They Banned Gay Adoption. So We Made an Escape Plan

"Why haven't you two left Mississippi?"

That is a frequent question asked of me, Susan, and my wife Kathy over the years. Truth be told, the thought has crossed our minds. Years ago, we even got maps out and dreamed about where we might want to go.

Ultimately, we chose to stay in Mississippi because we wanted to be a part of the change we knew would come. We wanted our nearly four-decades-long relationship and hard-earned visibility in our community to be a testament to other LGBTQ Mississippians coming after us.

We don't want others to be required to acquiesce to Southern "respectability" by denying their humanity or hiding as society expected of us in 1993 when we'd draw the blinds inside our home.

Our original wedding day was 22 years before the U.S. Supreme Court ruling that would grant marriage equality to gay and lesbian couples. We told a group of close friends they were attending a house blessing on that important day.

One of our dearest friends, a priest, married us—though he was at risk of being defrocked for officiating a ceremony for a lesbian couple. Neither of us could afford to be out at the time without risking our livelihoods.

Kathy was in an appointed position as director of Hattiesburg's city planning department. In those days, lesbian rumors were enough for the city council to refuse to affirm my directorship. The pain from that experience is still palpable today.

Then and now, there are very few spaces in Mississippi where LGBTQ people feel empowered to enter as authentic human beings without the threat of judgment, of being denied service, or looking over their shoulders in fear of those who would do us harm.

When LGBTQ people are in the closet, we have to find spaces where we can be safe. In the 80s and 90s, we met in people's homes. Hattiesburg didn't have a gay bar. If we wanted to go to a gay bar, we had to go to Jackson or New Orleans. And you can't just say I'm going to drive two hours to drink with people, but we did.

You wanted to surround yourself with people you could be yourself with. For many, gay bars are a place of refuge from a judgmental society—even more so—from the religious right, which dominates everything from politics to watercooler conversations in the South, especially in Mississippi.

As the times began to change in 2012, I, as a lesbian, devout Christian, and Episcopal priest, navigated conservative doctrine and attitudes to win the respect of members as a spiritual leader in the Episcopal Church, becoming the first out Episcopal clergy to lead a congregation in the state.

Kathy and I shed tears of joy at this incredible accomplishment. But it was the tear-filled eyes of LGBTQ church members and our straight allies who realized that the door of love and acceptance had won that truly overwhelmed us.

That same faith community showed us great love, support, and excitement when we expanded our family in 1999. And they welcomed and loved our greatest blessing, our son, Hudson.

He was born via artificial insemination and carried by Kathy. We would have had him sooner, but I feared the bullying I thought he would endure for having two moms in Mississippi.

But whatever bullying Hudson might have received—and we thank God it was minimal—he was unfazed by it. He has a strong constitution and has always had many friends who support and love him and our family.

As the non-biological mom of our child, I planned to adopt Hudson as a second parent as soon as he was born. But the year he was born, the Mississippi Legislature passed and the governor signed a ban on gay adoptions.

This was yet another piece of Mississippi's humiliating legislation along with the Religious Freedom Restoration Act (RFRA) laws, such as the infamous HB 1523.

When same-sex marriage became legal, we felt compelled to join three other lesbian couples in the 2015 lawsuit responsible for overturning the discriminatory adoption law guided masterfully in court by renowned civil rights attorney Roberta Kaplan.

In our state, being plaintiffs in removing the last remaining adoption ban in the U.S. was not only very personal, but we understood the much broader implications of the decision for families like ours and those considering parenthood.

Before the adoption ban was overturned, there was a real fear among gay and lesbian parents in Mississippi that our children could be snatched away from us by the state at any time.

Kathy remembers not missing one sporting event throughout Hudson's elementary and high school years because she wondered if officials would let me take care of him if something happened to him.

This fear was experienced in public, but it also came home with us. I had an escape plan if some official came to our front door and tried to take custody of our baby.

I remember us having a privacy fence around our backyard, and a gate at the back of the yard that goes to a ditch. My plan was to grab Hudson, wrap him up, go down the ditch to our friend's house around the corner, and then hide in their back bedroom.

We can laugh about that now, but it was no laughing matter then. The RFRA laws still impose on our fundamental human rights. It's frustrating that conservatives use queer people and families like ours as political pawns.

Mississippi is the poorest, the least educated, the sickest state with the least access to health care. We are last in everything you don't want to be last in, first in everything you don't want to be first in, but the politicians use LGBTQ people as a red herring. A red herring meant to take eyes away from the real issues of our wonderful state.

Our hospitals, our infrastructure, and our schools are falling apart. Recently, Mississippi experienced the most egregious fraud scandal in the history of the state, but politicians are proud to say: "We saved you from the gay and transgender folks."

Despite all this, we are convinced that Mississippi is not a bad place. It is full of wonderful people, and we are blessed to have a supportive community of straight and gay family and friends.

Unfortunately, Mississippi's governor and some legislators have a long history of exploiting people like us.

Despite the highs and lows, the progress and setbacks, our son Hudson never fails to remind us how proud he is of his two moms, not only for the personal and professional sacrifices we've made for our family but also for families like ours that we'll never meet.

We're proud of him, too!

The Reverend Dr. Susan Hrostowski is a native of Gulfport, MS, and Hattiesburg by choice and is an Episcopal priest and professor of social work at the University of Southern Mississippi.

Kathy Garner is a native of Hattiesburg, MS. She is currently the Executive Director of AIDS Services Coalition, a non-profit, community-based organization that provides housing and supportive services for people living with or affected by HIV.

All views expressed in this article are the author's own.

Do you have a unique experience or personal story to share? Email the My Turn team at myturn@newsweek.com