Gaslighting: An Unscheduled Reflection

Burned by a fire they swear doesn't exist.

A Different Kind of Rat Race

I’m a planner. I’ve got a Substack writing calendar with post ideas laid out through April 2026. Next week I’ll be in the beautiful North Carolina mountains to plan a full year’s worth of sermons.

It’s not a boast, and it may not always be the best thing to do, but it’s how my brain works. It’s part of my rhythm or rule of life. It gives me space to jot down new ideas as they come without feeling the need to write it all in the moment. It gives me time to let the ideas simmer like a good soup, slowly deepening and intensifying the rich and complex flavors.

If you follow me on Substack Notes, you will have noticed the past few weeks that I’ve been struggling with the pressure to keep up with the 24/7 news cycle that demands immediate reactions. Keeping that pace only fuels our collective burnout and outrage. By the time most people can offer a thoughtful reflection on any issue, the world has moved on.

People talk about the rat race of staying busy. But we rarely talk about the one that keeps our thoughts and emotions spinning out of control, even when we are sitting still.

That’s why I generally don’t respond directly to the issue of the day, whether in posts or in sermons. My planning calendar keeps me grounded and reminds me that it’s not sustainable to chase every rabbit the talking heads send running through my garden.

It’s not that I don’t care. I just can’t keep up. I want to write from a place of quiet wisdom that will last beyond the momentary hype. A lofty goal, perhaps, and imperfect at best. Nevertheless, I don’t want my writing to become irrelevant every time the world moves on to the next point of outrage.

Why This? Why Now?

That being said, there are sometimes when an issue simmers for a while and I realize that it’s starting to bubble over. I can smell it scalding on the hot burner, and I know if I don’t act now, the cleanup will be a nightmare.

That’s why I’m starting a new subsection of posts called “Unscheduled Reflections.”

My every-other week posting schedule is an intentional way of slowing down and allowing my writing to simmer longer, both in me and in my readers. It’s a deliberate resistance to the endless demand for more content, for something new and shinier every day.

But that rhythm also gives me room for flexibility, room for unscheduled reflections when the pot is boiling over and silence doesn’t feel like an option.

I hope such reflections won’t be needed too frequently. I view them almost as a form of emergency response. I don’t want to live in a world where every week is another crisis, though lately it feels like there’s a new one every day.

I offer this extended introduction to provide context, and to give you the option to stop reading here.

An Invitation to Stop Reading

Yes, you read that right. I’m inviting you to stop reading.

Why?

Because I recognize that the immediate and often controversial topics of the day are probably not what brought you here.

It’s outside the norm of my regular reflective tone and timeless truths about being human and what it means to bear the divine image in everyday life. These “unscheduled reflections” may be a bit more raw, more reactive, and less polished than my usual posts. Like my regular postings, however, my one promise is that these reflections will be honest. I will never write anything less than this.

Given the vulnerable nature of what follows, I would love to hear your feedback. Please recognize that this is not a space for political arguments, talking points, or outrage. While I welcome conversation, I do ask that it remain civil, which is more than people on other platforms seem capable of.

If you are heading out now, I wish you well, thank you for reading, and I hope you will subscribe and stay tuned for my regularly scheduled post next Thursday (June 26) on the tension so many creative people feel between self-promotion / ego vs. the need and desire to offer our gifts to the world.

For those of you who are sticking with me, hang on. Here we go…

Gaslighting

A Poem

I’ve been struggling to put into words the deep angst I’ve felt watching the news cycle over the past few weeks. An entire series of long-form posts would not be enough to capture the deep sense of nausea and anger I have felt as I have watched the brutal and inhuman tactics of the ICE Raids across our country and the ever-increasing calls for political violence.

Let me be clear. This is not about the nuances of immigration policy or the legal status of individuals. It’s about how we treat our neighbors, legal or not.

And true to my intent for this Substack, it’s still about being human.

It’s also about the reactions I have seen and heard firsthand every time topics like this come up.

• You’re overreacting.

• The other side is worse.

• Fake News!

• Stop being political.

• Agree to disagree.

That’s why I’m writing this unscheduled reflection, to call it what it is: gaslighting.

On the surface, these phrases may seem harmless or even reasonable, but they are often used to shut down difficult conversations, dismiss real harm, and protect the status quo. They bend the truth and create an atmosphere where people begin to doubt their own experience.

Intentional or not, they are all forms of psychological manipulation.

Statements like these leave the person raising the concern feeling silenced, isolated, or even feeling like they are losing their grip on reality. Gaslighting doesn’t just deny what’s happening, it makes people question whether they have the right to feel anything about the issue at all.

No matter how people want to twist the facts to keep us silent, there are some things that are objectively true or false, even if your preferred news source never covers it.

Naming harm and standing with the vulnerable is not a partisan issue. Appeals to the evils of the other side, real or imagined, don’t excuse or justify the evils of the moment.

Everything is political, and when politics hurts real people, we can’t simply dismiss it in the name of “staying out of politics.” “Agree to disagree” works great when it comes to favorite ice cream flavors or restaurant choices, but some things are far too important to sweep under the rug of mere disagreement.

Fellow substacker Melissa Hughes put it better than I can when she writes:

I’m tired of pretending that bigotry is just “political opinion.” I’m tired of pretending that willful ignorance is a valid worldview. I’m tired of trying to find common ground with people who would set fire to the ground we stand on, then demand we meet them in the ashes.

Democracy requires dialogue. But it does not require deference to lies or indifference to cruelty against our fellow humans.

source: A Tale of Two Countries

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Gaslighting

A Poem

I’ve never been a poet, though I admire those who can express in words the emotion I cannot even fully understand in myself.

Nevertheless, no other form of writing felt appropriate for this moment. So here is my attempt…

GASLIGHTING

No water.
Just a few drops of dew.

The fire rages on.

What can I do?

“Pull others away,” someone says.
“Create a safe space.”

So I call out,

Get away from the fire!

But they keep pouring.
The flames grow.

Get away from the fire!

Another round,
red containers
passed down the line.

Wait.

Red?

They’re not buckets.
It’s not water.

More gas.
More gas!

Explosions in the flames!

Get away from the fire!

No.
No, it can't be.

They toss another can
into the blaze.

They smile
and turn to me.

“There is no fire.
Stop overreacting.”

I stare at the flames.
I feel the heat.
Eyes and lungs burning from the smoke.

There is no fire???

Some poems end with clarity, others with discomfort. This one leans toward the latter and perhaps that’s where it needs to stay. These issues should make us deeply uncomfortable.

If any of this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your story. Feel free to comment below.

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Thanks for reading. I’ll return next Thursday with a reflection on the tension many creatives feel between self-promotion and the genuine desire to offer our gifts to the world.