Church Hurt and Spiritual Abuse: How I Stayed Faithful and Reclaimed My Agency

As a teen, my decision to explore a different Christian denomination was met with unexpected opposition. This is my story of church hurt and spiritual abuse, and my Savior's ability to heal.

I write from lived experience, more than twenty years of serving as a church youth leader, and ongoing learning about evidence-based safeguarding that names harm without undermining faith.

A Positive Foundation

Growing up, church was a positive and important part of my life. Faith was woven into home, school, and family, and for many years it felt like a place of safety, meaning, and belonging.

Then I became a teenager and things changed.

The questions I had always carried about God and faith became more urgent. I wanted to feel closer to Jesus. I wanted to understand how faith translated into everyday life. More than anything, I wanted God’s love to feel tangible and real again.

Discovering Options

As I started exploring different Christian denominations, one in particular felt like home.

That was painful for my parents, though they tried to balance their feelings with something that had always mattered in our home: freedom of thought in matters of faith and belief.

Eventually, we worked out a compromise. I could continue attending my new church as long as I also stayed engaged in our family’s. I didn't love the arrangement, but I knew it was fair because after two years, my parents said I could choose for myself.

When Influence Became Church Hurt and Spiritual Abuse

What I didn’t realize was that other adults in faith settings, many of whom I barely knew, also felt a responsibility for me. Some tried to influence me carefully. Others did not.

At first, it was awkward interactions. Then public embarrassment and private meetings. Over time, it escalated into coercive attempts to get me to reconsider my path. By senior year, the pressure included threats tied to my future if I didn’t change my path.

At the time, I assumed each uncomfortable moment would be the last. Years later, when waves of emotion followed imperfect interactions at church, I assumed I was simply too sensitive.

In both cases, I was wrong.

New Resources, New Understanding

What I know now is that not having language or a faith-affirming framework for understanding spiritual abuse allowed it to continue. Unaddressed, it also kept shaping me.

When I share parts of my experience with those who have only known positive behavior at church, some become uncomfortable. I'm often told that the adults involved were trying to help me, or that what occurred was not abuse because it wasn't physical or sexual. See, How to Respond to Church Hurt: What to Say (and Not Say).

But abuse is not limited to the body.

One definition from a church handbook for leaders in my faith community states:

“Abuse is the physical, emotional, sexual, or spiritual mistreatment of others. It may not only harm the body, but it can deeply affect the mind and spirit, destroying faith and causing confusion, doubt, mistrust, guilt, and fear.” (Responding to Abuse: Helps for Ecclesiastical Leaders, 1).

That language helped me make sense of what had happened.

The pressure I experienced in religious settings did not end when the events ended. It followed me into adulthood in ways I didn’t understand (at first), such as: anxiety, confusion, triggers at church, and difficulty choosing responses when overwhelming feelings rushed in and tried to respond for me.

For a long time, I did not have words for what was happening.

What My Savior Taught Me About Spiritual Abuse

The years I spent feeling my way through darkness (and the lack of understanding I often encounter) are not without reason. Currently, there is no universally agreed-upon definition of spiritual abuse among churches. This is despite the fact that throughout the Gospels, we see Jesus at odds with abusive spiritual systems.

In every instance, He ministers to those who were overburdened, threatened, or shamed by coercion, similar to how I felt Him minister to me as a young teen.

He didn't instruct His apostles to sanitize those accounts because they involved church leaders. Later, when He appeared to them after His resurrection, He didn't have them remove from the record that it was one of His own—whom He had called by inspiration—that had betrayed Him. As the source of all truth and light, He allowed the New Testament record to stand with full transparency, rather than protect His image by hiding the failure of a leader.

I believe this was intentional, so that when we would encounter similar realities, we would not be left without a pattern or example set by Christ. Throughout the scriptures, we see imperfect interactions in religious settings, and we see Him respond.

Though my experiences later disrupted the peace I felt in the faith I chose for myself in high school, they also brought me closer to Jesus Christ. Relying on Him, asking why unwanted feelings kept resurfacing and what healing might look like brought little bursts of courage and hope. Then clarity. Eventually, I came out the other side.

My Savior has given me back the joy I felt in my faith from the beginning, He has deepened my understanding of Him and the power of His Atonement. After seeing coercive tactics used against Him in the New Testament, I am left with this:

He overcame.

What My Experience Has Taught Me About Agency and Religious Freedom

For me, religious freedom is not an abstract idea. It's about whether a teenager can seek God without intimidation, whether persuasion becomes pressure, or whether it leaves room for agency. It is also about whether authority reflects Christ and His ways or if it overrides an individual’s conscience.

In sharing my experience, I've chosen not to name the mainstream faith community involved because I don't believe in shaming those who shamed in order to inspire change. From experience, I know that doesn't work. My goal is not to dismantle belief. It's to look clearly at behavior, name coercion, and acknowledge how it can escalate to abuse if it goes unchecked.

The reason I share my story is for those like me who experience triggers and social anxiety at church but remember it was not always that way. I share it for those who believe coercion in faith-based relationships isn't a problem. For those who use it because they think it works. For those who are confident they would never coerce. And for all of us in between who overstep at times, because none of us are immune to behavior that is unhelpful.

More than anything, I share my story to inspire hope that if you once felt joy at church or in a faith-centered family, it can be reclaimed. I also share it to inspire hope that institutions, while imperfect, are increasingly learning to name coercion and prevent abuse.

For those navigating spiritual abuse or church hurt who love their faith, I would say this: At the heart of this is what is both at stake and what can be restored: agency.

Our Savior knows every detail of our experiences. Healing spiritual wounds is possible with Him.

For those who want a clearer framework for understanding the difference between various behaviors in faith-based relationships, I explore Understanding Lisa Oakley's Spectrum of Behavior in a separate post.