The Men Who Used Faith to Hurt Us: A Conversation for Women Reclaiming Their Voice
There’s a quiet reckoning happening in the hearts of many women.
They’re beginning to name what was never safe to say aloud:
That the faith they were raised in didn’t always feel like love.
That the men who taught them about God also taught them to shrink, submit, and stay silent.
That spiritual language was used to excuse control, cover abuse, and sanctify suffering.
This article is not about putting men down. It’s not about mockery or bitterness. It’s about truth. It’s about healing. It’s about making space for women to name what hurt them—especially when that harm was wrapped in scripture, authority, or tradition.
Some of the men who perpetuated these teachings were well-intentioned. Some were not. But the impact remains. And for many women, the journey toward healing begins with naming what was never safe to name.
Defining Spiritual Abuse and Religious Trauma
Spiritual abuse is subtle. It often hides behind good intentions, respected leaders, and familiar teachings. But its impact is profound.
As I’ve written elsewhere:
“Spiritual abuse first affects a person’s mind, moves into their core beliefs, and then informs their actions. It intersects with psychological and emotional abuse because it impacts mind, body, and soul.”
Spiritual abuse can look like:
Scripture used to shame or silence
Authority used to control or isolate
Faith used to justify harm or deny autonomy
A system that demands obedience over emotional safety
Religious trauma is the long-term emotional and psychological impact of these experiences. It can result in:
Anxiety or panic triggered by religious language
Chronic guilt, fear, or shame
Loss of identity or spiritual confusion
Difficulty trusting self, others, or any form of belief
These wounds often begin in childhood, within homes or communities that were deeply religious. And because they’re spiritual in nature, they’re often harder to name, harder to validate, and harder to heal.
But healing is possible. And naming is the first step.
Read the definitions of spiritual abuse and religious trauma and other terms here.
The Theology That Hurt Us
For many women, the harm didn’t begin with a single man—it began with a message.
It was tucked inside bestselling books, Sunday sermons, parenting seminars, and marriage retreats. It came from voices like James Dobson, John MacArthur, Bill Gothard, John Piper and others who taught that male authority was divinely ordained, that submission was sacred, and that questioning was rebellion.
These teachings didn’t just shape churches—they shaped homes. They shaped how fathers disciplined, how husbands led, how women were taught to disappear in the name of obedience. And because it was wrapped in scripture, it felt untouchable.
We were told:
“God designed men to lead and women to follow.”
“A wife’s role is to submit, even when it’s hard.”
“Children must obey without question.”
“Suffering is holy. Silence is strength.”
But what happens when those teachings are used to justify control, excuse abuse, or silence pain?
What happens when the theology itself becomes the trauma?
For many women, these messages created a spiritual framework that normalized harm. They were taught to mistrust their own instincts, suppress their voice, and endure mistreatment as a form of faithfulness. And when they finally began to name the harm, they were told they were bitter, rebellious, or deceived.
This isn’t about attacking theology—it’s about acknowledging the real-world impact of teachings that prioritized male power over mutual care, and female submission over safety.
Naming that harm is not an act of vengeance. It’s an act of survival and resilience.
When Religious Power Becomes Personal Harm
The harmful teachings weren’t just theoretical—they were lived.
They were enforced in the home, echoed in the pulpit, and reinforced in every small group, parenting book, and marriage seminar. The men who hurt us weren’t always strangers. Sometimes they were fathers, husbands, pastors, mentors—men we were told to trust, obey, and never question.
Spiritual abuse often hides in plain sight. It doesn’t always look like shouting or violence. Sometimes it’s scripture used to silence. A prayer used to shame. A sermon used to control. Sometimes it’s the quiet erosion of self-worth, masked as “godly submission.” But then other times it was actual violence that we carried in our bodies and minds while also receiving the blame for causing the the responsibility for managing.
Women were told:
“You’re being prideful if you speak up.”
“Your suffering is part of God’s plan.”
“A good wife doesn’t challenge her husband.”
“Children must obey without question.”
And when the harm was named—if it was named—it was often minimized, spiritualized, or denied. “He’s just passionate.” “You’re misinterpreting scripture.” “You need to forgive.” “Don’t let bitterness take root.”
This is how spiritual abuse works: it wraps harm in holiness. It teaches women to mistrust their own instincts, to spiritualize their pain, and to stay silent for the sake of peace.
But peace that demands silence is not peace. And submission that erases your voice is not sacred.
Naming this kind of harm is not an attack on faith—it’s a step toward reclaiming it.
How to Name the Harm Safely
Naming spiritual abuse is not easy. It can feel disloyal, disrespectful, or even dangerous. Many women carry deep fear: fear of being misunderstood, dismissed, or accused of attacking the faith they still hold dear.
But naming harm is not the same as rejecting belief. It’s about telling the truth. It’s about honoring being a human who deserves dignity and respect. It’s about making space for healing.
Here are a few ways to begin:
Start with safety. Choose a trusted friend, therapist, or support group who understands religious trauma. You don’t owe your story to everyone.
Use language that feels true. You don’t have to use clinical terms. You can say, “That teaching made me feel small,” or “I didn’t feel safe in that relationship.”
Honor your pace. You don’t have to name everything at once. Healing is not a race.
Expect resistance—and protect your peace. Not everyone will understand. That doesn’t mean your story isn’t valid.
If you’re still afraid to speak, that’s okay. Silence was often a survival strategy. But when you’re ready, your voice will be waiting for you.
Pathways to Healing
Healing from spiritual abuse is not about finding the “right” theology. It’s about finding safety. It’s about rebuilding trust-in yourself, in relationships, and maybe even in spirituality.
Healing might look like:
Reading scripture through a trauma-informed lens
Finding a therapist who understands religious trauma
Reclaiming spiritual practices that feel safe and empowering
Setting boundaries with people who still uphold harmful beliefs
Joining survivor-led communities where your story is honored
Giving yourself the freedom to not attend religious services
Exploring what life outside of your previous religious parameters looks like
Forgiveness may come. Or it may not. Or it may look different than you think. But that’s not the goal. The goal is wholeness. The goal is truth. The goal is freedom.
A Note on Women and the System They Inherited
It’s important to name that women, too, have upheld and perpetuated harmful teachings.
Many of us were taught these theologies from birth. We internalized them, repeated them, and passed them on—believing we were protecting our families, honoring God, or doing what was right. Some women became enforcers of purity culture, defenders of male authority, or gatekeepers of silence. Not out of malice, but out of deep conditioning and fear.
But we must also recognize the system that shaped this dynamic.
The evangelical Christian tradition in the United States has been dominated by men—not just culturally, but theologically. Women were told they could not preach, lead, or hold spiritual authority. Their roles were confined to children’s ministry, women’s Bible studies, and behind-the-scenes service. They were taught to defer, to submit, to support.
And when harm occurred—whether in the home, the church, or the counseling office—women were often expected to endure it quietly, forgive quickly, and never speak publicly.
This is not just about individual men. It’s about a system that elevated male voices as divine and silenced women as secondary.
Naming this is not about blame. It’s about truth. It’s about understanding how spiritual abuse became so normalized—and how we begin to dismantle it.
A Blessing For Women Reclaiming Their Voice
You are allowed to name what hurt you.
You are allowed to speak.
You are allowed to grieve the teachings that wounded you.
You are allowed to heal—even if the people who harmed you never apologize.
You are not too sensitive. You are not too angry. You are not too late.
You are brave.
You are worthy.
You are healing.
The men who preached that control and abuse was holy do not get the final word.
Your choice does.
Your voice does.
Your healing does.
This article is not intended to treat or diagnose any condition.
Rebekah is not a licensed therapist or clinician. Any advice or opinions 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.