I grew up thinking gossip meant power. I was wrong.
I’ll be honest — I used to think gossip made me special. And gossip, I mean information that is juicy, nasty, and exaggerated. It’s the truth bent for the sake of being dramatic, not for the intention of supporting the person being gossiped about or for goodwill.
As a kid, my mom loved knowing what other people were up to. Not just the polite updates — the drama. Her eyes would light up when she started in on a story about a cousin, a neighbour, a family friend. There was always some twist, some speculation, some whispered judgment. And she’d always end with:
“Don’t tell anyone I told you.”
It made me feel chosen. Like I was being let in on some elite emotional intel. It wasn’t until much later that I realized how damaging that kind of behavior is.
To trust.
To relationships.
To our own integrity and dignity.
The belief that gossip is currency — that it gives you value, power, relevance — is something I’ve been actively unlearning. Because I’ve now seen what it feels like to be on the other side of that whisper network.
When I left my well-paying government job to become a freelance writer focused on health, science, and parenting, it shook a few people in my circle. And not in a good way.
I started hearing things — not directly, but through the grapevine.
Family members thought I was nuts.
Some said I was “wasting my degrees.”
Others assumed I must be relying on my husband for everything now.
At one point, I found out my dad thought I was literally sitting at home, eating bonbons and doing nothing.
It was heartbreaking. And humiliating.
I’d taken a brave step toward what I truly wanted — and it was reduced to petty speculation.
But here’s what that experience taught me:
Gossip isn’t about the truth.
It’s about projection.
And control.
And avoidance.
It’s a way people avoid looking at their own lives by dissecting yours.
What I’ve learned — and am still learning — is that being the center of attention isn’t worth your peace. And gossip might give you a cheap hit of connection, but it can’t sustain real, meaningful relationships.
When we engage in gossip (whether spreading it or receiving it), we avoid doing the actual emotional labour of being honest, vulnerable, and kind to ourselves and others.
And here’s the thing: we usually gossip because we don’t know how to express what we’re really feeling — jealousy, judgment, fear, shame, insecurity.
That’s where emotional literacy comes in.
That’s why I created 60 Feelings To Feel: A Journal To Identify Your Emotions.
It helps you break the cycle of internalized drama and reactive communication by:
Giving you actual words for what you’re feeling
Helping you understand where those feelings come from
Showing you how to write through them rather than act them out
Replacing the cheap thrill of gossip with the rich satisfaction of emotional clarity
If you’re ready to stop participating in conversations that drain your energy and start tuning into your own emotional truth, get the journal here.
Let’s stop trading secrets and start telling ourselves the truth. We can be raw, vulnerable and show our authentic selves to those who matter to us. Connecting with others without an agenda is what it truly means to be human.
Until next time,
Katharine
