By: Akos Balogh
This story is told from the perspective of Maggie, a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. She describes what it is like to be part of a caring church community while carrying the weight of deep trauma. For those who have not lived through such experiences, the thoughts and responses of survivors can sometimes seem difficult to understand.
By sharing her journey, the hope is that readers—especially Christians—might develop greater awareness and compassion for those who live with hidden wounds, and learn how to walk alongside them with gentleness and care.
*This account includes references to abuse, and some may find the content distressing. Reader discretion is advised.*
Here is Maggie’s story:
Abuse survivors and the church community are things that don’t easily sit side-by-side. The church is supposed to be a safe place, for everyone. When we hear church and abuse, there is a correlation that assumes abuse within the church. While my abuse happened both within and outside of the church, I make no distinction for the survivor in this article, as the ramifications of abuse know no boundaries.
I walk into my church service each Sunday, wondering what encouragement, song or part of a sermon will trigger me. I live in hypervigilance of something that will reignite my childhood trauma, some innocuous comment that sends me into self-protection mode.
As a survivor, I often hide in the shadows, fearful that someone will spot an erratic behaviour or ill-fashioned response and won’t understand. It’s the challenge of being in a community where God has shown us so much mercy and surrounded with His love. Because as a survivor, I lived through hell, and whether from sermons, worship, or stories that are shared about God’s mercy and love, I often feel like a failure because my history impedes my appreciation of His grace.
I have learned to manage the triggers that blindside me using techniques that get me through. I deliberately go to our church’s smaller evening service, sitting in the back, next to the aisle so that I can escape if I am triggered. Anxiously, I wait for one of my few trusted companions to arrive. They know my heart, which allows me to relax slightly, not feeling so exposed.
Inevitably, the guilt starts. Whether from being encouraged to immerse myself in God’s word or acknowledging our sin before God. The cognitive dissonance can be deafening. How do I acknowledge my sin (often maladaptive behaviours from childhood), when it is how I was raised? I always survive the service. I know the intent is well-meaning, intended to draw us closer to God. The music, the set-up, the sermon, all cater to the 70% of the congregation that didn’t come from a traumatic childhood.
I feel deflated and misunderstood most of the time.
A Few Insights
I hope that by sharing my perspective and experience, readers might understand what life can be like as a Christian survivor. How for me at least, I reconcile my history and faith. I offer these concepts as guideposts rather than absolutes. It is about starting a conversation, not drawing a line in the sand.
1. Our brains are wired differently.
Because of what we survived, our God-given creative brains rewired us for survival.
This re-wiring is remarkably similar to those who have had a traumatic brain injury (1). There are many studies that show the effect childhood abuse has on the brains of survivors (2). From cognitive impairments and emotional dysregulation to sleeping disturbances, the list goes on. Because of our trauma, we see the world through a different coloured lens.
2. Shame can be debilitating for survivors.
This is a core part of what we struggle with in church and life.
Ashamed, we feel loathing instead of God’s love after sermons. We are ashamed of what happened to us and fear being judged. We are ashamed of the things we did to survive, knowing that many of those things, from maladaptive and addictive behaviours to sexual promiscuity, enabled our survival. The very coping mechanisms that helped us survive are condemned and cause shame.
3. Saying “Trust God, He’ll get you through” can be unhelpful.
While well-meaning, saying ‘Trust God, He’ll get you through’ is a simplistic perspective.
We experienced betrayed trust throughout our childhood. It’s actually amazing that we believe God will carry us, when it would be easier to blame Him for how it’s all gone wrong. Trust is one of the most difficult things a trauma survivor wrestles with. To be given a pat on the back and encouraged to just trust God, when we’re overwhelmed by a trigger reinforces a sense of failure, and a torrent of shame returns. Why haven’t I healed quicker? Why is life so hard? Do I not trust God enough?
4. Ask questions.
In the intimacy of a small group (mainstays in Christian fellowship), for the survivor, it can feel like our trauma is the elephant in the room.
I have tried to provide my survivor perspective when discussing a passage of scripture, leading to an uncomfortable silence. Instead, I shut down. What I crave is someone to ask me how wrestling with this passage affects me as a survivor. Having those discussions, especially in the light of a complex diagnosis (e.g., mine with Dissociative Identity Disorder), is a breath of fresh air. It means people want to understand and provides a sense of validation and affirmation of God’s love for us.
5. Prayer and Friendship are key.
We all live busy lives, and it’s easy to say we will pray.
Many times, prayer is action. It’s not about a few well-meaning words and moving on; it’s about picking up the phone and saying, hey, let’s grab a coffee or take a walk. It says, I am making time for you. We don’t need platitudes that are easy; we need friends who are there. I suspect this sort of sincere friendship is something that would go a long way for many struggling in our churches.
6. Believe that we are strong.
We are tougher than you might think. We’ve been through hell and survived. Living with it may be tough, but we got through. We don’t need to be coddled, we need respect.
We live in a fallen world.
Statistics indicate that 32% of children have experienced childhood abuse (3). That means that the likelihood of sitting next to someone in a service or bible study group that has a traumatic history is not uncommon. And the world is not getting any better. It is the responsibility of the church to understand ALL members of the congregation, and to carve out a place for the growing number of trauma survivors in our midst. The church should not and cannot take the place of therapeutic help.
Instead, the church needs to provide a place of safety and compassion, where the practical skills of learning to trust and feel safe can be put into practice as we walk through this world and come to terms with our history of trauma, and our place as a child of God.
A word to survivors.
There will be readers who are survivors of some sort of trauma that has defined and shaped their view of the world.
All I’d like to say is, if you have reached through the muck of your history and are clinging to God, don’t give up. Believe that in the church community, there will be rest. Take charge of your future, and if you don’t find that respite in the church you are in, then reach out, ask for what you need or find a new church home. Do the hardest thing of all: trust yourself. Trust what you know of God and lean into Him. That support is there; you may have to look beyond the jagged edges of the ragamuffin mob of believers that surround you, but God will introduce you to people of faith you can be real with. They won’t be perfect; no one is, but they can be a heart where who you are is accepted and loved.
Start there.
Here are versus that help me each day:
Proverbs 3.5-8, Deuteronomy 29.29, Romans 5:3-4, Psalm 139, Psalm 46.10
Maggie Walters is a trauma survivor and author of SPLIT a life shared: living with Multiple Personality Disorder. She is an advocate, both in and out of the church, for changing the narrative around mental health and complex trauma.
Article supplied with thanks to Akos Balogh.
About the Author: Akos is the Executive Director of the Gospel Coalition Australia. He has a Masters in Theology and is a trained Combat and Aerospace Engineer.
Feature image: Canva
