What is Religious Trauma?

I first began to think seriously about spiritual abuse and religious trauma around ten years ago, during a training session with Scottish Women’s Aid. It was called An Introduction to Domestic Abuse, and I went along expecting to learn more about supporting women in crisis. What I didn’t expect was to feel something stir inside me — something hollow and unsettling — as the trainer began describing coercive control.

The dynamics she described were rooted in the terrifying realities that many women face in abusive relationships: living in fear, being isolated from support, having their sense of self chipped away by someone they loved or trusted. And I want to be really clear — my experience is not comparable to that. My life and physical safety were never in danger. I have nothing but respect and deep concern for women in those circumstances.

But what stopped me in my tracks that day was a quieter recognition. As the trainer explained the patterns of coercive control — the loss of autonomy, the manipulation, the pressure to conform — something clicked. These weren’t only the dynamics of an abusive partner. They were also the dynamics I had experienced in certain parts of church life.

At the time, I didn’t have the words to explain it. I just knew that something about the way power had been used in those faith settings had left a lasting imprint. It took years of learning, reflection, and listening to others before I realised what I was dealing with had a name: religious trauma, often rooted in what we now call spiritual abuse.

What Is Coercive Control?

To understand religious trauma, it helps to begin with coercive control. The UK Home Office defines it as:

"A pattern of acts of assault, threats, humiliation and intimidation or other abuse that is used to harm, punish or frighten their victim. This controlling behaviour is designed to make a person dependent by isolating them from support, exploiting them, depriving them of independence and regulating their everyday behaviour."
— Home Office, UK Government, Statutory Guidance Framework, 2015

Though this definition is typically applied to intimate partner relationships, the dynamics are not exclusive to romantic or domestic settings. Coercive control is essentially about power: one person or group gradually restricting another’s freedom, voice, and autonomy until they no longer feel able to think or choose for themselves.

In some religious contexts, sadly, this kind of control can be justified — even sanctified — by sacred texts, doctrines, or leadership structures.

What Is Spiritual Abuse?

Dr. Lisa Oakley, one of the UK’s leading researchers on spiritual abuse, defines it as:

“A form of emotional and psychological abuse. It is characterised by a systematic pattern of coercive and controlling behaviour in a religious context. Spiritual abuse can have a deeply damaging impact on those who experience it. This abuse may include manipulation and exploitation, enforced accountability, censorship of decision-making, requirements for secrecy and silence, coercion to conform, control through the use of sacred texts or teaching, and the requirement of obedience to a spiritual leader.”

This definition captures something I wish I’d had words for earlier in my life. Spiritual abuse isn’t always dramatic or visible. Often, it’s quiet and insidious. It may take the form of being told to “submit” without question, being discouraged from trusting your own instincts, or being made to feel that questioning a leader is the same as questioning God. Sometimes it looks like being taught that your body, your desires, or your voice are inherently sinful — especially if you are a woman.

These environments often cloak their control in language about obedience, humility, or holiness. But the effect is the same: people become small. They stop trusting themselves. They disconnect from their inner wisdom. They feel afraid, ashamed, or unworthy — even long after leaving the group.

The Impact of Religious Trauma

Religious trauma is the lasting psychological and emotional harm caused by these kinds of abusive or high-control religious environments. For some, it shows up as anxiety or panic attacks when entering a place of worship. For others, it’s nightmares, difficulty setting boundaries, or a deep-seated fear of punishment. Many people struggle with self-worth or experience shame over their identity, desires, or doubts.

Healing from this kind of trauma can be particularly complicated. Unlike other forms of abuse, which may be easier to name or reject, religious trauma often comes wrapped in a belief system that has shaped someone’s entire worldview — including their understanding of morality, identity, and purpose.

Leaving a harmful religious setting can feel like losing a community, a sense of certainty, and even God. That’s why recovery needs to be gentle, compassionate, and person-led. It’s not about throwing away every belief, but about learning to discern what’s life-giving from what was harmful — and giving people the power to decide that for themselves.

Why It Matters

I share this because I’ve worked with many people — especially women — who carry wounds from high-control religious environments. Some still feel silenced, ashamed, or afraid. Others are just beginning to ask, “Was that normal?” or “Was that okay?”

Naming these experiences as spiritual abuse or religious trauma doesn’t mean rejecting faith or painting all religious communities with the same brush. But it does mean being honest about the ways power can be misused — even in the name of God.

There is healing. There is hope. And most importantly, there is freedom — not the kind of “freedom” that’s conditional on obedience, but the kind that comes from reconnecting with your own voice, your values, and your worth.