On March 31 I sat at my computer, microphone on, ready to speak. I felt the familiar nervous energy that comes when something matters. The invitation had come from a show called Living My Faith, and I admit I was surprised they had booked me. My background—an ordained minister with a Yale MDiv, someone who came out at 52 after a long marriage, the founder of a coaching community that supports women navigating queer identity in midlife, and the host of the podcast Coming Out & Beyond with more than 130 episodes—was public information. I had presented myself honestly, as I always do, believing that honest conversation across differences is possible.
Ten minutes after our scheduled start time a message arrived saying the interview would not proceed: the program had “opposing views” and preferred to move me to a different show called Making a Difference. The message framed my existence as a topic to be balanced with opposing voices on a separate platform. That framing—in which a person’s identity is treated like a debate subject—stung. I had shown up. The producers had not. Either they had not done the basic research available in seconds with a simple search, or they knew exactly who they invited and chose to cancel anyway. Both possibilities reveal different kinds of failure of professional and ethical responsibility.
The missed responsibility of hosts
Inviting someone into a conversation carries an implicit duty to understand who you are asking to speak. A host who says yes takes on the responsibility to know the guest’s background and the power dynamics at play. In this case, they had access to clear information: my role as a minister, my public work with women coming out later in life, and my decades-long engagement with faith communities. For a program called Living My Faith, such context is essential. When a platform withdraws at the eleventh hour and suggests another venue because there are “opposing views,” it reduces a life to a talking point and signals to listeners that certain identities are only worth discussing as contested issues.
The cancellation message and its implications
The message I received was brief and apologetic in tone but revealing in intent: the show was uncomfortable situating my experience alongside other opinions and would instead reassign me. That decision carried consequences beyond the moment. It sent a public signal that my identity could be sidelined for the sake of a manufactured balance, and it modeled to faith communities that it is acceptable to exclude people who make them uncomfortable. For people who already face marginalization in religious spaces, that kind of sidelining is familiar—and painful.
The ripple effects: personal attacks and public pressure
When I chose to write about the cancellation publicly and tag the host, the reaction crystallized what many of the women I work with feel privately. The host’s partner posted videos expressing contempt for queer people, and members of that church community flooded comment threads with abusive language. I have been called names before—labels like “abomination” and worse—and this episode produced a familiar cascade of vitriol. A media outlet connected to a prominent ministry, Victory News associated with Kenneth Copeland Ministries, reached out to run their version of the story; I declined to provide a statement. I refused to let this be reshaped into sensationalism by outlets primed to amplify harm.
The cost for the women I coach
The women who come to my coaching practice are typically in their 40s, 50s, and 60s, often emerging into queer identity after decades in heterosexual marriages and long-standing faith communities. Their conditioning runs deep: before questions of sexual orientation appear, they have been taught to put their own needs last, to carry the emotional labor of others, and to accept blame or silence as part of being “good”. Many live with pervasive guilt, shame, and fear that choosing themselves will ruin other people’s lives. Added on top of that are what theologians call clobber passages, a shorthand for a handful of biblical verses historically used to condemn queer people. These scriptural interpretations function like hand grenades dropped into fragile hearts—particularly when those hearts have been taught never to defend themselves.
Why I would not be silenced
I decided to refuse the rescheduled interview and to name the cancellation publicly not because I needed protection—I’ve weathered public attacks before—but because someone else might be watching who does not have my platform or credentials. Visibility can be a lifeline. When a person with a measure of public reach refuses to be reduced to a debate subject, it models resistance for others who are still learning to choose themselves. I want the women who carry decades of religious conditioning to see that holding one’s dignity in the face of institutional pressure is possible. My podcast work, coaching, and writing are aimed at creating space where queer faith stories can be heard without being turned into spectacles.
If you want to learn more about this work, I host the podcast Coming Out & Beyond, and my website is annemariezanzal.com. I continue to show up for the women who need someone to stand in the fire and demonstrate that surviving—and thriving—is an option.