My Journey with the Term Spiritual Abuse—and Why a Faith-Affirming Framework Matters

As a deeply religious adult whose faith was coerced as a youth, I wrestled for years with the term spiritual abuse. Over time, I came to see that my Savior understands, and that faithful voices are naming these experiences in ways that strengthen rather than undermine faith.

Art by Sabrina Paredes

I write from lived experience, more than twenty years of working with youth in church settings, and ongoing learning about evidence-based safeguarding that names harm clearly without undermining faith.

I began researching the term spiritual abuse in 2018. That search led me down a path that was both difficult and isolating. Much of what I encountered online described real problems, but left me feeling worse rather than informed. Definitions varied widely. There was no shared language. Many descriptions felt reactive or aimed at blacklisting entire faith communities. Everything still felt very “in process.”

I could understand the charged emotions. Decades of trying to cope with my own made me empathetic. But by then, I needed something different. I needed more of the peace and clarity I'd felt from my Savior as He helped me understand the impact of my childhood experiences. I needed ministering.

Instead, much of what I encountered felt re-traumatizing. The conversation often seemed to be shaped by all-or-nothing thinking and offered only one conclusion: leave your toxic, high-demand church.

And there were other things that didn’t sit well with me.

First, the two faith communities most central to my life, one in my youth and one in adulthood, were places where I had experienced community and genuine goodness. They shaped my relationship with God in lasting ways, even though harm sometimes occurred within them.

Second, whenever I read about Jesus encountering imperfect or unhealthy behavior in faith-based relationships, there were no final judgements. He gave room for repentance, growth, and change.

Thinking of how Jesus ate with “sinners,” I realized He didn’t see anyone as too far gone or beyond hope. Those who doubted, denied Him, broke His laws, or even slept instead of keeping watch as He atoned for their mistakes were not labeled irredeemable. Instead, everyone kept their place at the table where He patiently met them as they were before inviting them to new ways of thinking and being. He even allowed for slow timelines.

So how could it be that the two faith communities where I had experienced both wounds and profound spiritual growth were simply relegated to a “bad list”?

I couldn’t shake the contradiction. The people and institutions I knew were genuinely trying, even though some of the people within them misused agency (at times). There was no way these were completely beyond redemption.

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Uncomfortable with the term spiritual abuse?

For those of us who are deeply religious, terms like spiritual abuse can create an almost impossible conflict. How can something good and sacred be paired with words as dark and painful as abuse? Because most behavior in faith communities is healthy, many people have had only positive experiences with religion. That is a good thing! But, it can also make it harder for those of us with painful experiences to be understood.

That said, we don’t have to look far for context. Struggles with coercion in faith-based relationships are not new. They are recorded throughout scripture.

Throughout His ministry, we see Jesus repeatedly challenge unhealthy tactics used to influence faith and belief. He ministered to those affected, the same way He ministered to me as a young teen. Simultaneously, He did not deny harm or reject faith.

Because of inconsistent definitions, and because I've seen the term spiritual abuse used in ways that feel weaponized, I remain cautious about using it to describe my experiences. Still, naming it matters. When you don’t know what you’re suffering from, it becomes almost impossible to heal.

The confusion and “ick” surrounding this topic can make it especially hard to talk about. Shame may even keep us from bringing these things to God. After years of wrestling with all of that, I've learned something important:

Bringing spiritual wounds to Jesus Christ isn’t an “even this” situation—where Christ can even help us with this.

It is especially this.

Because of what He experienced, He is uniquely willing and able to minister to wounds that are spiritual.

I’ve heard it said that He could have learned everything the human race would suffer by revelation, but He chose to learn by experience. Looking at His life, this rings true.

We see Him falsely accused, shamed, threatened, and subjected to attempts at coercion meant to force Him to deny who He was. When that didn’t work, those efforts escalated. We don’t often describe Christ’s suffering using the language of abuse (because His sacrifice was the will of His Father, and He willingly laid down His life) but that does not erase the reality that He experienced coercion, which is why He understands.

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Finding language that holds both faith and truth

With that understanding in place, I continued searching for faith-affirming language that could name harm clearly without requiring me to abandon my faith.

That search eventually led me to the work of ThirtyOneEight (formerly CCPAS), a Christian nonprofit that has spent decades doing evidence-based safeguarding work across the UK.

What helped me most was their position paper on spiritual abuse. Like a light in the dark, it offered clarifications that reduced polarization and misuse of the term.

Wanting to know if there was truly room at this table for someone with both my past and my current faith, I enrolled in several of their training courses. The experience was consistent throughout: the information was clear and evidence-based, the resources inclusive and non-weaponized, and I walked away with the same clarity and peace I had felt from my Savior. I also felt better equipped to contribute to a healthy culture in my own faith community.

What was most helpful for me from their work

• The goal of helping faith communities.

  A faith-affirming approach to naming spiritual abuse isn’t about attacking religion, but about education, prevention, and responding well to spiritual wounds.

• A definition centered on patterns of behavior—not doctrine or belief.

  It is not spiritually abusive for faith communities to hold doctrines rooted in scripture. That freedom is essential. The issue is how beliefs are taught and whether agency, dignity, and respect are preserved.

• Unhealthy behavior doesn’t flow in only one direction.

  While many stories involve leaders harming those they lead, coercive behavior can also occur within families, marriages, friendships, college roommates, missionaries, or church members.

• Church leaders can be on the receiving end.

  Leaders may experience manipulation, gossip, pressure, or control from individuals or groups within a congregation. Influence doesn’t only come from titles. It can also come from money, legacy, social standing, or relational leverage.

• Power in faith communities is layered and complex.

  Authority and influence can come from many places, not just formal roles. Harmful behavior may occur when any form of power is used coercively within a religious context.

• It’s possible to experience good and harm in the same place.

  Many people, myself included, carry both faith-building experiences and painful wounds from the same community. Naming harm doesn’t require erasing what was meaningful.

• Spiritual abuse affects the heart and the soul.

  It includes emotional and psychological harm and uniquely impacts a person’s relationship with God, their sense of identity, and their ability to trust their own conscience.

• Intent matters, but so does impact.

  Much harm is unintentional, growing out of unmanaged emotions, misuse of faith and belief, or unhealthy culture. That said, harm is still harm.

• The word abuse is uncomfortable, but purposeful.

  Naming behavior is essential to acknowledging the seriousness of impact, need for care, and understanding that results in prevention.

• Everything is not abuse.

  Some behavior is simply unhelpful. Some is unhealthy. And then, in rarer cases, there is abuse.

  
  

  Spiritual abuse refers to a consistent, ongoing pattern of religious language and/or actions that include hallmarks of psychological abuse—such as coercion, shame, or threats that override a person’s agency. The seriousness of these dynamics is one reason true spiritual abuse is relatively uncommon.

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A brief clarification about authority and agency

Throughout scripture, God has called prophets to speak on His behalf in various dispensations of time. Speaking from a place of divine or entrusted authority is not, in itself, coercion. Teaching, instructing, and guiding others, in religious leadership and within families, has always been part of God’s design.

The distinction lies not in whether authority is exercised, but in how it is used.

Healthy authority teaches truth with humility, extends loving invitations, then allows space for individuals to choose. Even when correction is needed, agency is preserved. Christ Himself modeled this pattern. He invited rather than pressured, taught rather than shamed, and gave those He taught room to ponder personal decision-making.

As one who has worked with teens at church for over twenty-five years, I'm required to complete abuse prevention training. Doing so, I've seen coercion defined in my faith community's youth protection training this way:

“Coercion can occur when a leader (or parent) compels a child using religious language or authority that implies a spiritual obligation or duty, permission, sanction, punishment, justification, intimidation, or threat. This is contrary to the Savior’s teaching that individuals should lead “only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned.”  

The issue, then, is not faith, belief, or divinely appointed roles. It is the misuse of authority within those roles.

Note: For readers who want a clearer framework for discerning behavior, especially how to distinguish between nuances of problematic behavior, I’ve written a separate post exploring Professor Lisa Oakley’s A Spectrum of Behavior in faith-based relationships.

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Closing thoughts

My journey with the term spiritual abuse has taught me that language matters. But ministering matters more.

How we talk about spiritual wounds, how we listen, and whether we allow room for complexity all shape whether those who are hurting feel safe enough to stay, or if they quietly slip away.

Though this topic has a way of dividing Christians, the apostle Paul's counsel feels especially relevant here:

“If there be therefore any consolation in Christ, if any comfort of love, if any fellowship of the Spirit… let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves. Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.”—Philippians 2:1–4

So, if our experiences with relationships connected to faith and belief have been largely positive, and it's difficult to understand another's experience, instead of "looking on (our) own things" and rushing to defend what we love, we can slow down. We can "look also on the things of others," sit with their discomfort, and together find consolation in Christ.

This is what a faith-affirming framework for understanding spiritual abuse means to me. Rather than abandon faith, we use it in ways previously unknown, inviting humility and compassion. This is one way healing becomes possible without leaving faith behind.

If you’d like to explore this further, I’ve written about Professor Lisa Oakley's, A Spectrum of Behavior (in faith-based relationships). I’ve also shared thoughts on how to respond when someone shares their church hurt.

My hope is that conversations like these can remain centered on Jesus Christ. He is the One who understands fully, the One we can trust, and the One who can help us minister in patience, love, and wisdom.