When the Resurrection is Joyful but the Season is Painful: My Experience with Church Trauma
After three years, I am opening up more about the hurt and trauma my husband and I experienced at the hands of the Church, and how we practice our faith today.
CW: verbal abuse, religious trauma.
Lent and Easter are painful seasons for us.
My husband and I wholeheartedly rejoice in Jesus’s resurrection, which is the essence of the Christian faith and the reason we can suffer with hope. Yet, we are human, and so we admit that Lent and Easter re-triggers the trauma we experience from being harshly judged and alienated by our parish church. This season also forces me to sit in the pain that comes from being chronically ill, immunocompromised, and unable to observe these sacred days with community. As I witness Christian Nationalism take over the Church, my heart hurts even more and I question if I still have a place in the Church, when the politics being preached by Christian leaders and church members today goes against my very right to life.
The Catholic Church and I were once closely intertwined. She was the source of my joy and the joy of my existence. I was baptized as a college student and was heavily involved in my college’s campus ministry, first serving as head of the choir, and then as a member of the Liturgy Committee, where I assisted in the preparation for the Mass through sacristan duties. This involvement helped lay the foundation for service in the apostolate after college, and just a few months after graduating, I became a co-coordinator of the young adult ministry at my local parish.
I devoted myself to my parish. Parish life brought me purpose and joy. When I was not in my graduate classes or at work, I was at my church- either spending time in prayer, running a young adult event, or teaching religious education. I had every bus route to my church down pat. I was friendly with many parishioners and the clergy. Many of the friends I made through the young adult ministry were in my wedding— my wedding to my beloved husband who I met through the ministry. It was my home, and I was happy to serve in any capacity.
Then I got sick.
And everyone left- some silently, and others after speaking their mind.
At the early stages of my illness, I was met with questions and even a little support as we tried to figure out what was going on with my body. I was tired, dizzy, and nauseous all the time. I was breaking out in hives with no apparent cause. I could barely stand without my heart rate increasing dramatically and feeling like I was either about to pass out or throw up. I saw doctor after doctor who blamed my symptoms on “anxiety” and told me everything was all in my head. My church friends began to accuse me of faking my illness and/or exaggerating.
On a warm spring day in March 2022, I was sat down by a fellow layperson of my church and told to
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