Religious Trauma: An Educator'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 leader, 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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An Educator’s Perspective on Religious Trauma

My background as an educator is complicated. It predominantly involves teaching in Christian schools and colleges. Though I attended public schools until college, my interest in early childhood and Christian education led me to begin my career as an educator in church-sponsored preschools (see additional information below).

My extended family gatherings are replete with ministry leaders and educators. My children are also educators—one in a Christian high school and the other in a public high school. I am a strong supporter of all forms of education that are focused on the needs—educational, physical, and emotional—of the developing child. This would include homeschooling.

My leap to teaching at the college level was unexpected and started a thirty-three-year career training teachers within ministry preparation colleges. What I share here is predominantly from the first college where I taught—though it impacted me throughout my career.

When I began preparing teachers for the classroom, it was in a program that was designed for Christian schools though it eventually broadened its scope to public schools. Most of the students I taught had graduated from Christian schools. Some did not have a positive view of public education which was sometimes challenging since I firmly believed there was value to both.

It was during those years that I came to believe that fighting against anything was an ineffective way to change the world for good. I was grateful for a program director who felt the same and emphasized excellence in Christian education as the goal. We believed it was possible to be for Christian schools without being against public schools. Many of our students chose teaching and administrative careers in public education. I have enjoyed watching the impact my students have had as educators.

I share this background to emphasize that my experiences as an educator within Christian education settings were mostly positive—at least in the departments in which I worked. That was not in any way a part of what I eventually understood as religious trauma.

Alongside the good experiences was a sense of being watched. I soon learned how easily my actions (or those of my colleagues) could become a concern to the administration who needed to ensure that supporting funds from churches were not withdrawn. I learned to choose my words carefully, back away from controversial topics, hold my opinions close, and carefully hide my story.

I can still sense the undercurrent of fear inside of me. I am not sure I ever felt safe. We would often take extended vacations in the summer simply to go home, breathe the ocean air, and remember what it felt like not to feel watched.

I learned that my livelihood—and that of my family—depended on me being exactly who I was expected to be. This was true while at work, at home, at church, and in the community. I became someone who was much like me, but not really me. I do not dislike her. She was compassionate and kind to students. She was a master teacher and a hard worker. She kept a lovely home and did her best to care for her family. She faithfully served in the church and tithed every week. She could be counted on to bring laughter into the room and never lacked friends.

She was a lovely woman, she just wasn’t me. Sometimes the more unpredictable and free-spirited me showed up. I described those times as “going rogue” but they were much more me than the person I became. Except for those times, I lived as the person everyone expected to be—and mostly did not mind that—but eventually, I lost myself.

The number of ways that I could not be myself and make the non-conventional choices more consistent with who I was created to be are in retrospect, mind-boggling. The loss of self is a form of religious trauma (read more about this here).

The impact of this watchful control was difficult to explain to my therapists who recognized the existence of religious trauma but could not always understand the level at which it impacted me. When asked to explain what my current employers were doing that caused me to be afraid, I could never explain my sense of being watched. It has taken me ten years to shake the fear of expressing an opinion—even though I retired nine years ago.

While all educators face scrutiny and live with some level of insecurity with or without tenure, the Christian college instructor/professor faces a level of scrutiny that goes beyond faith, moral behavior, or commitment to the mission—even beyond ideology. I increasingly see only lip service given to academic freedom that is intended to protect professors from unreasonable constraints on their professional activities.

The pressure I felt within Christian higher education by those who would like to control and prescribe “acceptable” views and teaching is now being felt across all academia. When the church holds the power to dictate and destroy the lives of those who do not comply with mandates caused by the pressures placed on institutions, it is religious trauma.

Over the past year, I have watched the fruition of the church’s belief that gaining power gives them the authority to control others—including educators. I have lived under this oppressive controlling power and struggled to break free of its hold over me, only to watch that same powerful force consume our nation.

Any faith that must control the thoughts and actions of others to promote itself is no faith at all. To do so is to bring religious trauma to an entire nation. Using religion as a means to control others—including educators—is spiritual abuse.

Additional Writings on this Topic:

• The blog, Ministry: Was I Idealistic or Right? (August 2017) explains my earliest career experiences as a preschool teacher, assistant director, and director.

• Seeing Behavior Differently: Trauma-Sensitive Education (Spring 2019) traces my path in education that eventually led me to engage with the Attachment & Trauma Network where I would develop a better understanding of the impact of childhood trauma.

*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.