“[Religious trauma occurs in] people who have come to God asking for bread, but seem to have received stones and serpents in its place” —Michelle Pachnuk
Religious trauma is a complex process that has not been easy to define. In 2011, psychologist Marlene Winell attempted to describe the connection she observed between adverse religious experiences and negative outcomes in physical and mental health. In her seminal work, “Religious Trauma Syndrome”, she proposed the following definition: “Religious Trauma Syndrome is the condition experienced by people who are struggling with leaving an authoritarian, dogmatic religion and coping with the damage of indoctrination”.
Since then, the field’s understanding of religious trauma has shifted in some subtle but noteworthy ways. For instance, we no longer use the highly medicalized word “syndrome”: religious trauma is not a disease or abnormality so much as a significant disruption in lived experience. Current definitions also intentionally omit references to changes in practices, behaviors, or community involvement as a criteria of religious trauma. To put it simply, not every survivor of religious trauma loses their ability or desire to participate in religious life. Some have no desire to deconvert. Some find deep healing in faith communities. Others leave faith altogether, or convert to a different religion entirely. Regardless, a person’s decision to remove themself from the setting the traumatic experience[s] occurred in can not be a measure by which we define the severity of the event itself or the level of trauma experienced. For some people, the social or financial ramifications prevent them from even considering leaving the traumatic context. However, many people do leave. According to Daryl R. Van Tongeren’s research into religious deconversion, religious trauma is the second most common reason people leave their faith.
The adverse experiences that may result in religious trauma vary greatly, but are defined by researcher Darren Slade and colleagues as ““Any experience of a religious belief, practice, or structure that undermines an individual’s sense of safety or autonomy and/or negatively impacts their social, emotional, relational, sexual, or psychological wellbeing”. Examples of adverse religious experiences include the threat of damnation if an individual tries to leave their religious community; the pressure to forgive an abuser; being shamed or ostracized for one’s gender or sexual identity; exposure to graphic, developmentally inappropriate depictions of Hell, tribulation, or Satan; being shamed over sexual desires; blaming victims for their own abuse; watching religious leaders protect or uphold perpetrators of abuse; or the use of constant shame to control thoughts and behaviors. The list goes on, and religious trauma may overlap with other forms of trauma, abuse, and neglect. Religious trauma, like all traumas, occurs when an individual is subjected to an event (or series of events) that is so overwhelming it destroys their sense of safety and autonomy and results in ongoing harm to their emotional, spiritual, interpersonal, sexual, or psychological wellbeing.
Slade found approximately one-third of American adults have experienced this level of religious trauma. This number is almost certainly much higher in certain populations (e.g. the LGBTQ+ population).
This prevalence rate indicates that clergy, counselors, and lay leaders are likely working folks who live with religious trauma, and will continue to find themselves navigating situations that are rife with potential for pain and retraumatization. Although guidelines for working with clients and congregants navigating religious trauma is beyond the scope of this piece, my hope is that this will prompt leaders to begin a journey of further reflection, research, and training. Most of all, I hope we in the helping professions will begin to see religious trauma as a legitimate and significant phenomenological experience. Religious trauma, like all traumas, represents a shift in framework: there is life before the traumatic event, and life after. Maybe before the traumatic event, I believed I was safe, people are good, and I have control over my body or life. A traumatic event can shatter those lenses. What makes an adverse religious experience unique is that it can shatter the lens through which we experience all other lenses. For people of faith, a breach of this kind may touch every dimension of their lives: their families, communities, values, and their sense of self that extends beyond life itself. Fundamental conceptualizations of the world–God is good, I have a purpose, I belong–are thrown into disarray. This can be profoundly and existentially disorienting.
As a mental health professional, I am more likely to see the downstream effects of adverse religious experiences. I walk alongside those who are picking up the pieces of their life after a cherished faith has let them down or turned them away. I help people develop the skills and resilience to manage the aftershocks, such as anxiety and depression. I help people reconceptualize their identities and stories after leaving harmful communities. And this is important work. But equally important is the work of pastors and clergy who are able to prevent religious abuse and trauma from occurring in the first place, by creating non-coercive, safe, and justice-oriented faith communities.
References
Panchuk, M. (2018). The shattered spiritual self: A philosophical exploration of religious trauma. Res Philosophica, 95(3), 505-530.
Slade, D. M., Smell, A., Wilson, E., & Drumsta, R. (2023). Percentage of US adults suffering from religious trauma: A sociological study. Socio-historical examination of religion and ministry, 5(1), 1-28.
Van Tongeren, D.R. (2024). Done: How to Flourish After Leaving Religion. APA Lifetools.
Winell, M. (2011) Religious Trauma Syndrome (Series of 3 articles), Cognitive Behavioural Therapy Today, Vol. 39, Issue 2, May 2011, Vol. 39, Issue 3, September 2011, Vol. 39, Issue 4, November 2011. British Association of Behavioural and Cognitive Therapies, London.
About the Author
Alynda Worrell-Welch, LPC/MHSP (Temp), lives in Johnson City, Tennessee, where she works as a mental health counselor and artist. She received her bachelor’s degree in psychology and visual arts and her master’s degree in clinical mental health counseling from Milligan University, and is completing her post-graduate hours to become a fully licensed counselor.