The Church and PTSD

This past July, I visited a friend. She's another survivor of fundamentalism and has been my friend for over 16 years. She moved away to another state, so we don't talk or see each other as much; but when we do, it's like we never left. We catch up to where we are now, how our lives are going, and what we have planned for the future. It's always such a blessing to be able to get together with her, as we also share our own stories of coming out of fundamentalism. 

While at her home, she had mentioned that they were going to church on Sunday and that I was more than welcome to come, but I did not have to. I hadn't been to church in a while. It was right after COVID started that I stopped. At first, I told myself it was because of COVID that I didn't attend; but as time went on...I just stopped going entirely. This would be a new experience for me if I went. I wrestled with it for the next couple of days and eventually decided that I would go, if for no other reason because I loved my friend and wanted to spend time with her. I decided that whatever would happen, would happen and that I would be okay because she was right there with me.

Sunday eventually came, and my friend assured me that I did not have to go with them to church, but I could if I wanted to. Part of me was still hesitant, but the other part of me wanted to see if I could sit through a church service again. At this point, I am still in the early deconstructing stages, and am still learning a lot about myself, my triggers, and what makes me comfortable/uncomfortable.  

The church itself was more modern and had contemporary worship. It began about how you would expect; singing, announcements, welcoming new people. Nothing too triggering for me. It was going well, for the most part. They had a gigantic screen that flashed Bible verses and song lyrics, along with short videos of what was going on both in the church and in the community. There was coffee and doughnuts in the main foyer and enthusiastic greeters. Maybe this would be okay. Maybe I would be okay.

At one point in the service, my friend had to leave to tend to her youngest. I was sitting with her daughter meanwhile, and we were listening to a sermon. I admit I can't quite remember what the topic was. But all seemed to be going well. I had not brought my Bible and didn't want to use my phone to scroll through an app. So I just listened. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.

Suddenly, the preacher yelled and slammed his fist down. I don't even remember what he was referencing. I just remember the fear and the flashbacks to yelling pastors and screaming sermons that so traumatized me as a child. The constant fear that is ingrained in your head at a young age about hell and eternal punishment, even though that is not what the sermon was about, came back to me, flooded my memories. 

 I winced as if someone had slapped me across the face. Suddenly my fight or flight kicked in. My breathing became shallow and I started to shake. What was happening? Why was I freaking out? Of course now I know the answer to that question, but back then, I had no idea a church service would make me respond in such a drastic way.

 I would have run out of the sanctuary, but my friend's daughter was sitting right next to me. I think that she could tell something wasn't right, even at her young age; so she took my hand and said, "it's okay, Ida. It's okay." I nearly cried, but I was able to hold it together somewhat until my friend returned. I told her what happened, how unexpected it was, and she told me she was sorry and that she didn't realize that the pastor had yelled. "But why did I react that way?" I asked her. "I just don't understand."

I do now. I have PTSD from church. From years of preachers doing that very thing; yelling and slamming their fists. And, although he was not talking specifically about hell, my PTSD most assuredly comes from years of having the concept drilled into my head. Church PTSD is apparently in the early stages of being studied; another name for it is Religious Trauma Syndrome. It was coined in 2011 by a psychologist named Marlene Winell,  It's not in the DSM-V, but many therapists and psychologists recognize it as a real thing. For further reading, there is an entire study that was done on Religious Trauma Syndrome here, and a whole study done here. It's a real thing, albeit it's in the early stages of study. It's basically a type of complex PTSD. 

Knowing this gave me relief, freedom even because I now knew that I wasn't crazy. It had a name. There was a reason behind all of this. At the same time, I was sad and upset that I had been through such trauma, and I was even more upset that it took me this long to figure it out. 

I feel such sadness for young children who are stuck in the fundamentalist church, who have to endure screaming preachers who bang their fists on the pulpit, yelling vile things about hell and God's wrath. The nightmares these poor children must have. The absolute fear and dread. And at such a young age. There is no way around it. It's child abuse. To willfully scare a child into submission with hell and eternal torment is wrong. It actually messes with your brain chemistry, as you constantly live a life of fight or flight. I hope and pray that soon, this syndrome will be nationally recognized, so people can get the help that they need.  I also hope someday, the shrieking pastors and abusive members will be held accountable. They owe it to the victims. They owe it to all of us.