Shame, Silence, and Their Impact
by Jennifer Glen
“Abuse of any kind rewires the brain. For me, spiritual abuse didn’t only rewire my brain, it fractured my soul and spirit as well.”
When your experience felt unsettling or “off,” yet you couldn’t quite find the language to explain why, it became easy to downplay what had happened. Abuse probably wasn’t a word in your mind’s vocabulary, let alone your thoughts. You probably thought it was just a rough “season”, spiritually speaking, maybe you even chalked it up to a “bad church experience”. Worse than dismissing your own pain, you may have begun to believe that you were the problem. If only you weren’t so sensitive to feedback, or too outspoken. If you had been more agreeable, more reserved, less opinionated maybe then you would have been treated better. Why couldn’t you submit to spiritual authority as others seemed to do so effortlessly?
Maybe you wondered if you had a rebellious streak, or worse, a “spirit of rebellion.” Maybe you are too pushy, too dramatic, too opinionated, too loud, simply all around too much! You may have left a service, a ministry meeting, or a conversation with a lump in your throat, telling yourself: “I need to be quieter. I need to be better. I probably should pray about it before I speak up or use my voice.” Perhaps you even asked God to make you more submissive, more soft- spoken, more of a ‘team player.’ But something deep within was already communicating: This is not how those who value me treat me. This is not a loving representation of an organization that claims to hold on to religious concepts. Something feels wrong with this whole picture.
You have been conditioned to second-guess yourself in the name of spiritual authority. You’ve come to believe that godliness equates to being quiet and that holiness means shrinking. Deep down, you knew something wasn’t right, but you continually suppress that nagging thought convinced it was just your rebellious side speaking. You wouldn’t dare let anyone know that something feels off about this, because who would understand you? As time went on, that inner voice seemed a bit louder. You desperately tried to ignore it because there was no safe place or safe person to process the internal struggle with you. If this describes your present reality, know that you are not alone. There is a community of others who have walked, or are still walking, an almost identical path.
To your doubt, your confusion, and perhaps most of all, your shame allow these words to speak:
You’re not being overdramatic.
You’re not imagining things.
What you experienced is valid. It was not ok.
And you are free to communicate what you feel. Because it matters.
Shame is a force. It thrives in hidden places. Before we even have the chance to realize our own negative self-talk, shame begins re-writing our memory while at the same time validating this negative self-talk. It forges a path that blurs the line between what was and what wasn’t our responsibility for whichever situation occurred. It leads us to silence our thoughts and eventually our voices, our autonomy, and our critical thinking habits while fear props up this choice to be silent.
Shame is powerful enough to condemn us even if we haven’t done anything wrong. It’s illogical and irrational, yet its effects have the strength to deeply cripple us. This is why it is such an effective tool to silence victims. Shame will persuade you to believe you are at fault and that remaining hidden and silent is safest. In highly controlling religious environments you may not only accept that your silence is safer, but that it’s also the right thing to do. Abusers and abusive systems are keenly aware of shame’s relentless grasp. It works to their benefit as they manipulate your instincts to wrestle with shame and fear. They understand the domino effect of this wrestling and how it leads to silence. They understand how to detect when shame has caused you to start questioning yourself, your beliefs, and your discernment.
Unfortunately, this pattern of manipulation is rarely recognizable in the moment. Survivors of spiritual abuse often wonder why they didn’t see it sooner. In hindsight, the red flags may seem almost obvious. Wondering how you were unable to see them at the time is an understandable realization as you are starting to come out from the control of these religious systems. Because when you begin the steps of healing this type of abuse the subtle, and maybe even unintentional, tactics that were used to manipulate you and question yourself begin to appear clearer. Fostering compassion for yourself within this realization will help to give you the correct perspective of your vulnerability during those times. In time, shame will no longer be able to control the narrative of your pain as you process these experiences of abuse and control. Shame will begin to lose its grip.
Healing is possible.
Trusting yourself again is possible.
Regaining your spiritual autonomy is possible.
Let that healing begin with compassion. Compassion for your past self, who walked through confusion and heartache with courage you didn’t even realize you had. You were doing your best with what you knew, in spaces you never expected to cause harm.
Shame dissipates as compassion flourishes. You are worth receiving healing and compassion.
You are not alone and your story matters.
About the Guest Author:
Jennifer Glen is the founder of a grassroots effort devoted to nurturing healing for those recovering from the wounds of spiritual abuse and bringing clarity about its impact. Having walked her own journey through the lingering effects of controlling religious environments, Jennifer leads with empathy and a steadfast belief in the power of restoration.
A proud mother of five and wife to her best friend, she is deeply committed to ensuring victims of spiritual abuse are believed the first time they speak up and to helping them rediscover the safety and trust that make healing possible.
Disclaimer:
The views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in guest blog posts are those of the individual authors and do not necessarily reflect the positions of the Religious Trauma Network. We recognize that each person’s healing journey is unique, personal, and courageous. The stories shared here belong solely to the contributors, and their experiences, perspectives, and advice may not apply to everyone. We encourage readers to honor their own paths and seek professional support as needed.