Religious Trauma: A Survivor's Perspective

A seven-part series for Spiritual Abuse Awareness Month

January is Spiritual Abuse Awareness Month and while I have written extensively on this topic (see posts in the section: Religious Trauma), I have not specifically addressed the seven perspectives on religious trauma that inform my writing. That is what I hope to accomplish through this seven-part series that includes my perspectives as a child, survivor, woman, parent, educator, ministry leader, and trauma-informed advocate. While I sat in all six chairs at one time or another, not all share my story. I hope this series will be helpful to those who have not sat in particular chairs—and affirming to those who have.

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A Survivor’s Perspective on Religious Trauma

(Content warning: Sexual Abuse) The focus of the term survivor in this post is that of sexual abuse though the term can be appropriately used for other types of abuse.

By the time I graduated from high school, my story included at least eight separate times when I was sexually abused. My vulnerability was easily spotted and resulted in continuing sexual abuse as a young adult. All of these abuses were in some way connected to men or boys who attended church* with me, some who taught me about God. This was one aspect of the religious trauma I experienced as a survivor.

(See: What is Religious Trauma?)

The reasons that abuse during early childhood and the lack of attachment with my mother caused me to be so vulnerable are detailed in my first two books, Brave: Healing Childhood Trauma and Jeannie’s Brave Childhood: Behavior and Healing through the Lens of Attachment and Trauma. What I did not address in those books was how my upbringing in church communities added a layer of vulnerability that would almost destroy me as a young adult. My confusion over who to trust and my inability to recognize when boundaries were crossed—or set them—was a second aspect of religious trauma.

Before I go further, I need to say that I received many benefits from my church experiences. My father was an amazing model of how to love and care for others. Small churches allowed me to develop leadership skills. These multigenerational churches also provided opportunities to engage with people of all ages. Serving others was built into the fabric of my life. I am grateful for all of these experiences. I was well-loved and respected—and naive.

I have spent years figuring out why I was so trusting and naive when I launched into my young adult life. The wolves in sheep’s clothing recognized me immediately. Statistically, it makes sense that I would continue to be victimized.

“Female students who have experienced sexual assault prior to college are at greater risk for victimization while in college. This population is victimized at a rate of approximately 40.6%.” (Source)

The ACE study found that those with a higher number of adverse childhood experiences are more likely to participate in risky sexual behaviors. This is often attributed to moral failure instead of challenges in setting boundaries, struggling with unmet attachment needs, attempts to regulate a dysregulated nervous system, inability to recognize potential danger, or the normalization of abuse during childhood.

All of these factors would be true of girls (or boys) who are raised both in or outside of church settings. The church is not the only place where some in positions of trust prey upon the vulnerable. Many of these problems are societal and not church-specific.

Despite the church being part of a larger society in which young adults are vulnerable, there were several factors I have come to understand as they pertain to how I navigated my life as a survivor within the church community. These factors added layers of shame on top of the sexual abuse and were a third source of religious trauma in my life. At the top of the list was the call to forgive. The acceptance of a survivor within faith communities almost always hinges on repentance and willingness to forgive.

Everyone who attends a church has heard a sermon on forgiveness. It is part of The Lord’s Prayer; its importance in the scriptures cannot be denied. While I would never tell a survivor they must forgive their abusers, I do not deny that it might be helpful if they could set that burden down. My greatest issue is that it was always spoken of as if what we needed to forgive was at the level of someone calling us ugly—not the deep relational betrayal of sexual abuse. The assumption was that if we were truly seeking God, we could manage to forgive.

Maybe a rare survivor can speak forgiveness into reality and heal their wounded soul, but more often the pressure to do this only drives the pain deeper. This shuts down the grieving process that is essential to healing. There is pressure to be done with grieving of all types, but the pressure to move on is particularly damaging to survivors who often internalize that they are to blame for the abuse. In this scenario, pain turns inward and becomes self-loathing. Church teachings on original sin reinforce self-loathing.

For all these reasons—and more—the church was the least likely place for me to heal. While the abuse by church members and leaders was intentional, the ways that healing was blocked were not. This is an important distinction.

How survivors are cared for in the church is in direct correlation to theological beliefs. Not all theology looks like Jesus and yet there are ample Bible verses that can be used to support such views if one is bent on doing so. Beliefs based on dogma or theology are the most resistant to change.

Almost everything necessary to heal from the sexual abuse was thwarted in churches that lacked an understanding of the physical, emotional, and spiritual impact. It is diminishing and cruel to lump everything in a category called “church harm.” I cannot explain the level of anger I feel when someone posts something something along the lines of, “Oh honey, I know you have been hurt. The church is filled with imperfect people—we are all humans saved by grace.” This is not helpful to survivors!

It is this type of thinking that places sexual predators in the same category as someone who told a lie. It is a subtle form of victim blaming. After fifth grade, I never told anyone about my abuse because I understood I would be shamed for telling and there would be no accountability for the one who harmed me. Instead, the emphasis would be restoring them, not caring for me. I was not wrong about this.

The teachings on forgiveness and restoration silenced me in my pain. By the time I walked into therapy over forty years later, I fully believed the problem was me. Church teachings and culture did an excellent job of convincing me of the following:

• My sin is at the root of all my struggles. (No, the sins of others were the root cause.)

• Healing can only happen if I forgive those who harmed me. (Forgiveness if ever possible can only occur through healing.)

• Attending and serving in the church is how to belong, feel safe, and grow spiritually. (This does not address felt safety as a survivor).

• Doubting religious teachings or the leadership placed over me demonstrates a lack of submission and faith. (This is the unhealthy submission that caused me to be so vulnerable and feel like a spiritual failure.)

• My identity can only be in Christ—I have no inherent value outside of this. (No, I was created by God with my own identity which the abuse and the church’s diminishment of self robbed from me.)

• Self-care choices and developing autonomy are selfish. (Powerlessness is a hallmark of the impact of sexual abuse and growth in both of these areas is essential to healing.)

• Seeking (secular) help outside of the context of the church will cause me to lose my faith. (Loss of religious trappings that imprisoned me? Yes. Loss of faith? No. The very opposite has been true.)

My greatest struggle on social media is how often these harmful church teachings appear in memes. They are stated in spiritual terms, but the meaning is clear. These teachings are preached from the pulpits, woven into the fabric of church communities, and help everyone feel comfortable—everyone except the survivor who is grappling with the physical, emotional, and spiritual impact of sexual abuse.

I do understand how these teachings feel right to those who are comfortable in the church culture that promotes them. They are embedded in religious beliefs and difficult to recognize without a thorough non-spiritualized understanding of the impact of trauma. They often cause elements of trauma-based healing to be viewed incorrectly as unspiritual. This prevents many from accessing professional help and results in not receiving support or validation for the work of healing—which can be a spiritual practice.

When religious teachings stand in the way of healing from sexual abuse, it is religious trauma. Most survivors will never share their stories or seek professional help to heal. It does not need to be this way. I have watched ministry leaders and churches learn to better serve those impacted by sexual abuse in their congregations. All survivors need community and support and many would gladly find it in the church if the bulleted list included above could be understood and addressed. We can do better.

*Author Note: I realize the word church is inadequate to describe the incredibly diverse faith communities in the United States and around the world. If what I write in these Religious Trauma newsletters is not present in your church culture, that is a blessing that does not discount the existence of church culture which is traumatizing or re-traumatizing the wounded. I believe what I write on this topic has value for reflection even if your church culture is different.