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When Faith Breaks You

  • Alex Belle
  • Oct 28
  • 5 min read



I didn’t have a word for it at first.

I only had symptoms. the startle when a door shuts too hard; the sermons that still unspool in my head when I make an ordinary choice, the all-encompassing shame that floods over me, the dread that says love is conditional and the world is closing in.


Hell, we were supposed to die to self and be brokeb so the Holy Spirit could rebuild us, so I didn't even think that being broken was a sign of anything but the amount of sin I had. After all, if the Holy Spirit had to break me so badly to rebuild me in God's will, I must be so full of sin.


Years later I learned that some clinicians and researchers call this religious trauma; harm arising in high-control, high-demand religious environments, sometimes described as Religious Trauma Syndrome (RTS).


Psychologist Marlene Winell popularised the term in 2011 to name the cluster of post-cult difficulties many of us report after leaving authoritarian faiths: intrusive fear of judgment or hell, black-and-white thinking, estrangement from family and community, difficulties with sexuality and identity, and symptoms that rhyme with PTSD.


RTS isn’t an official diagnosis, but it put language to a real pattern survivors recognised in ourselves.


For me, the damage wasn’t one single moment. It was the drip-feed of control. Every decision- what to wear, who to love, what questions were “safe”- was circled by rules.

Breaking a rule meant death; obeying meant self-erasure. That’s why many researchers now talk more broadly about spiritual or religious abuse (spiritual authority used to manipulate, shame, or control) and adverse religious experiences (AREs)- events in religious contexts that undermine safety and autonomy.


Both frameworks acknowledge the spectrum, not every harmful system looks like a headline-grabbing “cult,” but many use the same playbook.


Leaving was supposed to make me “free.” Instead, the first nights were silent and terrifying.

Survivors often describe a grief that’s complicated: we lose our social world, our roadmap for meaning, sometimes our families.


Studies and clinical reviews echo this mix. Religion can support wellbeing for many, but negative or coercive forms correlate with worse mental health- especially when doubt, identity, or belonging are policed.


What religious trauma can feel like from the inside


Hypervigilance & fear-based beliefs. When your childhood God was also your surveillance camera, ordinary life can feel like a test. For me, silence meant I must have missed a sign; joy meant I was being “deceived.” This kind of moral-spiritual hyperarousal shows up clinically in work on PTSD and moral injury. Trauma can shake or weaponise belief, and clinicians are encouraged to address spiritual dimensions in care.


Scrupulosity (religious OCD). In my worst seasons I couldn’t stop confessing in my head. I’d rehearse every “impure” thought, seeking certainty I’d never have.

Scrupulosity is a recognised subtype of OCD, with growing research on assessment and treatment (e.g., exposure-based CBT that targets intolerance of uncertainty around moral or religious themes). Recent systematic reviews and new studies underscore that it’s common, undertreated, and benefits from evidence-based OCD protocols adapted for religious content.


Attachment injuries & identity foreclosure. If your earliest attachments were conditional on obedience, trusting new relationships can feel dangerous. After I left, making ordinary choices- university, work, dating- felt like stepping off a cliff without a parachute because my identity had been outsourced to the group.

Qualitative studies of survivors describe that same arc: recognising abuse, telling one’s story, and then redefining spirituality (or stepping away entirely) as part of post-traumatic growth.


Grief without funerals. There was no ritual to mark the end of my community. I mourned birthdays I’d never attend again, nieces and nephews I might not see. Research on religious disaffiliation highlights this “social death” and the suffering that follows when an entire meaning-system collapses at once.


Why it happens (and how it hides)


Sacred authority can mask ordinary abuse. In my group, harmful commands were framed as divine mandates. That’s classic spiritual abuse: leaders use scripture or revelation to justify control, isolate dissenters, and enforce secrecy. Because the means are religious, outsiders often misread it as “devotion” rather than coercion.


Belief-consistent distress is still distress. Many survivors hesitate to call what happened “abuse” because it was normal where we lived. The point isn’t to say religion is always damaging; it’s to name when faith is used as a vector for harm.


Shame is an effective cage. Shame kept me quiet for years. It also keeps research noisy in one direction (“religion is good for you”) and thin in another (what about when it isn’t?). That balance is improving- reviews now note both the benefits and the mental-health risks when religious contexts become controlling, punitive, or identity-suppressing.


If you love someone who left


Please don’t rush us back to “forgiveness” or pressure reconciliation with abusive leaders. Believe what we say about our experience. Offer practical help (housing, transport, childcare), remind us we’re not crazy for struggling, and be patient as we relearn trust.

Spiritual abuse is abuse; trauma shaped like scripture is still trauma.

And if you are a clinician, chaplain, teacher, or case worker: screen for high-control dynamics (isolation, punishment for questioning, compelled confessions, surveillance, shunning). Ask about scrupulosity. Use trauma-informed practice that honours conscience and consent. The research base is growing -slowly- but it’s enough to act with care right now.


Resources


Beyond Blue: 1300 22 4636


Lifeline: 13 11 14


Survivors of Coercive Cults and High-Control Groups: SOCCHG.ORG – Survivor-led law reform, research, education, and support for survivors of coercive cults and high-control groups.







Further reading & studies


 
 
 

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