Spiritual Abuse, & How To Recognise It

Bullying and manipulation is a widespread issue in the modern church, and this is what it looks like.

Photo by Josh Sorenson on Unsplash

I have not been able to sleep this week.

Recently a friend of mine made a long post on Instagram, detailing her experience of toxic culture within a church that we had both been part of, and naming specific leaders who had been responsible. The whole post was incredibly brave and raw and painful to read, and the comments have exploded with similar stories of horrific and traumatic experiences within church.

I have not been able to stop thinking about it, and it’s brought up a lot of old pain and bad memories and sleepless nights.

I experienced my own emotional abuse and manipulation from church leaders as a teenager, then saw it happen to some of my closest friends and family, and continued to witness the results throughout the Christian world as I grew up.

When I left church almost seven years ago, and eventually stepped away from my faith, I was done with the whole thing. But in the years since, I’ve heard countless more stories from people all over the world: some from old friends, others from total strangers messaging me online, from many different backgrounds but all sharing this experience of suffering underneath toxic leadership within the church.

I hate confrontation more than almost anything, and I am not the kind of person who looks for a fight. Some leaders who have caused tremendous pain are people that I also feel very grateful for, and part of me hates seeing it happen to them so publicly. Nobody is an entirely ‘good’ or ‘bad’ person, and this stuff is messy.

But as hard as it is, I feel like without some public reckoning, nothing will ever change. So many of us have tried dealing with this privately, and only received further abuse and shame. Some have sent private letters or asked for investigations, and been completely blanked or shrugged off. Some have been threatened with police action if they continue to talk about what happened.

It’s important for everyone to know that going public is usually not a snap decision or a first-move; it’s a last desperate attempt to be heard and to help others who are going through this.

This behaviour continues because it is almost never talked about: victims are told by pastors not to discuss it with anybody, because they would be damaging the church and the leaders reputation, and telling the truth about what happened would be ‘divisive’. If it ever does comes up, it’s usually from the abuser, who gets to spin their story from a pulpit or to leaders underneath them, in order to isolate the victim from their own community.

As one leader told me after a particularly bad experience of my own: “blood is thicker than water, but spirit is thicker than blood.” In other words, unquestioning loyalty to the leaders was more important than standing up for your own family and friends.

In this way the abuse gets covered up for decades, and the abused person ends up traumatized and isolated because of it, in many cases suffering from long-term mental health issues while the perpetrators continue on as normal.

There’s a term for this that I’ve seen a lot over the years: Spiritual Abuse.

I’m not sure it’s the perfect phrase, because I worry that it might ‘pretty up’ the blunt reality of what is essentially emotional and psychological abuse; but there is definitely something unique about this kind of behaviour in a religious context, where the abuser also carries the seeming ‘authority of God’ behind their actions.

For this article, I’ll use the broad definition of spiritual abuse used by the Church of England Safeguarding Portal:

“[Spiritual abuse is] coercion and control of one individual by another in a spiritual context. The target experiences spiritual abuse as a deeply emotional personal attack.”

It’s bad enough to experience this kind of abuse from anybody, but to feel like God is on the side of your abuser adds another complex layer of suffering.

Photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash

One of the most pernicious things about spiritual abuse is that often it’s hard to recognise when you’re stuck in the middle of it. In fact, many people will believe the lie that they are the problem, and that they need to be better, pray more, volunteer more, change their clothing, be not-gay, or whatever else in order to make their pastors (and therefore God) happy with them.

So how can you recognise spiritual abuse in your own context?

Here are a few examples of how it might look:

• If a church leader holds more sway in your personal life choices than you do, that’s spiritual abuse.
• If a pastor tells you that you’re “following the Devil” simply because you disagree with them, that’s spiritual abuse.
• If a leader makes you feel shame for not attending enough meetings, that’s spiritual abuse.
• If you’re made to feel trapped, like you don’t even have the option of leaving church and finding somewhere safer, that’s spiritual abuse.
• If you are made to feel shame for your sexual orientation, or your race, or your gender identity, or anything else that is a core part of who you are, that’s spiritual abuse.
• If your involvement in volunteer teams hangs on a thin thread of approval, requiring perfect behaviour and complete submission to the needs of a leader above your own, that’s spiritual abuse.
• If you are warned not to tell anybody else about your negative interactions with the Pastor, because that would be ‘spreading disunity’, that’s spiritual abuse. I mean seriously, this is like the most basic ABC’s sign of any kind of abuse: the abuser making the victim feel isolated and unable to talk about it.
• If you are shamed for struggling with mental health issues, or your depression is blamed on demons or a general lack of faith, that’s spiritual abuse.
• If you bring up concerns about the church or a leader, and are made to feel like a bad or unfaithful person for it, you are being gaslit. This is also a form of spiritual abuse.
• If a leader tells you that they know ‘Gods will’ for you, placing their belief above your own sense of what’s right and then pressuring you to conform to it, that’s spiritual abuse.
• If a leader pulls you into the office and shames you for not being ‘passionate enough’, including but not limited to ‘not raising your hands in worship’, ‘not praying out loud enough’, ‘looking bored in a service’, or ‘not making enough positive affirmation sounds during a sermon’, that’s spiritual abuse.

All of the above are examples that myself and close friends have personally experienced.

More than anything, spiritual abuse is about destroying personal autonomy. One of the biggest results for me has been the sense of not being in control of my own life; of never truly becoming an adult who could choose which direction to move in.

I wasn’t even allowed to decide for myself when I wanted to move to a new city; instead I had to wait for my leadership team to pray about it, so they could decide whether it was ‘right’ for my life. Luckily they gave me permission, but it came with an expectation that I would return (which, no thanks, I’m outta here babyyyy!).

As I grew up, I was constantly aware of how everything in my life would look to my leaders: who I was dating, what friends I spent time with, how I spent my weekends, what I posted on social media. And I wanted to make them happy, because I learned to associate that with being a good person. I was taught that ‘being right with God’ meant ‘being right with the Pastor’. They caught me in the trap of approval, and if I ever voiced disagreement or did something ‘outside the lines’, they threatened me with the removal of that approval (hey, nice rhyme).

To make this more concrete, I’m going to share two stories (out of many) from my own experience, one from each of the churches that I have been part of. I’m keeping everything nameless and vague, because I hope that anybody can read this as a way to understand what spiritual abuse looks like, and how it can affect people.

Spiritual Abuse Story Time #1

At one church I was offered a job working with young people. It would entail full-time hours, but the church would only be able to pay me part-time, expecting me to volunteer two days a week. I asked them for some time to think about it, and they gave me the rest of the day.

When I returned to the office, I was sat with a group of pastors, which always felt extremely intimidating. I started to be honest about some questions regarding the pay and hours, and how I could make it work. I barely got through my first question before I was completely shut down, and made to feel ashamed for questioning them at all.

They brought me to tears, essentially telling me that they were offering me an amazing opportunity, and that I was being dismissive and ungrateful; maybe they were wrong about me, and they would have to reconsider if I was actually the ‘right person’ for the role.

I was absolutely overwhelmed by this, as a teenager growing up trying to make these people happy. I had to go back to the office and practically beg for them to offer me the job again, convincing them that I wanted it and that my questions didn’t matter. They ‘forgave’ me, the pastor hugged me and prayed for me, and I ended up working there for a year before asking their permission to move away.

I was told not to discuss what had happened with anybody outside of that room.

I mean, fuck. This is real.

That situation was not about the money. Honestly, at the time I really cared about that job. I felt like I could help people and I wanted to make a difference to somebody. I wanted to make it work, and I was genuinely excited to hear their offer; but the experience of being bullied into taking a position, and shamed for daring to question their terms or to stand up for my own needs, has stuck with me for years afterward.

Spiritual Abuse Story Time #2

About a decade ago, while I was part of a different church, I spent a couple of years working on a project that I was very passionate about. In short, I wanted to start a charity organisation that would offer support and resources to fans and artists in the UK music scene.

I put hundreds of hours into developing this idea, attending training sessions, creating a business plan, writing materials, building databases and meeting others for advice, and I was genuinely excited about it. I poured my heart into that thing, and I was taking some pretty big steps toward making it happen.

Eventually I asked a church leader if I could meet with them to talk about the project, and hopefully get some support and advice. I guess a large part of me still needed to know that it was ‘okay’ with them, before I could move any further; again, my personal autonomy had been chipped away for years by this point. The leader agreed to meet, and so I waited for them one day in the campus coffee shop.

As soon as they arrived, I knew something was wrong. This leader told me that they had asked one of the Senior Pastors to join the meeting too. I had never met that person, but they were one of the highest people in the church, and this was very intimidating for me to suddenly face.

A minute later the Pastor arrived, walked straight up to the table, said that they had heard about this plan I had, and then went on to explain that it would never work. These kind of outside-the-church organisations never succeed, and they weren’t what God wanted his people to do. It wasn’t going to happen, and it would be best for me to focus on serving within the ministry of this church.

Then they left, and the meeting was over. They didn’t ask a single question or give me a moment to speak. The other leader asked if I understood, and moved on with their day. It took those two people about five minutes to completely destroy the dream I had been developing for years, and that afternoon I shut the entire thing down. It was too painful to think about for years afterward.

I went home that day feeling intensely angry, ashamed, and betrayed by someone I had trusted and looked up to. The worst part is that I felt like there was nobody I could talk to; I was alone with this, and somehow I owed it to my church leaders to stay silent.

Again, it’s not about that specific project. It’s about the way that authority was used to intimidate me into a specific life-choice, without any attempt to listen or understand or give genuine advice. I was bullied into giving up, and following their will for my life.

These are just two stories among many that I have experienced, but they don’t come out of a vacuum. Spiritual abuse is only possible when you’ve lived in this kind of culture, when you’ve been soaked in an atmosphere that protects and honours leadership above all else, that refuses to believe anything negative and rejects anybody who has a complaint or disagreement.

It often affects young people the most, who grow up in the church and don’t yet have the self-confidence and experience to know that they are being bullied and mistreated by the very people they look up to.

When I think about being called into my old Pastors office, my body still reacts. My stomach hurts, my muscles tense, and I feel that old familiar sensation of shame, of not being good enough, of having to prove that I’m okay, that I belong, that I’m doing all the right things. This shit can stick with you for decades.

And that’s how your personal autonomy is slowly taken away.

Photo by Natalia Y on Unsplash

I’m no longer a Christian, but I do believe it is possible to escape an abusive church environment and still remain a Christian if you wish. If your faith is meaningful to you, you are allowed to switch churches without losing that part of yourself; it’s possible to be Christian and also be part of a healthy community.

That’s just another horrible lie of Spiritual Abuse Culture: that if you leave the church, you’re being unfaithful in some way. I’ve heard it preached from the pulpit, not-so-subtly disguised in sermons where we all know who is being talked about; and I’ve seen it in the way that people are shunned and rejected by their entire network when they stop attending the church.

You are not being a ‘bad Christian’ if you leave your church. It is possible to move forward, to find an authentic community that will love you for who you are. It’s possible to be in a church that doesn’t actively gaslight, bully and shame its own members. You deserve so much better than that.

If you recognise yourself in these stories, please know that it is not okay, you are not overreacting or being divisive, and you do not have to suffer silently. You may have been told that you are stuck where you are, but it is simply not true. You are the only one with the right to make decisions for your own life.

You are not alone, your story matters, and you can find a better place to belong.

If you are a leader in a church and you recognise this culture, please don’t ignore the stories that are coming out. Please listen, please be ready to take responsibility for the pain that you may have caused (even inadvertently) and please, please be better.

I’m sending big love to everyone who is feeling the weight of this right now. Let’s look out for each other.

And now I hope that I can finally get some goddamn sleep.