Episode 79: Black & white thinking turned into my greatest gift with Jancee Wright Part 1

Welcome everyone to the Beyond the Shadow of Doubt podcast. Today I have with me JC Wright—though I always want to say Fancy Janty because that’s her Instagram handle—and she really is pretty dang fancy, especially if you’ve seen her home reels and photos on Instagram. My dream is to be that organized!

JC is a friend of mine, a fellow coach, and a fellow LGBTQ+ mama. I’m so grateful you accepted my invitation to come on and share your story and faith journey with our listeners. Everyone’s story is unique—none better, none worse—and I think it’s so beautiful to learn about each person’s path.

So with that, take a moment and introduce yourself. Tell everyone a little about you.

Oh, you’re so sweet—thank you for that introduction. It’s funny, because a friend recently told me her daughter follows me on Instagram and thought my name was Fancy. She said, “I was watching Fancy today!” and I thought, “I’ll take it!”

I’m JC Wright. I live in St. George, Utah. I’ve been married for 29 years, and we have four kids. I call myself a simplifying coach, because organization always starts with simplifying first. I’m also a certified life coach, and I love what I do. Southern Utah is my playground—hiking, adventures, being outdoors—it’s a dream to live here.

You’ve got Zion National Park nearby, and the Grand Canyon isn’t too far either.

Yes! The Grand Canyon, Zion—it’s all my playground. I love it.

Tell us a little about your upbringing and your faith background. Was that also in St. George, or somewhere else?

I actually grew up in northern Utah—so the opposite end of the state. I was raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’m the oldest of six kids. We lived on a farm, so my dad taught me how to work hard—milking cows, doing chores, all the “un-fancy” things.

My parents were very black-and-white in their thinking, and I was the same. When my husband and I got married, that’s how we started raising our kids—everything was pretty clear-cut. I thought that was the only way to true happiness… until life taught me otherwise. I loved my faith and thought it was the way, until experiences shifted my understanding, and I’m so grateful for that growth.

Thank you for sharing that. I think a lot of us can relate—especially those of us who’ve realized how black-and-white our thinking used to be.

For me, as an LGBTQ+ parent, it took work to even allow myself to ask questions or have doubts. In many faith traditions, questions and doubts are seen as something to fear or feel shame about. What was that experience like for you?

Absolutely. I’ve come to realize so much of it was fear-based.

If I go back to my teenage years, I remember a neighbor’s son came out as gay and was getting married—this was when same-sex marriage was only legal in Nevada. I overheard my parents talking about how “disgusting” it was, how they couldn’t believe it. That was my first exposure to anyone LGBTQ+, and I internalized that it was “bad.”

Fast forward: I didn’t know anyone gay for years. We lived back east for a while, and even if there were LGBTQ+ people around me, I avoided them—because of that same fear.

Then my own son—his senior year of high school—was heavily involved in theater and music. One night, he went to a play, and somehow a text meant for him came to my phone. It said something like, “I know you’re gay…” and my heart just dropped.

I went into his room, grabbed his shoulders, and said, “You are not gay. This is not okay.”

Even saying that now brings tears to my eyes, because I know I didn’t handle it right. It was all fear—fear from my upbringing, from what I’d been taught. He cried, I cried. He said, “I’m sorry, I’m not,” and we ended up meeting with a church leader.

After that, we never talked about it again. He later served a mission, and I thought, “That’s in the past.” But when he came home, that fear was still there.

Then one night, he asked to talk. I thought he wanted help finding a life coach—he’d mentioned wanting one—and I was so excited because I’d just become a certified coach myself. But what I didn’t know was that he had already found a life coach—to help him find the courage to tell us he was gay.

That night, before we even spoke, I had this spiritual impression that that’s what he was going to say. And I felt peace—complete peace.

That’s when everything changed. Coaching had taught me that I could choose my thoughts. I didn’t have to think the way my parents did. I didn’t have to see this as something wrong. I could choose to think differently—and that gave me peace.

When he told us, it was beautiful. There were hugs, love, tears—but peaceful tears. And I realized I’d needed those earlier hard experiences so I could fully appreciate the difference between fear and peace.

That’s such a powerful shift. You said you used your coaching tools to reframe your thoughts—what did that look like for you in practice?

What I love about coaching is realizing that our thoughts create our feelings, which drive our actions.

So I chose to think, My child is a child of God, created exactly as he’s meant to be. How beautiful that I get to love him.

That thought changed everything. It taught me the true meaning of unconditional love—love that isn’t dependent on anything.

And I truly believe God prepares us ahead of time for what’s coming. For example, during my life coach certification, we were assigned to pick a practice partner from a list of 350 names. I randomly picked a woman named Jenny Hunter. I didn’t know her or her niche—just the name stood out.

We coached together for six weeks, and I had no idea she had a gay son. Then, a couple months later—after my son came out—I was scrolling Instagram, feeling lonely and overwhelmed, and I saw a post from Jenny sharing her story about her gay son. I burst into tears. I texted her immediately: “My son just told me he’s gay, and I feel so alone.”

Within an hour, she was coaching me over Zoom. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone yet, but she felt like a safe space.

What are the odds that, out of 350 people, I’d pick her? That wasn’t chance. That was God.

That experience taught me that God truly knows us and prepares people in our path long before we know we’ll need them. He’s always got me.

Wow. That story gives me chills. It’s incredible how divinely orchestrated that was—and how, even in the loneliness of this journey, we eventually find our people.

Exactly. It’s so lonely at first. That’s why what you’re doing with this podcast is so important. Having a safe space to hear others’ stories—to know you’re not alone—is life-giving.

When I was first going through it, I listened to the Listen, Learn, and Love podcast every single day on my walks. It was my lifeline.

Now I’m in a place where I can share my story to be that lifeline for someone else. Because yes, it’s hard—it’s one of the hardest things you’ll ever go through—but if you can shift your mindset, there’s so much beauty on the other side.

I completely agree. It was when I leaned into my doubts—my uncertainty—that I found peace. Doubt just means uncertainty, and uncertainty isn’t bad.

When I finally allowed myself uncertainty, I found breathing room. I found peace. I stopped needing everything to make sense, and I learned to trust that God’s goodness and love are far more expansive than I’d ever understood before.

Yes. Exactly.

And I wanted to pause to tell you something, because I saw the emotion on your face earlier when you talked about that first time your son came out. You said you didn’t handle it well, and you felt shame. But I want to remind you—and anyone listening—you did the best you knew how at the time.

When we know better, we do better. And our kids see that. They feel that.

Even when we’ve made mistakes, we can still repair. We can still apologize, reconnect, and show love. That humility—admitting we’re human—is where healing and deeper love happen.

Yes. Tears come up for me even hearing that. I’ve forgiven myself, but it still brings emotion. And that’s okay.

It is okay. That emotion is love.

Exactly.