#church trauma

[39addict101]

Okay I don’t even know if this will reach anyone but someday I want to write a novel about religious trauma and religious abuse and how religious people who claim to be holy really just… intentionally (or maybe unintentionally in some cases) abuse the shit out of children and women and minority groups.

Also how churches just shelter sexual abusers, and how sexual abusers use holy texts to justify their actions and threaten their victims into silence.

I am compiling a data base of cruel and unusual religious punishments (mostly to make sure I’m not crazy) but also to have a better understanding of exactly how religious abuse is manifested in different situations.

Some examples: a mother physically SITTING on a “disobedient” child while singing the famous hymn “Trust and Obey”

A young woman whose creepy traveling Christian musician uncle would travel to various churches and tell children’s story, during children’s story he would LICK his nieces face, from eyeball to chin, and the entire church would laugh. Her father looked on, and didn’t care how visibly uncomfortable his daughter was.

Finally, and this is just one of my own experiences. I suffer from horrible menstruation symptoms, and my mother refused to allow me to take any pain medicine, because it would not allow for me to have a “clear mind” to hear the Holy Spirit.

Anyway, I know that this can be quite traumatizing to share… but I’m just putting feelers out there… is there anyone willing to step forward and share their traumatic religious experiences?

It’s for research and understand and deconstructing purposes only.

[radicalshelbs]

The Big Bad Wolf

[nakedpastor]

Spiritual abuse is so common you'd think spiritual leaders think it's a gift.

Have you been in a church where spiritual abuse was its dominant vibe?

What was the last straw that motivated you to escape the abuse?

[boybasher]

[dietpillsanddietcoke]

Incarnation

Is the Devil incarnate in me?

Is this urgency to Die the Devil working in my mind,

or is it God's answer to the pain

I’ve tried so long not to claim?

Is the Devil incarnate in me?

perhaps this affliction 

is the deep-seeded conviction

that nothing can unremember 

unless I unremember me.

Is the Devil incarnate inside?

Has he evicted God from the caverns of my mind?

warped my hopes into ashes

let a plague run rampant

till I’m left with nothing and no options

except to kill the hurt with fire.

But if I disintegrate the pain

will I crumble under the shame?

of asking

how?

And asking

why?

did I ever end up this insane?

Is there a light in this Darkness

or has he made in me his home?

how can I demolish the Devil

without also taking my own?

Can a child of God be used as a pawn 

in this war I'm not sure can even be won?

is the Devil incarnate in me? 

do I live unalive 

or try to surmise

how to make what’s done be Undone 

and take leave?

have I fostered this Insanity?

welcomed the disease with open arms?

after one too many breakdowns

it's hard to prove the Devil wrong.

"choose happy,"

"cheer up,"

"you can pray this away,"

(but will God even answer after how far I've strayed?)

the pastors say "yes"

and the priests say "confess"

I ask what Guilt to divulge 

when the done that's been done

was done when they did it to me?

is He truly incarnate inside?

people say I used to have beautiful eyes.

Now they're vast void and broken,

like the Devil, they've spoken.

Do I have what it takes to survive?

Does this Devil know what he's done?

created in me this pull that's impossible to shun?

breathed Death into spaces 

I used to hold vacant

hoping only for God and his son.

But what Holiness would encroach

into the wasted space beyond reproach?

What God would even try

in me to find

a single spot that’s not ticking time

expectant to die?

why would God seek a way

when I'm unwilling to pay?

Releasing the Devil, I fear

means staying alive’s a lot less clear

He’s scary, it’s true. 

I know that. It’s true. 

But what’s even more frightening is imagining

life wholly new.

See I’ve lived for years wanting only to die

Have these emphatic thoughts all along been Devil’s lies?

After years of our waltz

Of the Him pointing out faults

His taunts ceased to sting

And instead transformed into an Offering.

Because if I believe him first,

Then no one else could say worse.

And that’s a Devil that’s comfortable for me. 

But why should I stay?

So goes the refrain

To hear more from a God who proudly claims

Of floods

And famines

And wretched father-son-games?

No. I said no!

I don’t want to know

Don’t want to sow

The seeds of Sacred Silence, and so

Keep out, Holy One!

I seek no comfort in your show.

Your platitudes and play

Are not enough to make me stay.

For I’d rather die with the Devil 

Than lay false claim in your name.

[ccloudd-ddaizz]

These crosses

All over my body

[am-i-a-boy-or-a-crybaby]

Iscariot

6

I am sitting behind you in the church and you are the coolest person I know. I watch you sit perfectly still as I fidget with the hem of my dress; it doesn’t fall low enough. I wish I was like you, the model grandson, in the pews dressed in your nice shirt and pants. I like it when we are told we could be twins, even though I know it’s not true. We’re pen pals, but I dream about moving closer because we are the best of friends.

12

I am sitting in front of you. You look me in the eyes and say the one thing I wish you wouldn’t. One sentence leaves your mouth and I start to grab at my jeans, they’re too tight, they are beginning to hug my body in a way that I’m supposed to like. I am angry beyond words, so I don’t say anything. I just stare at you as you walk away. I don’t understand how you can be so heartless when all I’ve ever wanted was to be like you. I no longer want anything to do with you.

18

He’s dead. We sit next to each other during the service, a silent olive branch. I fidget with the cuff of my suit jacket as you stay a still as possible. I feel oddly comfortable sitting in the pews despite the circumstances, but it’s as though if you move everyone will see that you are more like me than you know. We haven’t spoken in six years, I doubt we will for at least a couple more. Neither of us let go of more than a tear or two, we are men after all.

-grayson h

[thestarlightforge]

“Hey, It’s Me”

10/29/24

******

My sister has a photographic memory.

Pictures and pitches imprint perfectly on her psyche

So she remembers—every wound, every word—sharply.

But not for me.

If her mind is a stained glass window—

colors burning holes in carpet, exorcism, the scathing sun,

Mine is the Mosaic on the floor—

shattered glass, bloodstained limbs, from a curse whose shape we can’t even recall.

I turn a fragment over in my hands…

“Hey, it’s me. I just wanted to know what your mom said about me coming over today…”

A last recording they would ever say…

And edges slice, though few are left who understand.

I can’t put that picture back together.

So with each new person, I collect more pieces, like better tethers

Will let me stitch it back next time.

As if a little more song

would let me finish the rhyme

when your voice fades from my memory.

When my inward eye can no longer see

the freckles on your face anymore,

the colors of your eyes

in the glass

on the floor.

I know it will hurt.

Whatever I forget, one song rings in concert—

“Your sin broke the glass. God doesn’t like you to ask.”

But sometimes, when I fear I’ve smashed another window,

I still wander through that church

for a ring of “…I guess I might be able to see you tomorrow”

from a little baritone

whose freckles

I’ve

forgotten.

[bellamer]

They’re releasing another God’s Not Dead movie and like it just reminds me about how when I was younger we had to go to a church movie night and we were all watching Rise of The Guardians because y’know we were all kids and we loved whimsy but the assistant pastors wife who was notorious for hating things like Santa and the Easter Bunny and telling kids, small kids at that, that they don’t exist only God does because she thought they taught kids idolatry and to disrespect god and would tell kids they’d go to hell if they believed in these things, then threw a bitch fit about it until they gave in and let her pick the movies and had us watch God’s Not Dead at the next church movie night

Thankfully our mom made us stop going to those but like… I have actually stories of the Assistant Pastor’s wife and her just being awful and being against kids being kids and being whimsical and having fun yet she’d let her own kids run around church and play on their iPads during service but no one could say anything to them because those were her precious little angels and whatever

[mytraumastory]

The First Loss

I must have been four or five years old when my earliest memories of church began to take shape. The name of the church, the teachers, and even the name of my friend have all faded with time, but the excitement, curiosity, and joy of those Christmas times our family spent there remain vivid. Every Sunday was a ritual of anticipation. I would dash up the stairs and head to a room full of children, each clutching their Bibles and dressed in their Sunday best.

I had a routine: I would quickly claim my seat and place my Bible on the chair next to mine, saving it for my friend. He was a boy with blond hair and blue eyes, often clad in a neatly buttoned-up dress shirt tucked into his slacks. On this particular day, I waited eagerly for him to walk in and sit beside me. But instead of his familiar face, the teacher stood at the podium and announced that my friend would not be joining us anymore—that he had gone to be with the Lord.

At that age, I couldn’t grasp the weight of her words. I simply thought, “Okay, I’ll see him next week.” The rest of the day passed in a blur, nothing memorable to mark the significance of the news I had heard. It wasn’t until bedtime, as my mother tucked me in, that the conversation about my friend’s absence resurfaced. I don’t remember the specifics of what was said, but the overwhelming feeling of loss that followed is etched in my memory.

After my mother left the room, I lay in bed, the full reality of my friend’s death sinking in. He had been thrown from his seat, and the car had rolled over him. The pain was unbearable. Sobbing, I got out of bed and went to find my mother, who was watching TV. She sat with me until I fell asleep.

When I woke up the next day, life just continued as if nothing had happened. I am now 35 years old, and I often think about my first friend. I wonder what he would be like today, how many children he might have, and if we would still be friends. Probably not, but that’s not what makes me sad.

What saddens me most is all the lives he never got to live—being successful, being a failure, loving, fighting, showing strength, showing vulnerability, gaining so much, and losing it all. His journey was abruptly cut short, leaving him with nothing but loss.

I feel grateful for all the lives I’ve lived in the years since. I just wish that the journey of life didn’t hold the potential for ending so suddenly for some.

Thank you, my first friend. You were my first best friend and my first real loss.

[asterias-corner]

it’s Wednesday! You know what that means? Ranting about the Mormon church <3 (i have mutual at 7 and idefk what we’re doing)

Was on the ‘ex Mormon’ tag, and i reminded myself of the whole “strength of the youth” program they had with us that one Sunday, here are some of the rules that are official that i had distaste reading and hearing my peers agree with.

(Sorry if it’s hard to read)

They had one on abortion, but i couldn’t find it- all i know is that they were saying it was against god’s commandments or some stupid shi

——-

general conference this year was annoying as all hell, i don’t remember (nor care) who had talked about being celestial, but he kept fucking saying “celestial” and every time i tuned in, I’d hear him say celestial and i was so ready to drive to the fucking conference center and cut the microphone off. Then the next week, of course they have to do the whole after conference lessons, and i found out they had 5 sessions in total?! They always have one for the women, and i hate it.

———-

Mormon girls are assholes and you cannot change my mind. I’m lucky enough to feel pretty confident in my body, despite having self harm scars- and not fitting their standards of an ideal body type. So whenever these fuckers look at me weird, specifically my scars, i want to scream. Also, there are two girls in the group above me, and they both act hella gay with eachother and when called out or called queer, they start to get offended as if they weren’t just cuddling like a married couple two seconds earlier. Girls camp, my first year- they were literally spooning each other and nobody says jack fucking shit. But the second i DARE hold the hand of my friend who was having a panic attack, my mom gets informed and i get lectured. I’m pretty openly queer, so it’s only an issue because they know who I’m attracted too. Or they assume that, they think i like girls and I’m a lesbian, but I’m literally trans and gay, but like hell I’m going to come clean about that. The only reason i enjoy mutual sometimes, is because i like to sneak off and play piano.

————

i used to have a few friends, some girls my age. Then we got into young women’s instead of the activity days class and they all ditched me, well- one did, the others either moved wards or were the age group above me. But every time i open my mouth, I’m instantly treated lowly. I’ve spoken up about this too, to my parents but i can’t talk to them about anything. They protect the Mormon girls all the time, not once trying to understand why I’m upset. I also hate them because they like to judge me specifically, also these other girls who aren’t even fucking Mormon? But one of my leaders brings them to try and convert them into this hell of a cult, which isn’t working btw. But i used to be on the same bus as one of the girls, and she is super annoying, so is the other girl. They swear like a sailor, and i end up getting roped in with getting in trouble because of it. Also the fact i have to look after them and whenever i try and hangout with them, they push me off to the side and judge me.

——-

there’s still a whole truckload of things i didn’t unpack, but let’s save that for Sunday.

moral of the story? I fucking hate the Mormon church, and it shouldn’t exist. The sexism, blatant homophobia and transphobia is stupid as hell.

[atheistinacatholicschool]

My cousin also goes to a catholic school, and she told me about her teacher how tried to take a bracelet of a Greek Orthodox kid that signaled he was fasting

And apparently the teacher was like “this is a catholic school, we are Catholics, take it off”

And just….

When my parents applied for my school they said if I was catholic or not so it’s not a secret

There’s heaps of muslims at my school

And my cousin isn’t even catholic, she’s anglican

And Australia has freedom of religion and education is supposed to come first

[royalfoolsband]

Some art for an unreleased song of ours, "A Traveler's Conversation with God"

[rainesramblings]

The man of god

My thirteen year old self

Cowered in embarrassment as the man of God

Looked sternly and singled her out

In front of an older crowd

Attending this circle group therapy disguised as catechism

After pouring out the traumas

A thirteen year old could muster out

He pointed to her and exclaimed,

“You are an ambitious person”

A disgust-filled statement

Mixed with admonishment

Confusion turned to shame —

Was it a sin

To want the best?

Was it a sin

To want to belong?

Was it a sin

To want to get out of the hole?

At the back of my mind

I carried these questions all my life

Now the adult me

Stares at defiance at this man of God

Incredulously reeling from his blatant hypocrisy

And condescending patriarchy

Would you have told the same thing

To the man that owned the house you’re living rent-free in?

Would you have told the same thing

To the elders of the community

Who gave you spending money?

Why do you think these men were where they were

Why do you think

You’re the hotshot catechist

Traveling around the world

Converting “lost sheep”?

I wish I could hug

The 13 year old me

It’s time to heal, child

You will have the best

You will belong

And yes, you will

Get out of the hole

[peaceloveenemy]

As a child the church informed us that whatever gift God blessed us with would be our responsibility to give back to the community. We would also be expected to practice this gift for eternity in heaven and praise and worship forever more.

[gayreligousfallout]

Unless you're up for some barely coherent unedited thoughts, feel free to ignore.

TW for religious trauma and light homophobia

Do things need to be the way they are? We made everything up. We made up what is and isn't a family. We made up what is and isn't a job. Money, language, gender, community, church, government, religion, nations, borders...

I mean it's all just made up right? So what if why does it feel so viscerally wrong for things to change. I want to shout to the void without scaring my friends so I made this account.

The good we have right now won't last. I never had lasted in the past and it won't start lasting now. In a way that's what makes it special. The beauty of the finite. I want to enjoy this because one day, before I'm ready and without my consent, it will end and it will hurt. I know that. So if the hurt is coming, I might as well enjoy it as much as possible until the hurt gets here.

I love my job, I get to make a safe loving community for people who have been cast out of their family and church because of their gender identity, sexuality, or romantic attractions or lack there of. I get to run D&D games for them, cook them dinners, listen to them share their emotions, fears, hopes, and jokes. I get to meet over coffee and sandwiches. I write lessons for them about how to heal, build relationships, and communicate with others. And I don't have to ask them for anything in return. I just get to help them. They mean so much to me. They are my best friends and I love them.

But the money is drying up. The people supporting my work will eventually find out that my great Christian missionary journey has changed from religious fundamentalism and Evangelical nationalism into loving queer people and giving them permission (that they shouldn't need) to question the bible and God.

My wife's job is grinding her into the dust and she needs to leave, but I can't support us. Hell I can't even support myself with the money the mission agency sends. I might have to get another job. Go back to writing code to make ends meet at the cost of my mental health, joy, and all my time that I could be using to help my friends.

I don't want to work for myself. I don't want nice things, I just want to help my friends. I want to love them as well as I can. To show them that love is worth trusting and that they deserve to be loved. But I have to provide for my wife and myself. We have to eat, pay for our roof, and get medicine.

Sometimes I wonder if I could run this whole thing by myself. My coworkers are even more pressed by life to find new jobs than I am. But I don't know how to run a non-profit.im awful at paperwork and administrative tasks. I don't want to have all that authority and power. That's how/why pastors become insane control freaks who sexually assault their members, shame them into hiding, and steal their money.

Is it possible to do this without structure. Is it possible to just be a group of friends without any formal documents and legal recognition? It has to be. That's how it must be in other nations.

I don't want to stop doing this, I don't want to get another job, I don't want my community to disband. But it will I think. It will all end. Even if we make it 10 more years somehow. I'll get too old. People tell me it's possible to stay young and keep doing this work, but I've never seen those people stay young and do it.

I asked where all the 40 year olds were before I started. The pastor handwaved away the questions and promised it was a lifelong career. Well he had the system rigged in his favor and was lying through his teeth.

The system is rigged in my favour to I guess. I feel bad for taking people's money and using it to do what I do. They want some holy warrior to stem the tide of the culture war for Jesus and America. They want me to "fix" gay kids as if there was anything wrong with them. But still they give me money and I take it under false pretenses.

They pay me to study the bible, Christian tradition, Jewish history, 2nd temple writings, rabbinic discourse, church debates, theological nuances, Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek.

Well the deeper you look the less certain things are. The closer I look the more I see the scared, hurting, imperfect people who wrote these letters, poems, and court documents. I don't see a grand plan designed and orchestrated by an all seeing all knowing God, I see what may be a god of limited power interacting with a people group and struggling with their own emotions or it may also be a people group rationalizing their own struggle and success through a god. I've done that more times than I can count.

I think I still have faith, but it's not what it was. It's a softer, kinder, less sure, but more welcoming faith. Maybe that disqualifies me. I don't know. But I love my friends. And they love me. If I deserve to be cast out of Christianity at least I'll get to be cast out with them. If I am cast out of gods grace at least I'll be cast out with them.

I'm not going to give up trying to keep my work going, but I also want to give up the idea that if it ends I will have failed. All things end. That doesn't make everything a failure.

god if you're out there, my people are hurting because of "your people". Please do something.

I can't imagine why someone would read this but if you did, thanks for witnessing me and my life, my anxiety & peace, my hope & hopelessness, & my processing.