The church had always been a sanctuary for me. Its familiar rituals and comforting presence provided a sense of belonging. But when my daughter was diagnosed with a chronic autoimmune disease and my husband lost his job, the sanctuary became a lifeline. The weight of caring for a sick child, coupled with the emotional turmoil and financial strain, left me feeling isolated and weary.  I sought connection both spiritually and relationally with my church community.

In this vulnerable state, my pastor noticed my increased involvement and offered me a role in the church's ministry. I was hopeful this would provide more of the spiritual connection I had been pursuing.  His encouragement and belief in my abilities were a balm to my wounded spirit.  I found myself spending more and more time at the church, working on various projects.  I felt as though God was calling me to the work, and my pastor was His mouthpiece.

Initially, the work was fulfilling. I enjoyed using my creative skills to contribute to the church's mission. However, as time went on, the demands became increasingly overwhelming. I found myself working long hours, often late into the night, to meet my pastor's high standards. Despite my exhaustion, I felt a sense of obligation and a desire to please him because I believed pleasing him meant pleasing God.  After all, I had been called to this role.

Over time, a disturbing pattern began to emerge. While my pastor was often kind and supportive, there were moments of intense anger and criticism. When I failed to meet his expectations or when there were disagreements within the church, his outbursts would be directed at me. His apologies and remorse would often follow, creating a cycle of emotional turmoil and laying the bedrock for coercive control.

Another troubling aspect of our relationship was the blurring of boundaries. Despite his public pronouncements on the importance of gendered boundaries, he often crossed lines in private. His behavior was confusing and manipulative, leaving me feeling uncertain and vulnerable.  I now know intermittent reinforcement is how trauma bonds are formed.

As my workload intensified, my family's financial situation became more precarious. My husband had lost his job, and I was the sole breadwinner. The added stress of providing for my family made me even more dependent on the church and my pastor.  I was very fearful of losing our only source of income, especially knowing the vulnerable medical state of our daughter.

Under the guise of providing support, my pastor began to groom me. As his direct report, I met with him for work related issues.  However, our meetings became therapy sessions where he prodded me to disclose personal details.  I could make sense of this request because he was not just my boss.  He was also my pastor.  The two roles could not be differentiated.  As I was opening up more and more, the dynamic shifted and he began disclosing personal details about his life stating that I was the only one he could trust with such sensitive information.  His behavior became increasingly inappropriate and manipulative. He would use his position of authority to pressure me, testing my boundaries and exploiting my vulnerability.  It was all possible because of the tremendous trust I had extended to him due to his position as my spiritual leader.  He often used spiritual principles or scripture in order to justify his behavior.

As sexual boundaries were violated, I felt confused and trapped.  I also cared about this person who had mentored me and provided me with emotional and spiritual support through one of the hardest seasons of my life.  Because of the well established trauma bond, it felt impossible to make the inappropriate contact stop. I was trapped in a cycle of abuse, feeling powerless and ashamed. His gaslighting tactics convinced me that I was to blame for his behavior.  He told me that I would ruin his ministry if “our” behavior was found out and there would be many people who would turn their back from God.

One day, a staff member noticed the changes in me and expressed concern to the Elder Board. This led to an investigation by the church elders. When confronted with the accusations, my pastor denied everything, attempting to shift the blame onto me.

I was torn between protecting the church's reputation and speaking out about my own experiences. Ultimately, I decided to come forward, sharing my story with the elders. However, their response was far from what I had hoped for. Instead of offering support and compassion, they prioritized protecting the institution.

The elders hired lawyers to investigate the matter, but their focus was not on justice for me. They were more concerned with preserving the church's image and reducing liability.  I was viewed as a liability.  The lawyers engaged in tactics that further traumatized me, blaming me for the situation and dismissing my experiences.  The sexual abuse was extremely harmful, but how the church responded left an even bigger impact.

I was left feeling betrayed and alone. The spiritual abuse had a long lasting impact on my view of God and of church.  The church, which had once been a source of comfort, had become a place of pain and suffering leaving me with ongoing PTSD symptoms. My experience highlights the devastating consequences of clergy sexual abuse and the institutional betrayal that often accompanies it.

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