When my Mum was first hospitalised, my husband flew back with me and sat with us, for hours, in her room, talking.

On the way to the hospital we drove through the suburb I used to live in, the train stations I used to walk to, that school I used to attend. We drove past the tall iron gates and I felt close to my youth, to those experiences. Cotton candy striped blazers and music class and endless summer holidays. Singing lessons and maths class and physical education. The sudden realisation that the time had passed, and that I was in my 30’s. That I had grown up.

Over a month after my second email, on a Monday, I woke up to a phone call from an unknown Australian number. It was the current principal of De La Salle, telling me the school would not publish the photo of my wedding, or any reference to it.

He explained that he’d called to avoid an email exchange. That the Catholic church was pretty clear on its position. That he didn’t have a problem with it, you know, but people do. That they once had one of those kinds of photos in the magazine and you should have seen the emails. That I understood, right?

I was half asleep, confused. I didn’t want to wake up my husband. I said, okay, I think. That it was a shame, I think. I don’t really remember.

I lay back down and it started to sink it, the weight of it all. My heart broke for that kid, at 15, looking for a role model. Looking for LGBT people that were relatable, happy, successful, maybe a bit boring. Looking for hope.

And more than that, my heart broke for all the other queer students at De La Salle who came out before, during, and after my time at the college. People we were, we are, born to be. People we were, we are, regardless of our upbringing or our gods or our churches.

We existed then, and we exist now, and to pretend that we don’t is deeply wrong. To sweep us under the rug is deeply wrong. To tell us we are less than is deeply wrong. A school is more than its religious roots — it is its people. Complex, different, real. And in the case of my marriage, legal.

Young LGBT people are 5 times more likely to commit suicide, and they deserve better than this.

I no longer consider myself an old collegiate of De La Salle, or of the LaSallian tradition — I am not of that community. I, like many people before me, have built my own, free of bigotry, and full of hope. Rich with the kind of role models I yearned for when I was young.

I only hope one of them, behind those tall iron gates, reads this and feels a little less alone.