When Faith Tells You Your Feelings Are a Problem: Untangling Emotional Shame from Religious Trauma

Growing up in a high-control religious environment, I was taught that anger was sinful. Not just that I shouldn’t express it—but that I shouldn’t even feel it. So I got really good at stuffing it down. Suppressing it. Smiling through it.

People praised me for being “mature,” “calm,” “level-headed.” And most of the time, I could pull it off. But if anyone had seen me on the tennis court back then… they might’ve gotten a very different impression.

The problem with repressing anger—a completely normal and necessary human emotion—is that it doesn’t just disappear. It doesn’t vanish because you prayed hard enough or quoted the right Bible verse. It stays in your body. It looks for an outlet. And for me, that outlet was tennis.

I wouldn’t say I was full John McEnroe, but let’s just say there were… moments. I was one of those high school players who—after missing a shot—would slam their racket on the ground or yell in frustration. That was the only space where it felt remotely “safe” or appropriate to let my anger out. And even then, it came with shame because I had been taught that God and the church did not approve of anger.

Then came college. I made the tennis team at Wheaton. And one day at a pre-season practice, after botching an overhead smash and responding with my usual spicy flare, the coach pulled me aside.

They didn’t talk about technique. They didn’t ask if something was wrong or if I needed to talk. There was no curiosity about what this giant outburst of emotional energy was about (because clearly it was not about tennis). Instead, they said something like:

“We don’t do that here. We’re a witness for Christ to our opponents. And if you act like that, you’re being a bad witness.”

I was confused, and felt a little bit like a deer in headlights. Not just because a coach had never censured me like that before—but because I genuinely didn’t know what I was supposed to do with all of those emotions I was carrying. If I couldn’t feel them at church, at home, or now even on the tennis court… where were they supposed to go?

If you grew up in a similar system, you might recognize that feeling too—like your emotions were something to fear, suppress, or repent for. Let’s take a closer look at where those messages come from—and what they cost us.

Anger: “Be slow to anger” becomes “don’t be angry at all.”

In many religious systems, anger isn’t treated as a normal human emotion—it’s treated as sin. You’re told to “be slow to anger” or “don’t let the sun go down on your anger,” but what you actually learn is that anger itself is wrong.

You might be praised for being patient, self-controlled, or easygoing—but underneath, there’s a buried sense that if you feel angry, you’re failing spiritually.

But here’s the thing: anger is information. It lets us know when something’s not right—when we’ve been harmed, betrayed, or violated. When we’re told that anger is always bad, we’re taught to ignore the very signals that help keep us safe and grounded.

This makes it harder to name abuse, set boundaries, or stand up for ourselves. It teaches us to internalize injustice rather than resist it.

And when anger isn’t allowed an outlet, it doesn’t just go away. It leaks out—through passive aggression, resentment, burnout, or self-hatred.

Fear & Anxiety: “You just need more faith.”

In high-control religion, fear and anxiety are often labeled as spiritual weakness—or outright sin. You’ve probably heard things like:

• “Do not be anxious about anything.”

• “Perfect love casts out fear.”

• “Fear not, for I am with you.”

While these verses can be comforting when used with care and in appropriate situations, they’re often taught in ways that minimize or shame people for experiencing anxiety. The message becomes: if you’re afraid, you’re not trusting God enough.

That framing turns a natural nervous system response into a spiritual failure.

In reality, fear and anxiety are part of how our bodies keep us safe. They’re alert systems. And when those signals are dismissed or spiritualized away, we lose our ability to trust ourselves—and may even miss real red flags.

Sadness & Disappointment: “Rejoice always!”

Grief, disappointment, or sadness are often interpreted as a lack of gratitude in high-control religious environments.

When you’re told to “rejoice in the Lord always” or “give thanks in all circumstances,” those messages can start to sound like: “You’re not allowed to be sad.”

Even well-meaning attempts to “encourage” can come off as dismissal:

• “At least you still have your health.”

• “God works all things together for good.”

• “Don’t let the enemy steal your joy.”

This kind of spiritual bypassing teaches people to hide their pain—to put on a happy face and call it “faith.” But unprocessed grief doesn’t disappear. It sinks deeper, showing up as emotional numbing, over-functioning, or quiet despair.

You deserve a space where your sadness is not just allowed—but honored.

Overwhelm: “God won’t give you more than you can handle.”

The phrase “God won’t give you more than you can handle” is often used to minimize real suffering or to guilt people into “toughing it out” instead of getting support.

In high control religion, when someone is feeling completely overwhelmed and underwater, they might also hear statements like:

• “Lean not on your own understanding.”

• “His strength is made perfect in your weakness.”

While these verses can hold meaning, they’re often misused in ways that encourage disconnection from your own inner experience. The result? You begin to doubt your instincts. You feel weak for struggling. You start to gaslight yourself.

But feeling overwhelmed is not a moral failure. It’s a sign that something in your life or environment needs care, boundaries, or change.

So What Now?

If religion taught you that your emotions were sinful, dangerous, or unreliable—you are not alone. Many survivors of high-control religion carry emotional shame that runs deep, even long after leaving those environments.

The truth is:

your emotions were never the problem.

They were trying to protect you, guide you, and tell the truth about what was happening around you.
You just weren’t allowed to listen.

Healing means learning to trust those signals again. To feel anger without shame. To sit with sadness without minimizing it. To notice anxiety without self-blame.

And most of all—it means allowing yourself to be human.

You Deserve Support on Your Journey

If you’re navigating the impact of high control religion, I am here to help.

I work with survivors of religious trauma and spiritual abuse in California, Florida, and Missouri—and I’d be honored to support you as you learn to feel again, safely and freely.

Click the button below to request a free consultation.