After the Storm: Learning to Belong to Yourself Again

Part 3: Finding Safety, Choice, and Belonging After Religious Trauma

Content note: This piece includes references to religious trauma, spiritual abuse, and trauma responses. Please take care of yourself as you read and pause if you need to.

In Part 1 of this series, we explored what religious trauma is and how it can reshape our inner world. In Part 2, we named spiritual abuse and some of the ways power can be misused in faith spaces. In this third part, we are turning toward the body, the place where so much of this has been quietly carried.

From Safety to Shattering

Church was once a safe place for me. It was one of the few places in the world I felt like I belonged. Worship meant so much to me. I felt close to God and my community as I raised my hands, closed my eyes, and sang those familiar lyrics, swaying along with the soothing melodies. In those moments, my mind was calm, my heart at peace, if only temporarily.

But after religious trauma, everything changed.

Now, when I drive by my old church, I sometimes find myself reliving painful experiences. It is like I am transported instantly back in time, flooded with memories that I would rather forget. My nervous system reacts as though I am still there. Breathing becomes more difficult, my pulse quickens, and I feel like I want to run away and hide, somewhere safe where no one can hurt me.

The Unique Weight of Religious Trauma

This is the impact of religious trauma. It is an existential crisis that affects every aspect of our being, leaving lasting effects on our spiritual, emotional, mental, and physical selves.

While most traumatic experiences leave us with a core belief that the world is not safe, religious trauma goes one step further. When trauma comes from the place where we express our faith and spirituality, we learn deep within our bodies and souls that not only is the world a dangerous place, but we are not safe anywhere, with ourselves, our God, or our own instincts.’

We learn deep within our bodies and souls that not only is the world a dangerous place, but we are not safe anywhere, with ourselves, our God, or our own instincts.

Like other forms of trauma, religious trauma overwhelms our nervous systems, but it also goes further, seizing control of our personal narratives. It leaves us scrambling, desperately trying to find new sources of meaning and purpose, connection and belonging.

This is why religious trauma feels so profoundly disorienting. Leaving a harmful faith community is more than walking away from a place that caused pain. It is also walking away from the identity, belonging, and assurance that once held our world together. In the process, it can feel like you have lost any sense of where and to whom you belong.

When Your Body Will Not “Just Move On”

If you are reading this, chances are you have a story similar to mine.

Maybe it is certain scriptures, vocal tones, or mannerisms that remind you of an abusive religious leader. Maybe it is religious songs that trigger painful memories, symbols or images that mentally transport you back to “that place,” or even a familiar smell that evokes old feelings you wish you could leave behind. Perhaps you feel your body tense up when someone starts a public prayer, or feel numb the moment a religious conversation begins. You tell yourself you can handle it even as your chest tightens, your stomach churns, and your mind starts scanning for exits and coming up with excuses to leave.

How the Nervous System Protects Us

If the things I have described are familiar to you, know that what you are experiencing is completely normal and you are not alone. Over time, your nervous system began to associate certain experiences with harm, which is exactly what it was designed to do.

Trauma affects every person differently. Some people notice impacts right away; for others, symptoms do not surface for months or even years.

Our nervous systems respond to threat in different ways. Some move toward danger and try to fight it; others instinctively flee. Some become immobilized or shut down, while others learn to appease or submit to stay safe. These responses exist on a spectrum, and many of us will relate to more than one.¹

The triggers, trauma responses, and behaviors we formed to keep ourselves safe did not appear overnight. They will take time and patience to heal, and there is no simple off-switch. Healing asks for slow, patient work over time. But the good news is that our bodies are fully capable of learning new stories and releasing what was developed during times of danger. The same nervous system that once braced for harm can, with time and care, begin to recognize safety, agency, and gentleness again. We do not get there by forcing ourselves back into the environments that wounded us or by shaming ourselves into “forgiveness.” We begin with small, consistent acts of kindness toward our own bodies.

Small Acts of Care in Triggering Moments

So what does that look like in practice? How do we actually help our nervous systems learn something new?

It can begin with quiet observation as you reconnect with your body. Notice what happens as you pass by a church. Do your shoulders tighten or your heart begin to race? When you hear a familiar verse recited or find yourself in a religious conversation, does your breath shorten or your attention drift away? These reactions are meaningful signals from a nervous system that learned to protect you, even if they feel confusing now.

When we learn to recognize these trauma responses without judgment, we can begin to meet ourselves with compassion rather than shame. Healing does not require exposing ourselves to harm, and it does not mean avoiding everything that feels difficult. Instead, it happens in the space between, as we listen closely to our own bodies while gently reclaiming choice and agency.

Grounding practices offer gentle ways to remind our nervous systems that we are safe, even when things feel overwhelming.

Take a slow, deliberate breath as you feel your feet on the ground. Place a hand on your chest and, whether silently or audibly, tell yourself something calming like, “I am here for you.” Then, you might choose to step outside, end the conversation, or choose alternate routes that minimize your exposure to the people and places that harmed you.

These gestures might seem too small to make a difference, especially when the pain feels overwhelming. But it is through moments like these that new pathways are formed, as we gently replace harmful messages with kinder ones:

You have choices. You do not have to abandon yourself to stay close to God. You do not have to expose yourself to harm to be faithful.

This is not about doing it “right” or making the feelings disappear, it is about helping your body remember that you are here, and that care and safety are possible.

You might also gently orient yourself to the present by looking around and naming a few things you can see, colors, shapes, or objects that feel neutral or steady. Let your eyes rest wherever your body feels even a small sense of ease.

At times, grounding can be as simple as reminding yourself of your own boundaries. Silently telling yourself, “I do not have to stay,” or “I can leave if I need to,” can help restore a sense of agency, even if you do not act on it right away. Knowing the option exists is often enough to help your nervous system settle.

There is no expectation to do all of this on any given day, or to do it well; even one small act of care is enough.

There is no expectation to do all of this on any given day, or to do it well; even one small act of care is enough.

Creating Room to Breathe, Belonging to Yourself Again

Moments of grounding like these do not erase the pain we carry from religious trauma or resolve everything at once. But they can create small moments of safety, enough to remind us that we are not trapped in the past, even when our bodies feel anchored there. Over time, these small moments can begin to soften the edges of our trauma responses and help us rebuild trust in ourselves and in our ability to choose what we need, when we need it.

Gradually, these small moments of care can create a little more room to breathe, a little more steadiness in your body, and a growing sense that you belong to yourself again.

Healing from religious trauma is rarely a straight line. There will be days you feel like you have healed and moved on, while other days everything hits you all over again, and you wonder how far you have really come. This is completely normal and does not mean you are doing something wrong. It does not matter how quickly things change for you; what matters is that you are learning, slowly and on your own terms, to stay with yourself through it all.