I worry every time I write this column. Will people find it relevant? Do LGBT experiences matter to the people reading it? Is it going to be typecast as the “gay column”? I especially worry about the value of critiquing institutions like marriage, a ritual unlikely to change dramatically in the near future.

There is obvious importance in raising consciousness of relevant issues around gender and sexual expression, but I question whether this column meaningfully explores practical solutions to the reality of institutions like marriage. I often find myself walking away from conversations on gender and sexuality curious of their significance. As gender theorists such as Judith Butler are notorious for their highfalutin, inaccessible academic lexicon, I wonder if their work does much to help the “average person” deal with everyday obstacles related to gender expression and identity.

One central question seemed to hang over my thought-provoking Philosophy and Feminism class (taught by Professor Christia Mercer) every day last year as we delved deeper into the powerful nature of gender dynamics: what now? Now that we understand how gender norms are often used to limit and constrict people—especially women and LGBT people— what can we practically do to change these norms? Critically assessing the relevance of entire systems and paradigms, like I did in my last column on marriage, is important. But I think there is a certain reality to the idea that most people will always find some relevance and meaning in traditional norms and institutions. There are few better examples of this than the growing movement to make marriage a right and expectation of gay people as well as straight people.

And sooner or later, I’m going to be going to a lot of weddings. My sisters, my friends, my colleagues, even, perhaps, my divorced parents. I am left with a question that dogs me every time I hear about another engagement: how can I celebrate someone’s wedding when I am legally barred from it myself, when it is used to justify the stigmatization of my gayness, and when it undermines powerful and authentic queer alternatives to marriage?

The thought of not being able to completely celebrate the happiness of my sisters, friends, and parents on a day important to them feels uncomfortable and depressing, if not outright selfish. But the fact remains: they want to celebrate their “big day,” and there are people in their lives, like myself, who are barred from doing the same. I am prevented from marrying at all, and LGBT people are denied the respect and rights given to married couples when we explore non-traditional relationship choices. How can these family members and friends purport to care about me and the struggle of other queer people when they participate in what is probably the most public symbol of heterosexual expression at my exclusion?

The matter is not much different from certain aspects of racial privilege. How can I use social, political, and economic privileges I receive as a white person when my black friend may have no access to these same privileges? While sometimes with race these privileges are not legally codified and can be harder to identify, the privilege of marriage isn’t even remotely obscure: LGBT people are openly discriminated against as they are prevented from receiving these social and legal protections.

From the clear and noticeable privileges of marriage for heterosexuals lie some powerful ways of making practical change. One of the most meaningful things which an ally of any community can do is to use their privilege to address social inequality. In this case, marriage affords a couple a forum to express and celebrate themselves. And if they care about LGBT issues, they have an obligation to all the people in the room who have either been hurt by heterosexual marriage norms or who cannot get married themselves. If my sisters, my friends, and my parents take my life seriously and consider their participation in an institution which discriminates against queer people, they must speak up. I cannot be fully present if they don’t recognize my diminished presence in their space.

There are many ways couples can use their marriage privilege to help practically make the institution more equitable. Every couple can make a statement at their wedding ceremony about their desire to let all people, LGBT and not, gain marriage rights. They can consider the language and norms their ceremony may reinforce. Their vows can rejoice in the transcendence of love beyond strict gender and sexual lines. If they have a religious leader, he or she can speak of equality from a religious and spiritual perspective. The couple can ask guests to donate to a marriage equality cause in addition to getting them a traditional gift.

These gestures and others help to not only recognize the inequality inherent in a heterosexual marriage, but to send an influential and symbolical message about the need to change an institution in which they are partaking. Even more powerful is that message being delivered at the most public and emblematic component of marriage, the ceremony itself. Neither academic discussions nor these gestures of change will necessarily transform the situation for LGBT people on any large scale. But the constant work of thoughtful people­—queer or not—to recognize the injustices and pain faced by the people around them and commitment to making change can indeed begin the process. I sincerely hope this column has had some small part in doing just that.

Ira Stup is a student in the School of General Studies majoring in American studies.The Problem With Normal runs alternate Mondays.