Religious Trauma

We often view the "dangerous" spiritual leader as the charismatic shouter or the obvious manipulator. However, there is a quieter, more subtle form of spiritual dominance that is frequently overlooked because it wraps itself in the respectable cloak of theology, tenure, and study. It occurs when a long-time believer or leader—someone who has read all the books, memorized the Greek and Hebrew, and sat on the councils for decades—begins to confuse their knowledge about God with

Drive down a specific corridor of the highway not far from my home in North Texas, and you will see a fascinating, yet troubling, architectural phenomenon. In a span of less than five minutes, you can pass at least ten different churches. Two of them sit literally right next door to one another. On the surface, this looks like a thriving spiritual community. But if you look closer, it represents something else: a deep, fragmentation based on the belief that "We have it right,

For many who walk away from high-control religious environments—whether fundamentalist, evangelical, or strictly traditional—the hardest part isn't necessarily the theological debate. The hardest part is the lingering, unnamable distance they feel in their relationships. It is a specific kind of loneliness. You can be in a room full of people, or sitting next to a spouse you’ve known for decades, and still feel an invisible wall. We often assume this is a spiritual failing or

We live in a world that craves certainty. We want guarantees, money-back promises, and definitive answers. This desire is deeply human; certainty feels safe. It feels like standing on solid rock in the middle of a churning ocean. But over the last few years, I’ve come to a difficult realization: that solid rock can easily become an imprisoned island. There is a profound danger in being 100% sure of what we believe. When we achieve absolute certainty, we declare that we have a