Healing from Religious Trauma: How Lament Can Lead to Hope
Ash Wednesday, Lament, and the Faith That Shaped Me
During college, I became drawn to liturgical services, and began attending the on-campus Ash Wednesday services each year. These were not services filled with easy answers or declarations of triumph. They were quiet, reverent, and full of reflection, honesty, and grief.
Ash Wednesday became a sacred moment each year where I could tell the truth: that life is hard, that we are fragile, that we long for restoration. I loved the symbolism, the silence, and the way it invited a reckoning—with ourselves, with our stories, and with the divine.
Over time, as my spirituality has shifted and deepened, I’ve found myself still holding onto the meaning I encountered in those moments. While my relationship with faith has changed, the practice of lament—and the longing for transformation—has stayed with me.
Grieving the Good and the Harm in Spiritual Abuse Recovery
Healing from spiritual abuse is layered. For many people, it involves grieving both the harm and the goodness that once lived side by side. You might miss the music, the ritual, the feeling of connection and being in community—while also remembering how those very things were used to control, shame, or silence you.
I often hear from clients in religious trauma recovery:
"How do I separate the good from the bad? Can I?”
This tension is real. You don’t have to discard everything in order to heal. You get to reclaim the parts that still feel meaningful, even if they look different now. In fact, this is often one of the most sacred parts of healing: disentangling what was beautiful from what was harmful.
Lent as a Way of Living: Lament and Transformation
Traditionally, Lent is a season of reflection, grief, and preparation. But for those healing from religious trauma, grief isn’t seasonal—it often feels like a way of life.
And yet, lament isn’t just about sorrow. It’s about truth-telling. It’s the spiritual practice of saying: This hurt me. I lost something important. I long for something more.
In that sense, Lent has become less of a church calendar event for me, and more of a rhythm in my life. A way of moving through pain honestly, and making space for healing. A kind of spiritual practice and ritual that is always reckoning with what’s been lost—and always seeking transformation and hope.
Reclaiming What Heals After Leaving or Reimagining Faith
If you're in the process of deconstructing faith or healing from spiritual abuse, you might wonder what to do with the parts of your story that still hold meaning. Here are some gentle suggestions I often share with clients:
1. Reclaim your rituals.
Did certain practices—like Ash Wednesday, silence and meditation, listening to worship music, journaling, or prayer—once feel grounding? You can still engage with them in ways that reflect your current values and spiritual landscape. Rituals don’t need to mean what they used to in order to matter.
2. Honor your grief.
It’s okay to miss the good. It’s okay to feel sorrow for what was lost, even if leaving was necessary. That grief deserves space—it’s part of the healing.
3. Make new meaning.
You don’t need to return to old beliefs in order to create something sacred. You might light a candle, write your own liturgy, or simply sit with your story in honesty. Spiritual transformation can happen outside the walls of a church.
4. Seek support.
Working with a therapist who understands spiritual abuse and religious trauma can help you name what’s been lost, navigate what’s unfolding, and imagine what’s possible. You don’t have to do this alone.
Why Support Matters in Religious Trauma Recovery
Whether you’re holding on to your faith in a new way, redefining what spirituality means to you, or simply trying to make sense of what happened, you deserve to be supported with compassion and understanding.
Healing from religious trauma isn’t about rejecting everything. It’s about reclaiming your story, finding safety in your body and soul, and rediscovering what it means to live with honesty and hope.
You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t need to know what you believe. If you are grieving, wrestling, longing, or simply trying to breathe through the questions—you’re not alone.
If you're seeking a therapist to walk with you through religious trauma, spiritual abuse, or the complexities of grief and transformation—I’m here. This work is sacred. And you are worthy of healing.