Religious Trauma, White Dresses & Cognitive Dissonance: My Healing Isn't Linear

 Hey Tribe, 

If you'd told me 12 years ago that I'd be sharing my story and people would actually listen, I would have completely laughed and walked away. Back then, I wasn't ready to face reality - even though I desperately needed to. It's only in the last five or so years that I've truly started to unpack what healing means for me. 

For a long time, I built walls. I told myself they were just like everyone else's, but they weren't. My bricks were different. Heavier. And I've had to dismantle them one by one - slowly, painfully, and not all at once. 

One of the bigger turning points in my journey came when a mental health professional handed me an A4 sheet of paper, on it was information about something I'd never heard of before: Religious Trauma Syndrome. That moment rocked my world. It was like being handed a key I didn't know I needed - a key that unlocked old thought patterns I didn't even realise I was still carrying. 

Before that, I thought I'd done the work. I'd left. I'd moved on. But the truth? I was just really good at pushing things down and pretending I didn't think like that anymore. 

Religious Trauma? What even is that?

Yeah, I asked myself the same thing. Over and over. And recently, I had the chance to speak with a mental health professional here in Australia about it - and wow, did that conversation send me down a rabbit hole I didn't see coming (in a good way!)

What I have learnt is that Religious Trauma Syndrome isn't a formal diagnosis (yet), but more of a framework - a roadmap that helps explain the emotional and psychological impacts of high-control, authoritarian, or spiritually abusive environments. 

I asked questions I'd been holding onto for a long time:

  • What is Religious Based Trauma Syndrome to professionals?
  • How do we "fix" it?
  • Why isn't it considered a mental health condition? 
  • Can we work on it ourselves and be "cured"?

Reading those questions back now makes me cringe a little - especially the word "cure." That's old language from a version of me who just wanted to be okay. But maybe someone reading this is nodding along, feeling seen. And if it's you - I'm so glad you're here. 

What I've learnt (and unlearnt)

This professional explained that many survivors of religious trauma are often misdiagnosed with things like PTSD, anxiety or depression (just to name a few) - without anyone ever asking about their spiritual background. That was me. Years in therapy, and no one ever thought to ask about the religious trauma I was hiding. 

But when you find the right professionals - the ones who understand coercive control and high-control systems - it changes everything. They can help you name what happened. And naming it is powerful. 

One of the terms that came up was cognitive dissonance - when your personal values point one way, but the dogma you were raised with pulls you in another. For me, that showed up in something as simple (and painful) as a conversation about my wedding dress. 

I asked my family if they would come to my wedding if I wore white. Their answer? No. Because I had children out of wedlock, white was off-limits. Even silver was too close. That moment stuck with me. I didn't share their beliefs anymore, but I still wanted them there. That internal conflict - that dissonance - was real, and it lingered for years. 

The symptoms are real - even if they're invisible

Religious trauma can show up in so many ways: anxiety, panic attacks, depression, OCD, identity confusion, dissociation, hypervigilance, shame. I used to say "I'm fine. I don't think about it anymore." But the truth is, I was just surviving. 

I've learnt that the nervous system doesn't forget. It holds onto what hasn't been processed. And for me, healing started when I stopped trying to do is all alone. 

My kids have been my greatest teachers. A while ago, they asked me to visit a church with them - not the one I grew up, but a completely different, unaffiliated one. Everyone there was kind, welcoming and open. But my body? My hands were shaking. My heart was racing. I felt like everyone could see I was a "backslider". 

That wasn't failure. That wasn't regression. That was my nervous system doing its job - remembering what if felt like to be watched, judged and controlled. In the Geelong Revival Centre, being noticed often meant being corrected or shamed. My body remembered, even when my mind had moved on. 

So... how do we heal? 

Religious trauma falls under the broader umbrella of trauma - and that means it can be addressed with trauma-informed care. The first step is always safety. Emotional, psychological, and yes, sometimes even physical safety. 

For me, traditional talk therapy has been a lifeline. I've been in and out of it for over four years and having someone unbiased to help me reframe my thoughts has been invaluable. I've also heard really good things about EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), and I know others who've had great results with it. 

But healing isn't just about therapy. It's also about community. I had to rebuild my support system from scratch after losing the one I was born into. I had to let go of people who weren't helping my healing - and that's hard. But it's also necessary. 

Can we do it alone?

Technically? Sure. But in my experience, healing in isolation has limits. The more safe, supportive people you have around you, the easier it is to have the hard conversations - the ones that help you figure out what you actually believe, not just what you were taught to believe. 

Why isn't it a recognised mental health condition?

Right now, there just isn't enough research. It's not in the DSM-5, and that means a lot of professionals still don't know how to recognise it. But that's changing - slowly. And conversations like this one are part of that change. 

Thanks to the professional I spoke with and the community I have found I have been able to provide some resources to share with you all that I used to help me with this particular post. 

If you're here, reading this, and feeling even a little bit seen - you're not alone. 

Let's keep breaking chains, 

Lauren

Founder, Breaking Chains Tribe

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