A fortnight ago I would’ve told you that I was coming to terms with the national plebiscite on marriage equality – that I was readying myself for the fight ahead.

As an aspiring pragmatist, one who cautiously flirts with the idea of political centrism, I was willing to put aside any discomfort or feelings of unease, so long as it meant achieving marriage equality by early next year.

When debating matters of the heart, the temptation to be selfish is perhaps understandable, if not important to resist. It’s easy to look at one’s life and observe only the ways one might personally benefit from marriage equality. I could become engaged to my long-term partner. My gay uncles could finally get married, perhaps before my grandmother passes away. A victory at the plebiscite would taste so good – not only in the free-pouring alcohol that would surely follow, but in knowing that we had risen to the occasion and had won.

It’s been a humbling lesson, taking a step back and realising that this isn’t about me or my relationship. That it’s so much bigger than my personal experience. Listening to members of the trans community who feel deeply that they’ve been discarded and erased in the ongoing process of debate; those who fear they’ll cop the brunt of societal backlash to future reform, as has been seen recently in the United States. Listening to parents of young trans and gender-diverse children, who dread the schoolyard retaliation a national platform would not only validate, but encourage. Those in rainbow families who tearfully refuse to be held accountable to the ignorance of millions of Australians they’ve never even met.

A photo posted by Samuel Leighton-Dore (@samleightondore) on

Jun 19, 2015 at 8:23pm PDT

Ever since I won my first race in under-12s Little Athletics, I’ve enjoyed what I consider to be a healthy competitive spirit. It’s what drove me to overcome the bullying I faced daily throughout school. It’s what drove me to not kill myself when doing so felt like the only viable option. It’s what made me, dare I say it, excited by the prospect of tackling a plebiscite – of meeting our opponents head-on and coming out victorious.

I wanted that moment, but I wanted it for me. I wanted it because it came to represent so much; every time my voice was drowned out, every time I felt defenceless, every time I was attacked or demeaned, every time I was made to feel worthless.

But this isn’t about me, and I reckon that’s the most valuable lesson this whole plebiscite mess has taught me – that our ongoing fight must continue to reflect the values, concerns and opinions of our entire LGBTI community, not just those at the forefront of the campaign.

Tunnel vision is informally defined as “the tendency to focus exclusively on a single or limited goal or point of view.” We can’t continue to pretend that marriage equality is narrow enough a subject to be considered in such a way – not when doing so means turning a cold shoulder to the possible repercussions faced by so many others in our community.

This post originally appeared on Same Same.

Feature image via Instagram/ samleightondore.