I loved my job and I was good at it. But my 16 years of hard work in the Catholic education system was taken from me because I also loved a woman.
Growing up in the Bible belt of Sydney there was no “gay in the village”. All my role models were happy heterosexual couples and I just thought everyone had the same feelings for women that I did.
After university I started my first job at a Catholic school and married my childhood sweetheart. My ex-husband is an amazing man and we have raised two beautiful children together.
But as the years went by I started to understand what being gay meant and that my feelings for women were different. I looked around me, in the community and the media, and saw the happiness that came with being honest to yourself.
I felt free when I finally came out in my mid-30s. Everyone around me was supportive, including my team at work who knew about my sexuality and embraced who I was.
But I wasn’t “out” to the system.
Over the span of 16 years I had grown my career. I worked hard and it mattered to me. About a year after I came out, I had a life-changing accident that put my job on hold. I was critically ill and my partner had to call the school to let them know what happened. She remained the main point of contact throughout my recovery.
It didn’t take head office long to realise that we were in a relationship. When I returned to work, I was questioned about my sexuality and schooled on what to say to parents if they saw me out in public with my partner. I thought it especially cruel when my colleagues were told that they could not attend our wedding or give us any gifts.
In the final meeting I had with head office, I was told that because I failed to follow the Catholic ethos I was in breach of my contract and could no longer apply for any promotions. My bosses said while they wished me to continue in my role I could also be terminated at any point without warning.
I was in shock. I had grown my career in this system. How could being true to who I was and who I loved mean losing my career? And why didn’t the law offer me any protection? I still can’t understand how I could be judged not on my 16 years of service but on who I went home to at the end of the day.
I didn’t last much longer at that school, the only place of work I had known. I left not because I wanted to but because I was trapped in limbo, unable to progress my career and unsure of how long I would hold on to my job.
But more than that, I couldn’t live with the fact that in essentially lying about who I was and who I loved I was also denying those around me, both students and other staff, of the sort of positive representation I had lacked growing up. Representation is important and pretending we don’t exist damages generations of young people.
The law in Australia needs to change. It must catch up with who we are as Australians and how we expect people to be treated. Religious exemptions that deny LGBTIQ+ people the same protections as those afforded to other staff and students are backward and unjust in any society that considers itself fair and free.
I now work for an inclusive teaching system and I have students, parents and staff come to me because they feel safe talking about their own journeys and fears. I know for a fact that representation saves lives.
Staff should be judged on how well they do their jobs or care for their students and pupils should be able to go to school each day knowing that they are valued and supported.
At a time when the nation needs teachers more than ever and when it is more important to ensure all students have a safe place in schools, it is vital that governments put an end to these arcane, divisive and discriminatory practices immediately.
Education needs to be a safe place for all.
