Am I Lady Whistledown?
52: or is Lady Whistledown me? lol jk but am I?…?…!
Warning:
Bridgerton Season 3 spoilers ahead! If you haven’t seen it— Go watch it!! It’s my favorite season of any show I have ever watched!!
My mom just watched Season 1— YAY MOM! (But also, mom, don’t read this just yet!)
Dearest Gentle Readers,
Season 3 of Bridgerton had me on the edge of my seat and crying my eyes out— more than once. As usual, I do not expect my reaction to be the general consensus; however, this time I have a specific reason why.
This particular season was one I was looking forward to. The main love story includes my favorite character on the show: Penelope Featherington. But the relationship between her and Colin Bridgerton, with its classic friends-to-lovers trope, reminds me so much of Zach and I’s relationship, it took one episode to make the comparison. Like Colin and Pen (as Colin lovingly calls her), Zach and I were friends for some years before dating. We had to navigate the fact that I fell for Zach when I first met him and he only realized his feelings for me years later after an eye-opening dream. After our first kiss, without much explanation or time passing, the seriousness of our relationship was cemented and we were on track toward forever before I even knew he was calling me his girlfriend. Bridgerton fans— sound familiar?
But Part 2 of Season 3? There are no words… but I will attempt to find them.
Penelope starts her publication when she feels truly invisible and powerless in her life. Her family doesn’t respect her opinions, she struggles with social anxiety, and her crush doesn’t like her back (yet), but she has a secret talent: she is an exquisite writer. She uses this skill to covertly publish a gossip column in the Society Papers, which is a fancy pamphlet in which she shares information she has learned while going unnoticed in public. Her writing becomes a tension point in the ton. Most everyone enjoys tuning in to the hot gossip, but there are some— those specifically named in the column, like the Queen— who look negatively upon a mysterious author parading her opinions under the sexy pseudonym of Lady Whistledown.
“It’s appalling, what a shame!
They’ll disgrace their family name”
There are consequences to her writing. When her best and only friend Eloise finds out, Eloise stops speaking to her. When her mother finds out, she is heartbroken that Penelope would write such things, about her family and herself. When her husband-to-be finds out, he loses all trust in her and doesn’t understand why she wants to continue the column at all. But perhaps the most frightening plot point for me was Penelope being publicly hunted down by the perhaps-mentally-unstable Queen. I am most likely still traumatized by the romance comic I was reading that turned into a horror story out of nowhere, so I was very distracted by my fear of what the Queen was going to do to Penelope once she found out who was poking fun at her for years. Thankfully, Bridgerton remained a textbook romantic drama with no bloody visual! (PHEW. I can sleep easy at night.) For the full scene where Penelope confesses, one of my favorite scenes in a long list of favorites from this series, click here.
Along with the fear of unknown consequences from unpredictable authorities who wished to unearth her identity, Penelope was given a sort of ultimatum: she could continue to be Lady Whistledown or become Mrs. Bridgerton and put her precious column to rest. Even after I stopped worrying about Penelope being murdered, I felt anxious— like I was the one hiding my identity from the queen. Like I was the one needing to choose between two desires of my heart. Well, because I was. Would I choose to be seen as I am or to be accepted by the majority? Part 1 of Season 3 had mirrored my past; would Part 2 mirror my future?
And did I want it to?
(Spoiler alert: yes.)
“I know it is no laughing matter what I have done. In the beginning, I never thought anyone would take my writing seriously. Why should they? No one has ever taken any part of me seriously.”
— Penelope Bridgerton, S3 Ep8
While I do not claim to be an expert on anything but my own experience, I feared the types of consequences1 I could face for my writing. I had to decide what was more important to me: “speaking my truth or hurting no one’s feelings.” I could do both or neither. And I know I can’t spend another moment living in silence.
“It’s feeling strange, man, this whole arrangement
Is gonna end with me totally deranged!”
After 10+ years at my former church, keeping up a sort of facade in almost every social situation I found myself in— hiding parts of myself that I felt would be rejected by others— it was a huge relief to begin sharing my stories here on Gabbin’ Away Again. In any given circumstance, I could be perceived as too nerdy, not intelligent, too clingy, too open, too religious, not religious enough, too risqué, too cute to take seriously, too political, not subtle enough, too much or not enough for anyone. I advertised myself as an open book, but this was not because I was being read. But even when given a personal invitation into my heart, that offer was seldom taken, sometimes completely refused. They didn’t want to know. They sure as hell never asked. But whenever I heard anyone assume something of me (“Gabby’s gone to this church her whole life.” “Gabby would hate that.” “Gabby is very religious and conservative.”), I became frantic. People didn’t know me. And I needed them to.
I spent a lot of my time trying very hard to share my life story with people who never asked and seemed overall displeased that I was still talking. I was dismissed due to what I was saying, how much I was saying, or how enthusiastic and ready I was to share it. I’m not sure, but—like Penelope— I very much felt like “a young lady to whom no one listens.” Previously, I have labeled my compulsive honesty as a trauma response and looked down on myself for feeling such a pull toward sharing. I didn’t realize I was actually rejecting myself and looking for the approval of others until my therapist pointed it out. Authenticity, she said, is one of my core values and that most definitely comes from God. I felt pulled to expression and honesty for a reason.
I loved that new perspective, with no shame tucked into its corners.
“I will not hang my head.
His banner is over me.
He said I am his poetry;
He won’t waste a word.”
And so, when I was feeling most unlike myself— working at a church that only recently started standing strongly in what I didn’t believe in— I think my secret heart for justice had no choice but to explode out onto the (virtual) page. This publication has become my favorite creative outlet and it feels more like a horcux now than a blog— minus the evil and the murder, of course, lol. However, I do feel like I had to sacrifice a version of myself (that I had made to be accepted by others) in order to make room for my authentic self.
“I see now how much courage it takes to live a life out in the open.”
— Penelope Bridgerton
Posting publicly means anyone can read my writing. I knew this. And part of being my true self is having to make myself vulnerable to rejection, something I already feared. All is made harder still when, in my case, this rejection happened on a wide scale. I lost my job, I lost my church, I lost friendships, I lost the respect of family members, and, sadly, I honestly lost a lot of my trust in people. I know all of this has and will come with a lot of lessons learned and changes for the better, so I believe it was all meant to happen, but rejection hurts, especially for an adoptee like moi.
And now that I’ve experienced the biggest forms of rejection all at once and survived… I feel freer than I ever have of the bondage of that fear.
“Don’t trust nobody
Baby, we’re outlaws,
Rebel with a cause.
Ooh, she got jaws.”
This publication is not something I am forcing onto others. I have created a platform in which my heartfelt words could live, where those who care about me can choose to tune in. To start out, I only shared my blog with my closest friends, but over time, I became more confident and proud of my work. I was processing and sharing the happenings in my life, as I would while talking to a friend. I was getting something from my blog that I was lacking in my life: freedom. As confidence in myself grew, I began sharing more, no longer feeling the need to hide what I had built online. In many ways, I wanted everyone I knew to find my blog. I wanted to feel— ideally loved, but at the very least— known.
But being seen is not the same as being known.
Even when I take the necessary time to craft my essays— trying to spot every pesky spelling error and taking even more time to discover and present my feelings on these matters— it still does not guarantee people will understand or, more accurately, accept what I have to say. Even though the last few months likely took years off of my life, I do not regret having shared what I have. On the contrary, I am actually really sad for Past Gabby, who constantly felt powerless and insecure in her community. I wish I’d been given the opportunity or just felt safe enough to share how I had been feeling back then, from the get-go even. Maybe it would have saved me the years of heartache, wondering if finding out who I really am and what I stood for would turn people away.
I was doing what I could to stay in the community, to not be rejected. This church had been my home, but only when I was who they wanted me to be. I only mourn what I wished this community could be for me and others like me. The silence from so many people I once thought cared for me is deafening. It almost physically hurts.
“Guess I shouldn’t have kept the knife in my heart for so long.
Guess I shouldn’t have held back when I needed you to know.”
“Gossip Forges Bonds.”
Much of what Penelope said in her final speech (with the audience of the queen and everyone she had ever met) resonated heavily with me. It was refreshing to hear someone say what I have said since I started my blog: “regardless of the outcome I always have worth.” Even when people began to react negatively to my writing, I stood strong. Good writing is vulnerable and honest and good gossip is rich and full of information. Sharing experiences and questioning decisions made around us has continued to be a way that women in particular have been able to have some semblance of power throughout history, in a world that didn’t give them any and told them so little.
“A word after a word after a word is power.”
— Margaret Atwood (author of The Handmaid’s Tale)
There is still fear in sharing my story but only because it comes with the threat to our livelihood. It’s hard to share anything or make any sort of decision when I don’t know how close I am to stepping outside of the secretly drawn, undefined lines. Oh, don’t I know it, that “no church is perfect.” But my departure is not born of pickiness. My trust has been broken, my existence denied, my story twisted… by this church. I simply cannot accept their treatment of me as “kind and generous” when I have been continuously ignored as an individual and denied a place at the table where people I do not know are questioning my husband about personal aspects of our relationship without me present. I am not an individual in their eyes, it seems. I am a woman2, or— more accurately— a disgruntled wife.
I desperately need to leave this toxic environment.
Why are there current employees that are scared to appear to be associated with me? Perhaps because showing support of me as a friend could result in consequences at work, such as meetings bordering on interrogations, required leaves, and terminations. People have been fired for being “unsure” how they felt about my LGBTQ-inclusion post, instead of being absolutely sure it was sinful.
I am puzzled why sharing my experiences has garnered such a negative reaction against me instead of toward the organization. What I am sharing is happening to me and to those around me. I do not lie. Me and my current unemployment status can testify, along with my fired friends who are also struggling to find jobs in the current market (who aren’t qualified to receive unemployment benefits due to reasons I was just informed of).
Don’t even get me started…
When the sexuality series3 aired, it felt like I was no longer safe in my church (which was also my place of work) and with the people I knew there who attended (who also worked there and were some of our closest friends). The muddiness of it all is incestuous. I mourn the silent heartbreaks of the closeted queer people (that I know on and off staff, those who may have been attending for the first time, or those pulled there by someone they loved) who unfortunately got a warped version of the gospel that didn’t save any room for Jesus’ unconditional love.
Even though many people are upset by what I am saying on this blog, I hope my story ripples out to those who are dying to hear it, dying for someone to come alongside them at a church that claims they want to be known for what they’re for more than what they’re against. I want to find and help the demographic my former church was unwilling to reach: the queer community. I need them to know they are loved by God and welcome at His table exactly as they are (and should not be “discouraged from being baptized” until they shamefully conform to a specific, narrow view of what a Christ-follower looks like).
I firmly believe I was sitting at the tables Jesus would have flipped.
My blog has been labeled as divisive, but I would venture to call this church divisive, being the ones to make it crystal clear who receives all of Jesus’ love and whose love has an asterisk. Time and time again, they reveal just how little they know about queer people and just how much they refuse to learn. Can they not let go of their need for control? I do not see God’s mercy or Jesus’ loving nature in this. Christians believe that Jesus unifies us with God. Sin is defined (by this church) as something that separates of us from God. It is my belief that this church has created a roadblock for many gay believers. And for that I believe they are living in sin.
“And I can go anywhere I want
Anywhere I want
Just not home.”
I know all of their decisions and the messy, disrespectful ways they have handled this situation were all a result of fear. I know God will accomplish big things regardless, but I think they would be wise not to take so much credit for His victories and stop underestimating just how wrong their wrongs are. Perhaps the sheer volume of attendees and the growing conservative marketing opportunities have warped their morals, but when multiple current staff members are scared to lose their jobs by helping a friend or by honestly reviewing their workplace on the annual “Best Christian Workplace Surveys”, that presents a huge problem: is God leading this church or is fear?
I will continue to pray that God changes the minds and hearts of those in leadership who do not support full inclusion of LGBTQ+ persons in the church— specifically the executive pastors, the teaching pastors, and the mysterious elders. The root of their fight is fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of change. Fear of being perceived negatively. Fear of being wrong. All of these, things that I no longer lose sleep over (well, not every night).
Learning to Live & Learning to Love
This year, Zach and I have been married for 5 years, together for 10, and in each other’s lives for 12! That is almost half my life. Being in a relationship with someone for as long as we have changes you. We have made each other something entirely new, while together or apart. We see the world through our own eyes but also through the lens in which our partner sees as well. I am so thankful for Zach’s perspective to broaden my worldview, as I know he is for mine. It is through Zach’s lens of love that I learn more about God’s love for me than any pastor’s message could ever show me. There is no sermon that can connect with you the way another human being can. It is through relationships we can become better and it is through relationships that we can learn about love— what love is and what love isn’t.
In the only pastoral meeting I was permitted to attend during this whole debacle, the pastor spoke of how long he has known Zach and his family, but how he didn’t know anything about me at all. Following this fact, he encouraged me to be honest with him and assured me he was someone I could trust during this time. But the fact of the matter was: I didn’t trust him. I don’t know him and he doesn’t know me. Nor did he want to.
Before our meeting ended, I asked him if he had read my blog. This was not because I felt I had presented an impeccable biblical argument (This man is a biblical scholar. I am not a fool, as some may think). I simply explained that if he wanted to get to know me, reading my blog would be a great way to do that. He said he couldn’t promise he would read it. And I haven’t heard from him since.
To have no intention or desire to get to know me and still have the gall to say you care about me…
If I try to lean on my own limited understanding of that pastor, I am at a loss. I am angry and I am hurt. And even though leaning on God in this doesn’t take away those hard feelings, it is comforting to know that God understands that pastor and his heart in a way that I cannot. God loves this pastor just like God loves all people. Just like God loves me. God is love. And it’s way bigger and more powerful and more complex than any English translation, any suburban interpretation, or any human words can verbalize. We can sure attempt, but love is meant to be shown. Like in an extra long, tearful hug from my Zachy, which communicates it all perfectly.
When I posted about my adoption, it was the first time my parents heard a lot of what I had to say on this big, sensitive topic. But, through that post, the relationship between my parents and I was strengthened. After their initial fear subsided, they read the post, saw the care I had put into crafting it, and heard my heart through my words. They are now paid subscribers and they read every week, knowing that reading what I write is a huge part of how I can feel loved and seen by them. They talk to me about what I write, compliment my writing, and apply what they’ve learned about me through my blog in real life. I’m being brought to tears right now, thinking about how much I love my parents and how thankful I am for our current closeness. I know the last couple of years have been tough, but I am so thankful to you both for putting in the work for us to be close again. Your support during this time of so much stress and uncertainty has meant everything to us. 💖
Thank You to YOU.
I have gotten so much support and made deeper connections with many people I know in real life who have subscribed and taken the convo to our next hangout. So, thank you to my parents, close friends, and the nameless subscribers whose emails are a mystery to me (hi new friends!) for your likes, your messages and, when possible, your money. (❤️) These people in my foundational support system are priceless and precious to me.
Thank you for loving me no matter what, like I believe a certain man of the bible would.
Thank you for freeing me of your expectations of me.
Thank you for asking me about my experience, my beliefs, and my decisions with no aim to preach or condemn.
Thank you for loving me enough to unlock the healthy kind of challenging that only loving relationships can foster.
Thank you for taking steps to become fluent in my love language.
Thank you for prioritizing me.
Thank you for apologizing.
Thank you for meeting me where I am when I had no strength left to meet you.
Thank you for always trying for a deeper connection, always reaching, always looking. Texting and planning and following through.
I will always remember what you’ve been during this time.
Sincerely,
Me
“I am eight years old in Ohio.
It is time for the annual church bazaar.
There’s a cake-baking contest.
I am going to be the big star!
But I don’t want to make a German chocolate
And a seven-layer I’ll never complete,
So I show up with pride this morning
With a tray of Rice Krispie treats.
And they try to push them aside,
Say that they are too strange to compete.
And sure, most of the judges award the red velvet.
But one picks the Rice Krispie treats
Let our show be the Rice Krispie treat.
I’d rather be nine people’s favorite thing
Than a hundred people’s ninth favorite thing.”
🌻ART SHOW & TELL🌻
August 22 Poem
I wrote this because a Bluey episode inspired me to. (A sentence that could be true for many things I write.)
You tell my sadness, they have to be polite. You tell my anger, there’s no cause for fight… Let me have a little cry Moan and wail and wonder why So I can pick myself up, Dust myself off, And keep going. Let me yell and shout and scream it “I didn’t get the care I needed!” So I can pick myself up, Dust myself off, And keep going. When seen in their entirety, Felt fully, they’re gone They might come back up And I might try them back on I might wake up crying Scared to sleep until dawn But then, I get up Dust myself off, And keep going… The show must go on.
Time for some TLCCC💕
Treating myself to: A day with my birth mom at the Phoenix Art Museum for an art education event— I got to take a theater class!! I also just started watching Sex & the City for the first time (I was so shocked to hear the main character Carrie is a writer as well) and I am definitely needing to carve out time to watch. I’m addicted though! 🙈
Listening to: Nonstop Chappell Roan & Porter Robinson (who we just got tickets to see!!)
Crafting: with the Crafty Gals again!! We did a paint and pass (back when I wrote the first version of this) and the one I got to keep is shown below.
Craving: Cup Noodles Stir Fry & hard boiled eggs with the infamous spray butter. (Don’t knock it ‘til ya try it!)
Caring SO much about: my parents for being so supportive of me. My dad got ME a father’s day gift: a blanket declaring I AM THE STORM. Thanks Daddio. :)
✦✧
P.S. Hey you— I do always miss my favorite things about you when I am not with you, no matter how angry I am.
With no NDA, and the definition of defamation being “any false information that harms the reputation of a person, business, or organization,” I feel I am in good standing. I’m not lying. I did my research. The law protects my right to say what I believe to be true. I am aware the truth of my experience may differ from the experiences of others, but I am not making anything up.
“A strong-willed woman” is a type of woman “any team would struggle with” — as an exec pastor said to me, more than once.
Click the hyperlink for specific rebuttals to the main pastor’s points for those who are curious. Shoutout to Rebekah Krevens, main pastor at Foothills, who felt prompted to create the spreadsheet in response to the first sermon as a pastoral response to some of my members and visitors who were affected by it.