Writer Giselle Nguyen. The first time I ever heard a homophobic slur, it came from my dad's mouth. In high school, I asked my mum what she'd say if I was gay, and she cried. I first suspected that maybe I wasn't straight when I found myself admiring the bassist of Jebediah as a kid, then realised she wasn't a he. Or when I put posters of Buffy up on my wall, despite never having watched the show. Or in year 8, when I felt my heart jump into my throat every time that year 11 girl smiled at me. But I swallowed my feelings, because I didn't think I was allowed to have them. When I came out this time last year, I was unsure how my folks would react – just months before, I'd written about how far they'd come, but had vowed not to ever discuss LGBTIQA issues with them.

Nervous, I called my mum, wanting to let her know myself before she saw it on Facebook or heard from anyone else. I told her I had something important to tell her. "Did you have an abortion?" she asked. Taken aback, I laughed and said no, and she said, "well, if it's not that then it's fine". Bemused, I told her that I liked both men and women. I can't remember exactly what she said – the conversation was just like any other. That's a big deal in itself: when I was younger, I thought such an admission would ruin us. On Facebook, my uncle said he was proud of me. Neither of my sisters batted an eyelid, after a childhood where we flung accusations of homosexuality as insults. My dad and I never spoke directly about it, but my mum told me he'd said that he'd prefer I was with a good woman than a bad man. Yet I was still worried when the postal survey was announced, because I wasn't sure if my family's acceptance would extend past me. I was scared when I texted the family WhatsApp group, asking my parents, sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles to vote "yes".

But my parents returned their slips right away. My sister told me that our dad, who works as a GP in the western Sydney suburb of Cabramatta, encouraged all of his patients to vote "yes". My uncles and aunts, also raised in conservative Vietnam, voted "yes". I am lucky to have a family whose views have changed over time. I realise that not all queer people have this fortune, and some take comfort in non-biological families of their own choosing because they will never feel safe, or accepted, with their blood relatives. But still, I am angry when I see people blaming migrants in places like western Sydney for their high proportions of "no" voters. Many of these migrants are raised in societies where they have been taught to fear difference. Many do not have access to the conversations we do. Many were neglected altogether by campaigners, could not access the information due to language barriers. We have won this one fight with many ahead – why can't we celebrate our victory, rather than pivot ugly, hateful rhetoric towards yet another minority without considering the complexities of culture and change? (Not to mention, as Sonia Nair tweeted this week, the whole "no" campaign was spearheaded by white Christian conservatives.)

It may sound like this has been an easy transition for my family and me. It hasn't. My teenage years were confusing, lonely, and filled with shame; and I wish these revelations happened earlier – but still, I am so proud of my parents for getting there. For a long time, I distanced myself from western Sydney because I wanted to appear more evolved than what I saw as a backwards place ("I'm from the north west," I'd say snootily, as if that place isn't full of judgmental Bible-bashers). Loading But my family, and many others in these communities, are good people who just needed to see firsthand the power of love and acceptance, see how it waters and nurtures their loved ones, see how it doesn't affect their own lives negatively – to say openly, without reservation: yes.