5 Things Religious Trauma Survivors Secretly Think (And Rarely Say Out Loud)

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from sitting with countless religious trauma survivors in therapy, it’s that many of us are carrying thoughts we’ve never dared to speak out loud. Sometimes that’s because we’re not sure anyone else would understand. Sometimes it’s because the thought itself feels “wrong” or “dangerous” after years of being told what’s acceptable to think. And sometimes it’s simply because we don’t yet have the words.

In recent days, I’ve been reminded of the importance of knowing you are not alone. Yes, in relationships—but also in experience. That you aren’t the only one who has felt a certain way. Thought a certain way. I’ve been reflecting on how isolating it can be to sit with a thought or feeling that no one else seems to have, and to quietly wonder, “Am I the only one who has felt this?”

There is a particular comfort in hearing someone else give voice to the exact thought you assumed was yours alone. It’s like a tiny piece of the weight you’ve been carrying suddenly gets lifted—not because your situation changes, but because now you know you’re not the only one holding it. Your experience is valid. Your thoughts and feelings are valid. Others have carried the same weight and found ways forward, too.

That’s why I wanted to write this post—not just to name a few of those “secret” thoughts that religious trauma survivors often have, but to give you the relief of hearing them out loud. If you’ve thought or felt any of these things, you are not broken, unworthy, or going backwards in your healing journey. You’re human. And you’re in good company here.

1. “Sometimes I miss the certainty — even though it hurt me.”

When you’ve left a high-control religious environment, you might think that missing anything about it is a betrayal — a sign you’ve backslid or aren’t “as healed as you thought.”

But missing certainty doesn’t mean you miss the control. It means you miss the illusion of safety that certainty gave you.

In those spaces, there was a script for everything: what to believe, how to behave, even what counted as “good” or “bad” feelings. You knew where you stood. Life was painted in clean, sharp lines — black and white, no gray area to stumble in. You were taught that the Bible had the answers to all of life’s problems and questions.

Now that you have stepped away, it feels like you’re suddenly staring at blank pages. And the freedom that’s supposed to feel exhilarating can also feel terrifying. There’s no map, no pre-written plan, no guaranteed “right” choice.

Missing that old certainty doesn’t mean you want to go back. It just means you’re human enough to grieve the simplicity you once had — even if it came at the cost of your autonomy.

2. “If people knew the real me, they wouldn’t want me.”

Religious trauma often wires us to believe that our truest selves are unworthy of love. We were told to hide, “die to self,” or strip away any part of us that didn’t fit the approved mold. That conditioning runs deep, and even long after leaving a high-control religious environment, it can feel terrifying to be fully seen.

So we learn to self-edit in friendships, relationships, and even therapy. We reveal parts of ourselves slowly, testing whether the people around us can handle who we are. Sometimes we keep whole parts of our stories locked away, afraid that if we share them, rejection will be the inevitable result.

The truth is, finding people who see all of you and still choose to stay is one of the most healing experiences a survivor can have. But getting there often means unlearning the lie that your real self is “too much” or “not enough.”

3. “Sometimes I wonder if it would’ve been easier to just stay quiet.”

You spoke up. You told the truth. You walked away. And yet… there are days when you think about the other road — the one where you stayed put, kept your head down, and didn’t rock the boat.

It’s not that you want to go back. It’s not that you regret leaving. It’s that your body still remembers the safety — however false — that came with being accepted, even if it meant staying silent. Your nervous system knows the cost of speaking up, and sometimes it whispers, “Was it worth it?”

Because leaving isn’t just about walking out of a belief system. It can mean losing relationships, community, identity, and the illusion of stability. And it’s human to wonder if the “easier” way might have hurt less.

Here’s the thing: staying quiet might have spared you some conflict in the moment, but over time, it would have cost you something much deeper. That slow erosion of self — the shrinking, the pretending — would have been its own kind of devastation.

So if you’ve had this thought, let it be just that: a thought. Not a betrayal of your healing. Not a sign you made the wrong choice. Just an honest reflection on how hard it is to hold the weight of both loss and freedom at the same time.

4. “I’m still afraid of things I don’t even believe in anymore.”

This one surprises people outside the survivor community, but not those who’ve lived it. You can completely deconstruct a belief intellectually and still feel its grip emotionally. For example, you might no longer believe in hell, but still feel a pang of fear when something bad happens—like maybe God is “punishing” you. You might reject purity culture, yet still feel shame in moments of intimacy.

These reflexes are learned survival responses. They were built over years of conditioning, and your nervous system doesn’t automatically “get the memo” when your beliefs change. That’s why these fears can show up suddenly, even after you’ve told yourself you’ve moved on.

Healing often means showing compassion for those parts of you—recognizing they’re not proof you’ve failed, but evidence of how much you endured. The next time you feel like rolling your eyes at your own lingering fears because you think you should be over them by now, try to instead practice radical empathy towards the parts of you that are still afraid.

5. “What if I wasted the best years of my life?”

Many survivors wrestle with the quiet grief of time lost. Years—or even decades—spent under teachings that demanded obedience over exploration. Seasons of life where dreams were shelved, relationships were shaped by fear, and self-expression was carefully contained so as not to “sin” or cause anyone to “stumble.”

It can be devastating to look back and think of all the opportunities you didn’t take because you were told they were wrong, unsafe, or selfish. But here’s the thing: that grief is real, and it deserves to be acknowledged. Pretending it doesn’t exist won’t help you heal.

What I’ve seen again and again is that while we can’t get those years back, we can reclaim what’s ahead. Some of the most deeply alive, joy-filled moments in my clients’ lives have come after they’ve named this grief and allowed themselves to start pursuing the things they once denied themselves.

You’re Not Alone

If you recognized yourself in any or all of these thoughts and feelings, know this: you’re not alone. And you’re not failing at healing.

You are a human being navigating a complicated and painful journey out of high-control religion. Recovery from religious trauma isn’t a straight line where you leave it all behind and never look back. It’s a winding, messy process of telling the truth about what you’ve been through — even the parts that feel contradictory or “wrong.”

The more you can say these things without shame — even if it’s only to yourself at first — the more space you give your story to breathe.

And sometimes, that’s where real freedom begins: not in pretending the hard thoughts don’t exist, but in letting yourself speak them out loud and discover that you’re still safe.

If you’re looking for a therapist who understands religious trauma and faith transitions, I’m here to help. You deserve to be heard, validated, and supported as you find your way toward healing, freedom, and connection.

Request a consultation below to learn more about working together.