7:28 am on a Sunday morning. I spent the night tending to my 11-month-old, comforting him back to sleep multiple times, and once with my special-needs-almost four-year-old. The result? An ocular migraine and a hefty dose of mom guilt. And before you suggest sleep training, I’m not interested.
At 6 am, my supportive partner took the baby downstairs to let me rest a bit longer. I heard no signs of distress from below and even caught the enticing aroma of pancakes he had made for breakfast. It would have been so easy to roll over and drift back to sleep, to let my weary eyes close once again, but years of conditioning stopped me.
I made my way downstairs to a warm, “You were supposed to be sleeping!” from my husband. I replied, “I felt guilty for sleeping in.” Suddenly, I paused to reflect—why did I feel such intense guilt? The answer hit me: religious trauma.
From a young age, I was immersed in conservative religious beliefs, devouring an extremist, evangelical feast that I accepted without question for most of my life. It wasn’t until recently, alongside many others my age leaving organized religion, that I began to see how deeply my upbringing has affected me.
Symptoms like panic attacks, flashbacks, hypervigilance, and an ever-present sense of dread now define my existence. Religious holidays such as Christmas and Easter often trigger anxiety, leading to physical symptoms and emotional meltdowns after the celebrations. But the effects of religious trauma are often more insidious—they infiltrate my daily thoughts, feelings, and behaviors in subtle ways.
Take my difficulty with sleeping in, for example. In my childhood home, the emphasis was on productivity, service, and self-sacrifice, especially for women and girls. This meant being acutely aware of everyone’s needs, presenting oneself well even at home, and viewing motherhood as the ultimate calling. The expectations were unrealistic and toxic, with sleeping in categorized as laziness. After all, how could anyone serve others while still in bed? The model of the Proverbs 31 woman loomed large, always rising before dawn to fulfill her responsibilities. Sleeping in was simply not an option.
Thus, deep down, I still believe that to be a good person, mother, wife, and woman, I must rise early on a Sunday, regardless of my exhaustion or the fact that no one needed me to do so. Despite my partner’s encouragement to rest and my tired body’s pleas for sleep after a long night with the kids, I felt compelled to get up.
The symptoms of religious trauma lurk around every corner, ready to pounce. My therapist (who is also a therapist) helps me navigate these challenges weekly. Regardless of how religious trauma manifests in your life, you deserve the time, resources, and energy to seek healing. Leaving the church has been a transformative experience, despite the accompanying pain. I am learning to prioritize self-care over the ingrained martyrdom associated with motherhood. I’m increasingly able to advocate for my needs without guilt and accept feedback without shame. Healing is liberation, and everyone deserves that.
With this newfound understanding, I realize that prioritizing sleep is just as crucial as addressing other wounded aspects of myself. So, next weekend, my goal for trauma recovery is to embrace sleep.
Cheers to Sunday sleep-ins, fellow former evangelicals!
If you’re interested in more insights, check out this related blog post. For authoritative information on pregnancy, visit this resource. Additionally, if you want to learn more about the topic, you can check out this link.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, Ava Thompson shares her journey of recognizing how her conservative religious upbringing has impacted her mental well-being. From feelings of guilt around self-care to the pervasive symptoms of religious trauma, she discusses the importance of prioritizing self-love and healing. Through therapy and self-exploration, she aims to reclaim her right to rest and redefine her identity away from the burdens of her past.