Spiritual pain is real—and healing is allowed to take time.
We don’t talk about this enough.
That sometimes, it’s not the world that breaks you.
It’s the church.
It’s the people who stood beside you during worship. The ones who hugged you at youth camp. The ones who told you they’d pray for you. The ones you called kuya or ate or pastor.
And suddenly, the place that once felt like a home becomes the one you avoid at all costs.
Trusted. Then Betrayed.
There was a church leader we trusted.
We told them things in confidence—real frustrations, honest wounds. Not because we wanted to gossip, but because we needed a safe space.
Later, we found out that our private words had been passed on. Not to God. Not to counselors.
To our parents. And to others.
Trust snapped.
Another person began telling my mom that my wife wasn’t “God’s best” for me. That she wasn’t right. That our story didn’t fit the mold.
We were hurt. But more than that, we felt seen through—as if every step we took had to be explained, defended, or corrected.
All in the name of love.
Mental Health Wasn’t a Safe Topic
I started opening up about my depression, anxiety, and confusion.
The response?
- “Maybe you’re just not trusting God enough.”
- “Don’t speak that over your life.”
- “You need to repent.”
I was told that even recognizing my mental health struggles was a lack of faith. A sin.
I was told to pray it away. To shut my mouth. To stop giving the enemy a foothold.
But I remembered what David said in Psalm 34:18—
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”
It didn’t feel like it at the time. But that verse stayed with me like a whisper. Like maybe God wasn’t offended by my sadness after all.
And in the same breath, I was expected to lead. To show up strong. To keep singing.
I broke quietly.
And then I left. Of course, it’s more complicated than this. But, yeah, I left.
What People Said Still Echoes
Some words stay longer than they should.
“You’re sinning because you’re worrying.”
“You’re cursed—why else would God let a typhoon come on your wedding day?”
“You should just submit. Even if you’re right.”
These weren’t strangers. These were people we respected. People we loved.
And I don’t write this to destroy them.
I write this because for five years, I couldn’t step foot inside a church without flinching. Without remembering. Without fearing it would happen all over again.
Then, Quietly, I Returned
I didn’t come back in one big, cinematic moment.
I didn’t run to the altar, weeping.
I just started feeling a tug.
Luke 15:20 says of the prodigal son—
“While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him.”
I didn’t run. But I turned. And somehow, God still met me.
Maybe it was being far from home. Maybe it was missing something I didn’t know how to name.
I found myself in a new church.
No one knew my backstory. My trauma. My doubts. My exhaustion.
They just welcomed me.
They let me sit and listen.
No one pressured me to volunteer. No one corrected my theology. No one gave me a “word” about my future.
They were just there.
The Church That Didn’t Hurt
For once, the church didn’t hurt.
That’s a powerful sentence.
The worship was different—more open, less performative. The people weren’t judgmental. They didn’t assume that every new face had to be converted or molded immediately.
They asked questions.
They listened to the answers.
They gave me time.
It wasn’t perfect. But I could feel God again—not in the message, but in the space. In the atmosphere of patience.
What Churches Still Miss
Here’s what I think churches still get wrong:
They want people to return quickly. Completely. Eagerly.
They want testimonies, not tension.
They want healing, but not the messy kind.
They want to call people “back to God,” but don’t realize that some of us never left Him—only the building.
We need to stop assuming everyone heals on the same timeline. Salvation may be urgent, but restoration isn’t instant.
Philippians 1:6 reminds me—
“He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”
Healing is part of that work. And God’s not rushing it.
If someone returns after years away, don’t ask them to lead right away. Don’t ask them what they “learned from leaving.”
Just sit beside them. That’s it.
The Ideal Church Isn’t Flawless
I write this as someone who still tries to heal. Many will disagree but though there is no perfect church, we have an ideal in mind.
It’s just loving.
It makes room for questions.
It doesn’t rush you.
You feel God not in the sound system or the branding, but in the people.
You walk in and don’t brace yourself for judgment. You walk in and exhale.
And you stay—not because you owe anyone anything, but because love is real there.
Yes, I Still Love the Church
Capital C.
I still love it—even when parts of it hurt me.
Even my old churchmates. My family. I love them.
Colossians 3:13 says,
“Bear with each other and forgive one another… Forgive as the Lord forgave you.”
Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting. But it means leaving space for change—if people are willing to grow.
I don’t believe in canceling people who caused pain just because they didn’t know better. But I do believe they need to listen.
Healing can happen in the same room where you were wounded—if repentance and compassion live there too.
And if that doesn’t happen?
Then healing can happen somewhere else. That’s allowed.
To the One Who Says “The Church Hurt Me…”
You don’t need to come back yet.
Maybe not ever. That’s not mine to say.
I’ll just say: I hear you.
You’re not weak. You’re not rebellious. You’re not bitter.
You were hurt.
And you’re still loved.
Matthew 11:28 keeps ringing in my ears:
“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
No qualifiers. No pressure. Just rest.
If you find joy outside the church walls, I pray it grows.
If you eventually feel called back, I hope you’re met with gentleness.
But don’t rush.
Even Jesus didn’t force anyone to follow Him. He just walked. And He let people come and go.
He still does.
Reflection Questions
- Have you ever been hurt by someone inside the church? What happened?
- How has that pain shaped your relationship with God?
- What would a safe and loving faith community look like to you now?
- Do you feel pressure to forgive, serve, or return—even if you’re not ready?
- If someone hurt you and never apologized, can you still heal?
Affiliate Disclosure: Some links in this post are affiliate links. If you click through and make a purchase, I may earn a small commission—at no extra cost to you. I only recommend resources that I personally find meaningful and trustworthy.
Further Reading
- A Church Called Tov by Scot McKnight and Laura Barringer
- After Doubt by A.J. Swoboda
- Searching for Sunday by Rachel Held Evans
- YouTube: “Why Millions Deconstruct Their Faith Every Year” by Cult to Consciousness with Phil Drysdale
- Podcast: The New Evangelicals
Coming Soon in the Series
- The Silence of God: What If He’s Not Speaking?
- Faith and Mental Health: Can I Still Be Christian If I’m Depressed?
- Deconstructing Without Losing Everything
- When the Bible Makes You Angry
- The Faith I Left Behind (and the One I Found Again)