely, have you seen Ger’s TikTok and Instagram? @mybelfasthouse) but because it took the law a while to catch up with us.

The first was a symbolic wedding at Kinnitty Castle in County Offaly. It wasn’t legal but it was heartfelt in every sense. A ceremony led by a close friend who had conducted many ceremonies previously, a full celebration of our love and commitment. A moment to publicly promise what we already knew, that we were in this for life. We were the first same-sex couple to marry there and it was a day full of energy, beauty and community.

It was a proper celebration. Family and friends came from near and far. There were drag queens, circus performers from Belfast, and a whirlwind of colour and celebration. It was bursting with laughter, happy tears, dancing, and love that spilled into the night, and carried on until some of our older guests started to arrive for breakfast, some of us took the hint and headed for bed at around 8am.  At one point someone came running towards me and said a drag queen was dead in the basement. Thankfully, she wasn’t. She was just exhausted but that’s a whole other story.

The second was a civil partnership at Belfast City Hall. We did it for legal protection, for the rights it offered, but not for the experience. The registrar barely looked at us. Maybe it was because we were two men. Maybe she was just having a bad day. Either way, her coldness left a mark. But we didn’t let it ruin our moment. We smiled wider, held each other’s hands tighter, and embraced the day for what it meant.

But even at the time, we knew that legal protection was not equality. There are dozens of pieces of legislation that offer married couples protections that civil partnered couples do not receive, those pieces of the law that you don’t realise matter until suddenly, they really do.

Then came 2015. The Irish government decided our rights should be put to a public vote, the first government in the world to do so.  So we stepped up. On Valentine’s Day, we brought cupcakes and leaflets to work, started chatting about why it mattered, that was the start of our personal campaign. We fundraised for and hosted the Irish and European premiere of Bridegroom, a powerful and heartbreaking documentary about a young man who lost his partner in an accident and was then locked out of his funeral, hospital visits, and even his home, simply because they weren’t legally married. That film brought the issue into sharp focus for many who hadn’t thought about the consequences of inequality.

We knocked on our neighbours’ doors. We knocked on doors in Dublin. We knocked on doors in Bray. We told our story to anyone who would listen. We explained that our love was no different from theirs and asked them to vote yes.

At the same time, we were watching nightly political debate shows. Listening to the misinformation. Some people were genuinely claiming that if gay people were allowed to marry, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day would be cancelled. Others warned that people would try to marry their cats and dogs. I’m still too exhausted to go digging through all the other crap that was said. But what I remember clearly is this, it hurt. It was cruel. It made us feel small. But we didn’t let it silence us.

And then came the vote. And here’s the number I will always say out loud, 1,201,607. That’s how many people voted yes. Over 1.2 million citizens said we mattered. Said our love was valid. Said we belonged.

We had our legal wedding at the Mansion House in Dublin, the official residence of the Lord Mayor. It was our third ceremony but the first one that counted in the eyes of the state. That day, standing beside Gerard, I felt a deep love and thought, how lucky is he that he gets to marry me three times, jokes, we’re both the lucky ones.

The messages of support we received from our friends in Northern Ireland / The North that day are messages I still treasure. They were holding our hope and our fears too. We knew this vote mattered to more than just those who could cast a ballot. It was a turning point, a moment of truth.

But just when we thought it was all done, we nearly had to do it again. When we moved back north, we discovered that due to the collapse of Stormont and the legal wrangling of Brexit, our southern marriage wasn’t legally recognised in the North, yet! For a moment, it looked like wedding number four might be on the cards.

Thankfully, the UK / Westminster government corrected the issue during the Brexit legislation. So our friends, our families, and our bank balance were all spared yet another celebration.

But let’s be honest. If we had been forced to do it again, we would have made it fabulous. We would have brought in as many of the amazing suppliers listed on the Northern Ireland Wedding Directory as we could. It would have been bold, beautiful, inclusive and joyful, everything our journey has been this past 18 years.

In fact, we’re already thinking about it. Not a legal wedding this time. But maybe a 20-year vow renewal. A party that isn’t about law or recognition. A celebration not because we have to, but because we can, and because we want to honour our 20 years together with the people who mean the most to us.

Still, here’s the truth. Equality didn’t begin or end in 2015. Hate crimes are on the rise. Trans people are facing the same hostility and misinformation we once did. The same fear. The same lies. Just new targets.

So if you’re wondering what being an ally really means, here it is. It’s not just rainbows in June. It’s not quiet support behind closed doors. It’s calling out homophobia, transphobia, and prejudice the very moment you see it. Every time. Without exception.

That’s how you honour the 1,201,607 people who voted yes. That’s how you protect the future we all fought for.

Three weddings. One near miss. And a love that never needed permission, but it was still sweet to finally get it.

If you’re looking for a professional, friendly celebrant who has seen it all and still gets teary at love stories, do get in touch. I’d be honoured to be part of yours.