Faith That Wasn’t Safe: Understanding Your Childhood Body and Brain
High-control, fear-based religious environments leave deep marks on a child’s development. Survivors often carry those marks into adulthood as anxiety, shame, confusion, and a deep mistrust of themselves—not because they are broken, but because their systems were shaped in ways no child should have to endure. What felt “normal” back then may finally make sense when you see how fear, shame, and control interacted with your developing brain, body, and sense of self.
What you were taught about Jesus.
When you were taught, “You are the reason Jesus died. Your sins made him suffer,” that wasn’t a gentle story about love and sacrifice. For a child, this often lands as: “Someone was tortured because of me.” That is an unbearable emotional weight for a developing brain that still sees the world in simple, concrete terms.
Young children are wired to take adults seriously and literally. They don’t yet have the abstract thinking skills to say, “This is a metaphor,” or “This is symbolic language about sacrifice.” So, when the adults you depended on described graphic images of crucifixion, hell, or God’s anger, your body recorded those images as real threats, not just religious illustrations.
In that context, the message “Jesus died because of you” functions as:
Fear: If your mistakes can cause that kind of suffering, then being “bad” feels terrifying. Your body may still brace for punishment or rejection when you make a mistake.
Coercion: Love, safety, and belonging are tied to believing the right things and behaving the right way. The stakes feel cosmic, not just relational.
Shame: Who you are, not just what you do, is framed as the problem. It can feel like your very existence is a burden.
If you still feel panicky during religious services, get sick to your stomach hearing certain sermons, or cry without knowing why, that well may be your nervous system remembering those early lessons. It is not proof that you are “too sensitive” or spiritually weak. Please be gentle with yourself.
Fear: Why you still feel unsafe.
High-control religious environments often run on fear. Fear of hell. Fear of demons. Fear of the “world.” Fear of stepping outside of a narrow path and losing God, family, or community. As a child, you did not have the option to calmly evaluate whether those warnings were reasonable. Your survival depended on the very adults who were also the messengers of threat.
Your body adapted the only way it could: by learning that safety comes from obedience, compliance, and staying small. It made sense to learn:
“Obey quickly; questioning is dangerous.”
“Don’t show anger or doubt; that could bring spiritual or physical consequences.”
“Stay in line to stay loved.”
These patterns live in the nervous system. So now, as an adult, you might:
Feel a spike of fear when you disagree with a leader, pastor, or even a partner.
Freeze or fawn when someone uses certainty or religious language, because your body remembers certainty as power.
Panic at the thought of leaving a church, changing beliefs, or setting boundaries, as if some invisible punishment is waiting just offstage.
Nothing is wrong with you. Your system is doing what it was trained to do in an environment that made fear feel like faith.
Shame and Identity: Why you feel “too much” or “not enough.”
Many of us were taught some version of: “You are born sinful. Your heart is deceitful. You are nothing without Christ.” When those messages sink in before you’ve even had a chance to discover who you are, shame doesn’t just become an emotion - it becomes the lens through which you see yourself.
Shame says, “There is something wrong with me.” In spiritual settings, this often turns into, “There is something wrong with my soul, and God agrees.” If every normal childhood impulse - curiosity, anger, sadness, joy, independence - was labeled as rebellion, pride, or selfishness, it makes sense that you learned to distrust your own thoughts and feelings.
You may recognize this now when you notice:
A default belief that you are “bad,” “broken,” or “too much,” even when no one is criticizing you.
Difficulty making decisions without checking what someone else (or God) wants first, because your own desires feel suspect.
A nagging sense that if people saw the “real you,” they would leave.
In high-control groups, children who naturally try to form their own identity or ask questions are often labeled as rebellious or spiritually troubled. Over time, this can convince you that your true self is dangerous and must be suppressed to stay safe and loved.
Sexuality and Purity: Why your body feels unsafe.
If you were raised with purity rings, modesty checklists, and constant warnings about sexual sin, it is not random that your body, desire, and relationships feel complicated now. Purity culture turns normal sexual development into a high-stakes spiritual exam.
Research has found that women exposed to strong purity messages as children report higher levels of sexual shame, more anxiety and pain around sex, and more disgust toward their own sexuality and body. Importantly, one study showed that purity culture exposure predicted sexual shame even beyond the impact of child sexual abuse, meaning the messages alone can do deep harm.
Common teachings often sounded like:
“Your worth is in your virginity or purity.”
“Cover up so you don’t make men stumble.”
“Sex outside heterosexual marriage destroys your value.”
“Non-heterosexual desires are perverse or an abomination.”
For a child or teen, this can translate into:
“My body is dangerous and hurting others is my fault.”
“If anything sexual happens - even without my consent - I am ruined.”
“The most authentic parts of me make me unlovable to God.”
So, if you:
Freeze during intimacy or dissociate.
Feel dirty or panicked when you experience desire.
Struggle to explore your gender or sexuality without waves of shame…
those reactions make sense in light of the messages you received. They are not proof that sex or intimacy is inherently wrong; they reflect years of being told that your body and desires were spiritual landmines.
Worldview and Autonomy: Why the outside world feels overwhelming.
Many high-control religious groups teach that everything outside their walls is dangerous: public schools, books, movies, music, friendships, sometimes even extended family. You may have been homeschooled, heavily monitored, or kept almost entirely in church or group spaces. The outside world was framed as evil, deceptive, or demonic.
When that is your entire childhood ecosystem, leaving (or even loosening your grip) can feel like emigrating to a new country. You may notice:
Feeling “behind” socially or academically compared to peers.
Struggling with basic adult skills like finances, dating, or setting boundaries because those topics were tightly controlled or never discussed.
A mix of fascination and fear about “the world”—drawn to new ideas and experiences, yet terrified you are doing something dangerously wrong.
Research and clinical work with people raised in cultic or high-demand groups describes this as a kind of delayed or disrupted social development. Children in these environments often miss important information about science, history, sexuality, and everyday life skills. When they grow up and leave, they have to build an internal compass from scratch, after years of being told to ignore their own inner guidance.
If making decisions feels paralyzing for you, remember: you were trained to outsource your choices to pastors, parents, doctrine, or “God’s will.” Learning to listen to yourself is not selfishness; it is a new developmental task that was postponed, not a skill you somehow failed to learn.
When abuse dresses up as “discipline” or “spiritual authority.”
Abuse in high-control religious settings is rarely just “bad behavior.” It is often wrapped in spiritual language, justified with twisted theology, and protected by a culture of secrecy. This can make it very hard, years later, to even name what happened to you as abuse.
In many fear-based faith environments, adults are given wide power over children “in God’s name.” Physical, emotional, or verbal harm can be reframed as godly parenting or spiritual leadership.
You might have heard things like:
“Spare the rod, spoil the child” to justify harsh corporal punishment, leaving you bruised, terrified, or dissociated, all while being told this was love and obedience to God.
“Your parents/pastor know what’s best for your soul” used to dismiss your fear, pain, or protests.
“Honor your father and mother” wielded as a weapon to silence you when you tried to speak up about mistreatment.
When abuse is labeled “discipline,” a child learns that pain is proof of love, that innocence is rebellion, and that God stands with the person hurting them—not with them.
When leaders and communities protect abusers.
High-control groups often claim a special calling, truth, or anointing, which can make it very hard to challenge those in power. Abuse is more easily covered when questioning leadership is equated with questioning God.
You may have seen or experienced patterns like:
A leader’s or volunteer’s sexual, physical, or emotional abuse being minimized as a “moral failure,” “stumble,” or “temptation,” while survivors are told to forgive, stay quiet, or “not damage the witness of the church.”
Parents or pastors refusing to involve outside authorities, insisting that “we handle things within the body of Christ,” which protects the institution and the abuser while isolating the victim.
Survivors being accused of gossip, slander, rebellion, or “having a Jezebel spirit” when they tried to tell the truth.
When spiritual language is used to bury abuse, children absorb the message that safety and honesty are less important than loyalty and image. That can leave deep confusion later: “If it was really abuse, why did everyone act like I was the problem for speaking up?”
When Scripture and doctrine are twisted to keep you quiet.
Verses and doctrines that could be life-giving are often twisted into tools of control. Children and teens are especially vulnerable because they are still learning how to interpret texts and trust their own sense of right and wrong.
You might recognize dynamics like:
Forgiveness weaponized: “You have to forgive seventy times seven” used to pressure you into reconciling with someone who never took responsibility, or to stop you from naming the harm at all. Forgiveness becomes a muzzle, not a choice.
Submission distorted: “Wives submit to your husbands,” “children obey your parents,” or “obey your leaders” used as blanket commands that erase safety, consent, and accountability. If you resisted, you were framed as sinful, not self-protective.
Suffering glorified: Abuse reframed as “your cross to bear,” “refining fire,” or “spiritual warfare,” so your pain was spiritualized instead of addressed. You were encouraged to endure harm to prove your faith.
This twisting of truth teaches a child that God is on the side of the abuser, that the Bible is a tool of threat, and that their own internal alarm bells are untrustworthy or demonic. As an adult, you might now flinch when you hear certain verses or feel nauseated when someone starts a sentence with “The Bible says…” because your body remembers those verses as weapons, not comfort.
Why it makes sense you still struggle to name it as abuse.
When abuse is wrapped in spiritual language, it becomes incredibly confusing to sort out later. You may find yourself thinking:
“It wasn’t that bad; other people had it worse.”
“They meant well. They really loved God.”
“If I call this abuse, am I dishonoring God or my parents?”
“Maybe I’m just being dramatic or bitter.”
But if someone consistently harmed you—physically, emotionally, sexually, spiritually—and then used God, the Bible, or religious ideas to excuse it, silence you, or keep you trapped, that is abuse. It is spiritual abuse and often also psychological, physical, or sexual abuse.
You were not overreacting. You were overpowered.
Your hesitancy, confusion, or self-doubt now are not evidence that it “wasn’t really that bad.” They are evidence that the abuse was entangled with the deepest parts of your identity, your understanding of love, and your image of God. Untangling all of that takes time, support, and a lot of self-compassion—and none of it makes you weak. It makes you profoundly human.
How neurodiversity gets misread in high-control faith.
Neurodivergent kids are especially vulnerable in high-control, performance-based religious systems, and their traits are often either missed or spiritualized instead of understood. This can leave them carrying even more shame and confusion into adulthood.
Many kids in high-control religious environments were also neurodivergent—living with ADHD, OCD, autism, or other differences—but nobody called it that. Instead, their traits were often misread through a spiritual lens.
A child with ADHD who struggled to sit still, focus through long sermons, or keep up with endless church activities might be labeled “rebellious,” “disrespectful,” or “unwilling to submit,” instead of recognized as a kid whose nervous system was overloaded.
A child with OCD, scrupulosity, or anxiety might be praised for being “so serious about holiness,” “convicted,” or “sensitive to sin,” when what they were really experiencing was obsessive fear, compulsive praying, confessing, or rule-checking to try to feel safe.
In a works- or performance-based system, this gets extra tangled. The traits that came from neurodivergence—hyperfocus, over-responsibility, people-pleasing, perfectionism, rule-following—could be held up as spiritual virtues: “such a servant’s heart,” “so on fire for God,” “so obedient.” Over time, this creates several painful layers.
If you were a neurodivergent kid in a works-based, high-control religious system, you may have never been seen as neurodivergent at all. Your inability to sit still, organize, or “submit” might have been called rebellion instead of ADHD. Your compulsive praying, confessing, and rule-checking might have been labeled holiness instead of OCD. The parts of you that were overwhelmed were shamed, and the parts of you that could overperform were praised as spiritual maturity. It makes sense if you’re untangling all of that now—trying to figure out where your neurodiversity ends and your religious trauma begins, and realizing that for a long time, no one in your world knew there was a difference.
Naming what was done to you.
None of these reactions—fear, shame, confusion, anger, numbness—are signs that you are weak, dramatic, or “can’t move on.” They are reasonable responses to an environment that used fear, shame, and control in the name of God. Your body and mind did what they had to do to keep you as safe as possible with the tools you had at the time.
Your questions now: Why do I still feel this way? Why can’t I just get over it? Why do church smells, songs, or phrases make me shake? Those questions re part of your healing, not evidence that you are failing. They show that a deeper, wiser part of you is finally allowed to tell the truth about what happened. Listen and lean in - your body and mind are giving clues to what you need to heal.
You deserved a childhood where curiosity, consent, and kindness led the way. If you didn’t get that, it makes sense that you are grieving, angry, confused, or all of the above. None of that disqualifies you from healing. It simply names what you survived—and opens the door to a life where your worth is no longer tied to fear, purity, or perfection, but to the simple fact that you exist.
Remember: You can honor the good in your childhood faith without staying loyal to what harmed you.
This article is not intended to treat or diagnose any condition.
Rebekah is not a licensed therapist or clinician. Any thoughts, opinions or resources given on this site are strictly her own observation and insights based on personal experiences and study. It should in no way take the place of professional assistance.