Us Four S’more: What’s one red flag you wish you’d recognized sooner?
Sticky questions, personal answers: The Religious Trauma Network’s team mashup.
What’s one red flag you wish you’d recognized sooner?
Rebekah Drumsta
Red flags are hard to spot when you’re raised inside the system that waves them.
I grew up in high-demand, cultic religious communities—where control was dressed up as holiness, and obedience was mistaken for virtue. In that world, seeing a red flag was like trying to glimpse a mountain view while standing in dense fog. But somehow, one quiet instinct at a time, I began to walk toward clarity.
I didn’t have the language for what I sensed. But I knew enough to say no.
No, I won’t go to the headquarters where girls return home sick and silenced.
No, I won’t attend the only college I’m “allowed” to go to—where pantyhose are mandatory, rooms are inspected for godliness, family members are praised for turning in each other for small rule infringements and boys and girls walk separate sidewalks, ride separate elevators, and breathe separate air.
Instead, I found other ways to learn and be educated. I carved out experience where I could, where I was interested or liked. I gravitated toward leadership roles, not because I was trying to rebel—but because something in me refused to shrink.
Even then, I didn’t realize I was resisting. I still conformed to the dress codes, the belief systems, the behavioral expectations. I still tried to be “good” and I thought I was like them. But beneath the surface, I was watching. Questioning. Thinking for myself in silence.
The red flag I wish I’d seen sooner? That the real, who I was naturally was me wasn’t welcome.
Only the curated, checks all the correct boxes version—the soft blond curls, the submissive spirit, the church pianist/vocalist, the girl who loved kids and dreamed of missionary work—was celebrated. That version was called Godly. Good. Safe.
But the rest of me—the intelligent, funny, creative, independent, capable parts—I had to hide. I had to tuck away the very traits that made me who I was. I was rarely able to practice or meet those parts of myself.
It wasn’t until the fog began to lift - once I had become a mom - that I met the real Rebekah. And when I did, I realized I’d been lied to.
I wasn’t a wretch. I was wonderful.
Leadership, critical thinking, creative problem-solving, the ability to see truth in people—those weren’t signs of rebellion. They were signs of life. They were gifts. And they were mine.
So the red flag I wish I’d recognized sooner? That who I was born to be was good. And what they tried to make me into? That was the distortion.
David Ruybalid
Part of growing up in Christianity is being told that authenticity and deep relationships are everything. Church is “family.” We go to camp, cry it out, confess our sins, get accountability partners, and call it discipleship.
It took me well into adulthood before I realized a major red flag: I was raised in a culture that believed it was entitled to every part of my life and every detail of my struggles. Because it was all I had ever known, I didn’t recognize the problem.
Over the years this played out in unhealthy ways. I overshared with people who were never equipped to hold what I gave them. I expected them to carry things they simply couldn’t. And my vulnerability often gave them unnecessary license to judge me or try to fix me through legalistic solutions.
Now that I can name it, I see this dynamic everywhere. Christians who think it is normal for their pastors to review their giving statements. Bible colleges and ministry internship programs that require young adults to confess their sexual histories in detail. A whole culture that confuses access with authenticity.
But here is what I have learned: authenticity does not mean everyone gets full access to my life. Authenticity means I show up as myself, consistently, honestly, and with integrity in every context, while still having boundaries. I get to choose who sees which layers of me. That is not secrecy; that is wisdom. It is protection for me and honestly, for them too.
I remember the first time I encountered a spiritual leader who did not push boundaries and did not assume he was entitled to anything beyond what someone willingly offered. It was jarring because it was the opposite of what I grew up expecting from Christian leaders. Looking back, I now recognize how many red flags I missed simply because the culture normalized them.
I still see friends oversharing out of habit, believing people are entitled to deep parts of their stories, and getting hurt when those stories are not held with care. Because I understand this dynamic now, I navigate Christian spaces, family gatherings, church events, and ministry circles very differently.
Recognizing these entitlement patterns is not cynicism. It is clarity. And it is refusing to perpetuate a culture that damages, often unknowingly, people’s agency, erodes their autonomy, and blurs the boundaries every human being deserves to have respected.
Janyne McConnaughey
Within a discussion of religious trauma in Trauma in the Pews, I included the following four red flags that stood out to me from a checklist offered by Dr. Janja Lalich* I ignored these four red flags in order to belong.
Questioning, doubt, and dissent are discouraged or even punished.
The group has a polarized, us-versus-them mentality, which may cause conflict with the wider society.
The leadership induces feelings of shame and/or guilt in order to influence and control members. Often this is done through peer pressure and subtle forms of persuasion.
Members are expected to devote inordinate amounts of time to the group and group-related activities.
The one red flag thot I wish I had recognized sooner was number two. It was this us-versus-them mindset that seemed to live right alongside the stated belief that all were welcome.
I began bumping up against this mindset in high school. The first incident happened after my dad invited children from the barrio to Sunday school. I celebrated with him when the caravans arrived with beautiful brown-skinned children who wanted to learn more about Jesus. The predominantly white church members weren’t as thrilled. They complained that the children were noisy and making a mess in the church. They proclaimed that all were welcome, but were they? I was confused that this occurred in a church that was foreign missions-minded.
Sometime later, I was invited to a Catholic Bible study, and my parents forbade me from attending—as if I might catch Catholicism. I was a logical and calm debater and convinced my dad to let me attend. I wasn’t interested in returning, so it was a moot point, but I had seen the roots of how our flavor of Christianity set itself apart from all other forms.
Some years later, my mother was quite unhappy when I accepted a job in a church school of a different denomination and subsequently met and married a Baptist. The churches we attended for the next twenty years identified themselves as fundamentalist. Slowly, my world became narrower. I was taught that the people from the church of my childhood incorrectly interpreted scripture in myriad ways. No ecumenical cooperation was ever going to take place.
The next us-versus-them red flag was the result of intentional instruction about other religious groups in the Bible college where I taught. Under the guise of being knowledgeable about other religious groups (I remember Islam and Mormonism specifically), so as to witness effectively, prejudice was being handed to the college students.
This us-versus-them mindset was also applied to other denominations and all non-Christians. It was exclusionary, and the prejudice it fostered would eventually target minorities, immigrants, and the gay community. There seemed to be no limit to the reasons for exclusion. This mindset bred judgment instead of compassion and found a partnership in conservative politics.
I wish I had seen the red flag of an exclusionary mindset sooner. My world became narrow, and I became judgmental. Pursuing my doctorate at a state university was the pathway that introduced me to a world of people who were working to improve the lives of the marginalized. In this world, people of different faiths, gender identities, races, and political affiliations were making a difference by working together. Not perfectly, not always in ways I agreed with, but mostly without judgment. It was a different mindset.
Though it is possible for judgment to exist in all settings, I realized that it was far less likely without an us-versus-them mindset. of “being holy and separate.” Sadly, this mindset excludes the very people that Christians are called to serve. I wish I had seen this red flag sooner.
*Janja Lalich, Characteristics Associated with Cults, [web page] accessed April 23, 2022, https://janjalalich.com/help/characteristics-associated-with-cults/.
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This article is not intended to treat or diagnose any condition. The authors are not licensed therapists or clinicians. Any advice or opinions given on this site are strictly individual observation and insights based on personal experiences and study. It should in no way take the place of professional assistance.