Religious Trauma Feels Like...
Religious trauma feels like I might not post this. Because what if they see it? Because what if they think I'm not over it?
Religious trauma feels like...I'm not over it. And there's pressure that I should be. So I tried to rush past the ugly stuff to the part where I'm healed and free and I don't even care anymore. Except that's when the nightmares came. When my subconscious knocked and said, "What about this? Look at this. Deal with this."
And then I wipe my eyes of sleep and go about my incredibly healed, above-it-all, super spiritual day.
It looks like my face twitching in the grocery store because I ran into you, and I felt like I had to smile when what I wanted to do was frown or pretend I didn't see you.
It goes like meekly asking, "Are they talking about me?" And getting eye rolls in return because, "You're still talking about this?" (One week after it happened?? I should be over it after one week? And yet here I am one YEAR later.) I'm sorry my trauma feels tiring to you. Imagine how it feels to lonely me.
Imagine how it feels to go back to the place of the trauma, chest tight, arms numb, knees shaking, tears in my eyes, can't breathe. But it's okay because this is a place of graaaaaace. The kind of grace that publicly shamed me. Grace that coerced me into signing a contract with God I knew I couldn't keep. The kind of grace that holds a little child against his will. The kind of grace that talks behind my back. The kind of grace that stops talking to me because I left. The gossiping, back-stabbing, manipulative, controlling, we-love-you-as-you-are-but-you-better-leave-here-differently kind of grace. Take a sip of that and tell me it doesn't burn like whiskey on the way down.
Religious trauma feels like worship music makes me queasy. I used to close my eyes, connect my heart, and lift my arms. But now I close my eyes, wrap my arms around the middle, and hold my insides in place so they don't slosh out and make a scene.
It feels bitter like betrayal. It feels like gaslighting. "We never did those things you said we did. All we did was love you." Love love love love love. Stop calling abuse "love."
It feels like, "You must have gone through something traumatic for you to have turned out like this." Yes, I did, and it was you. And you. And you. A whole building full of you.
It feels like there are good people in that building too. And I'm sorry because you don't deserve this. You're not lumped in. But at the same time...why do you sit there while it happens? Were your eyes closed? Did you think it was love too? Where are you? Where are you? What do you do?
It feels like shaking while I write this. Like tears in my eyes. Like word by word, the trauma leaving my body a little bit more. They say it helps to talk about things, let it all out. As long as those things aren't about the church, though, right? Because if you're talking about the church, you're just a bitter, stuck, unforgiving, childish bitch. Or so they literally say.
But this is me healing. Not pretty huh? Uncomfortable, huh? Yeah, I agree. But it had to be done. Newsflash: It's more spiritual to say, "I'M NOT FUCKING OVER IT YET than to pretend I am because that's more spiritual." Someday, I will be past it. But it won't be because I healed in a pretty, convenient sort of way. It'll be because I healed the way I needed to, guts glory and all.
Religious trauma feels like...I'm not over it. And there's pressure that I should be. So I tried to rush past the ugly stuff to the part where I'm healed and free and I don't even care anymore. Except that's when the nightmares came. When my subconscious knocked and said, "What about this? Look at this. Deal with this."
And then I wipe my eyes of sleep and go about my incredibly healed, above-it-all, super spiritual day.
It looks like my face twitching in the grocery store because I ran into you, and I felt like I had to smile when what I wanted to do was frown or pretend I didn't see you.
It goes like meekly asking, "Are they talking about me?" And getting eye rolls in return because, "You're still talking about this?" (One week after it happened?? I should be over it after one week? And yet here I am one YEAR later.) I'm sorry my trauma feels tiring to you. Imagine how it feels to lonely me.
Imagine how it feels to go back to the place of the trauma, chest tight, arms numb, knees shaking, tears in my eyes, can't breathe. But it's okay because this is a place of graaaaaace. The kind of grace that publicly shamed me. Grace that coerced me into signing a contract with God I knew I couldn't keep. The kind of grace that holds a little child against his will. The kind of grace that talks behind my back. The kind of grace that stops talking to me because I left. The gossiping, back-stabbing, manipulative, controlling, we-love-you-as-you-are-but-you-better-leave-here-differently kind of grace. Take a sip of that and tell me it doesn't burn like whiskey on the way down.
Religious trauma feels like worship music makes me queasy. I used to close my eyes, connect my heart, and lift my arms. But now I close my eyes, wrap my arms around the middle, and hold my insides in place so they don't slosh out and make a scene.
It feels bitter like betrayal. It feels like gaslighting. "We never did those things you said we did. All we did was love you." Love love love love love. Stop calling abuse "love."
It feels like, "You must have gone through something traumatic for you to have turned out like this." Yes, I did, and it was you. And you. And you. A whole building full of you.
It feels like there are good people in that building too. And I'm sorry because you don't deserve this. You're not lumped in. But at the same time...why do you sit there while it happens? Were your eyes closed? Did you think it was love too? Where are you? Where are you? What do you do?
It feels like shaking while I write this. Like tears in my eyes. Like word by word, the trauma leaving my body a little bit more. They say it helps to talk about things, let it all out. As long as those things aren't about the church, though, right? Because if you're talking about the church, you're just a bitter, stuck, unforgiving, childish bitch. Or so they literally say.
But this is me healing. Not pretty huh? Uncomfortable, huh? Yeah, I agree. But it had to be done. Newsflash: It's more spiritual to say, "I'M NOT FUCKING OVER IT YET than to pretend I am because that's more spiritual." Someday, I will be past it. But it won't be because I healed in a pretty, convenient sort of way. It'll be because I healed the way I needed to, guts glory and all.
Thank you for this 💜
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