Let's Talk Religious Trauma

In this deeply personal reflection, I share my experiences navigating religious trauma, exploring my identity, and striving to reconcile my authentic self with the faith teachings of my upbringing. Through intimate stories from my childhood in church, my time in Bible College, experiences in ministry, and coming out, I offer an honest look at the complexities and nuances of spirituality, self-acceptance, and healing.

Trigger Warning: Contains sensitive discussions around sexual assault, religious trauma, and emotional abuse. Listener discretion is advised.

Transcript

Hi,

My name is Alejandro and let's talk religious trauma.

Before anything else,

This talk contains sensitive discussions around sexual assault,

Religious trauma,

And emotional abuse.

Listener discretion is advised.

I want to make it clear that this is not intended to tear down the church or Christianity.

This is my own experience.

This is also not an angry letter at God.

If anything,

This is part of the love story of finding God not only externally,

But also within the very essence of who I am.

This is also a very small glimpse into my journey.

So much more happened before,

After,

And in between what you're about to hear.

I started going to church at the age of seven.

Faith was not just a belief system,

It was the foundation upon which everything in my life was built.

Every decision,

Every relationship,

Every perception of right and wrong was filtered through the lens of what I was taught in church.

The first church my mom and I attended still holds a beautiful place in my heart.

Pastor Luis and his family embraced us just as we were.

We started going to church after a devastating period in our lives.

Within a year and a half,

We lost my aunt,

My sister,

And my stepdad.

On top of that,

I had already experienced sexual assault during the same time frame.

In the midst of so much pain,

This church became a refuge.

They became our family,

And 25 plus years later,

They still are.

By the age of 12,

I was already going on missionary trips,

Dedicating time and energy to spreading the message of faith.

Soon after,

I started leading worship,

Finding a deep connection to spirituality through music.

That path naturally led me to pursue theological education,

And eventually I found myself in Bible college.

But before that,

Despite the pain,

I met people who truly embodied love.

The kind that nurtures,

Accepts,

And embraces without condition.

One of those people was my first pastor,

Pastor Luis.

He saw me in a way that few others did.

When I was accepted into theater school going into the seventh grade,

I expected mixed reactions,

Excitement,

Skepticism,

Perhaps even disappointment.

But when I shared the news with Pastor Luis,

His response was different.

He wasn't surprised.

He simply smiled,

As if my success was already inevitable in his eyes.

He believed in me before I knew how to believe in myself.

Pastor Luis had a theater background himself.

Every year our church put on a big Christmas production,

And he once wrote or translated,

I'm not sure which,

A musical with a main character that he said reminded him a lot of me.

One of the songs in the production had lyrics that went,

I'm a little angel,

Fat and ugly.

Looking back,

I find it funny now,

And I thought it was funny then too.

So thanks,

I guess.

More importantly,

Pastor Luis was the first man who taught me to embrace the gifts I had been given.

He honored the artist within me.

He affirmed my interest,

Regardless of what others thought.

In hindsight,

He taught me to be secure in my talent and identity.

As I grew older,

I embarked on my theological college journey.

By then,

I had known that I was attracted not only to females,

But also males.

One of the first questions on the application for the Bible college I attended was whether I had same-sex attraction.

Out of fear of not being admitted to what I believed was the right place for me,

I lied and said no.

Once enrolled,

I devoted myself not only to my education,

But to my spiritual journey.

I was only 17.

For years,

I believed that if I just prayed enough,

If I fasted long enough,

If I immersed myself in scripture deeply enough,

God would take away what I had been conditioned to believe was wrong.

The message was clear.

Same-sex attraction was a test,

A burden to be carried all the way or worse,

A sickness to be healed.

And so,

I set out to be healed.

I begged God in whispered prayers before bed.

I wept at the altar during Sunday services,

Hands raised,

In surrender,

Hoping that maybe,

Just maybe,

This time,

This prayer would be enough to change me.

I fasted for days,

Believing that denying my body sustenance would somehow make me more worthy of divine intervention.

I devoured every sermon,

Every testimony,

Every book that promised transformation,

Clinging to the idea that if I just had enough faith,

I would wake up one day and be different.

But no matter how much I prayed,

No matter how fervent,

I sought after my miracle,

I remained the same.

And the longer my prayers went unanswered,

The more the self-hatred grew.

I convinced myself that my faith,

My faith must not be strong enough,

That maybe I wasn't truly safe,

That perhaps God had already abandoned me.

And I just hadn't realized it yet.

To this,

Add a past of sexual abuse,

A past that had already quote-unquote damaged me,

A history of feeling dirty and disgusting in my own body.

Yes,

In counseling I had previously discussed this past.

One pastor would literally fall asleep in front of me while I was trying to process my trauma.

Another,

In beautiful intentions,

Told me that victory over my past would be my greatest badge of honor.

Eventually,

I was forced to leave Bible College,

Not because of my identity,

But because I couldn't afford both tuition and housing.

I tried everything,

Pleading for payment plans,

Applying for scholarships,

But the answer was simply no.

That was my first encounter with how harsh religious institutions could be,

And it left a lasting impression on me.

They knew I would be homeless,

And I was,

Three months leaving off a car and cheap motels.

It didn't matter to them.

After Bible College,

I was invited to devote my life fully to ministry.

If I couldn't continue my formal theological education,

Then surely I could still serve.

After all,

Wasn't that the highest calling?

Wasn't that what I had been preparing for my whole life?

I believed that if I could pour myself into the church,

Into worship,

Into traveling,

Into leading others in their faith,

Maybe I could run the questions,

The doubts,

And the fears that had begun to creep in.

So,

I dove in headfirst.

Ministry became my identity.

I wasn't just a worship leader.

I was a spiritual guide,

A mentor,

A confident to those who sought counsel.

I dedicated myself to creating an atmosphere where people could feel close to God,

And the weight of that responsibility was enormous,

But I carried it with pride,

Believing that as long as I was useful in God's kingdom,

I still had a place in it.

I was only 18 years old.

Yes,

There were moments of genuine fulfillment.

There were Sundays where the music swelled,

And I felt a connection that was undeniably real.

There were moments of deep joy,

Of seeing others find peace in worship,

Of leading a congregation in a chorus that felt like it reached the heavens.

Moments where time would stand still,

And heaven would invade earth.

I lived for those moments.

They were the reason I kept going,

Even as I wrestled with my own internal battles.

But behind the scenes,

It was exhausting.

I was constantly aware of how I spoke,

How I carried myself,

How I interacted with people,

Because I knew that at any moment,

One misstep could mean losing everything.

There was no room for doubt,

No space for personal struggle.

I was also painfully aware of the church's stance on sexuality,

And the silent expectations that if I wanted to have a future in ministry,

I had to either keep my truth buried or conform to what was considered God's design.

I told myself that sacrifice was part of the calling,

That denying myself was just another way of proving my devotion,

That maybe if I dedicated myself enough,

If I served enough,

If I loved God enough,

He would change me.

I placed my entire worth in my ability to serve others,

Thinking that if I just did enough,

Maybe it could make up for the parts of me I had been told were wrong.

Ministry,

In many ways,

Saved me.

It had given me purpose,

Belonging,

And connection,

But it had also been the place where I learned to hide,

Where I learned to perform,

Where I learned to pretend perfect,

Where I learned that love,

At least in that world,

Was often conditional,

And that it was only a matter of time before I had to face the truth.

I could not continue to serve from a place of self-rejection.

Something,

Something had to change.

At the age of 19,

I began my first relationship with a man who was also a Christian and a worship leader.

To everyone else,

We were just two really good friends,

Brothers in Christ even.

We served in ministry,

We both led worship,

And spent long nights discussing theology,

Faith,

And our sure desire to be good men of God.

But beneath the surface,

Something deeper was unfolding,

Something that neither of us could acknowledge openly.

It was a secret relationship,

One that existed only in stolen glances,

Hushed conversations,

And the moments when we're finally alone.

In the safety of each other's presence,

We could breathe.

We could be ourselves,

Even if only behind closed doors.

There was a tenderness in our love,

But also an unbearable weight.

We knew that if anyone found out everything we had worked for,

Our ministries,

Our reputations,

Our very places in the church could be ripped away in an instant.

For over a year,

We existed in that in-between space,

Clinging to the illusion that we could love each other while still maintaining the lives we had built.

But eventually,

The secret began to suffocate us.

He was ready to come out and be open about our relationship.

I was not.

I was terrified of losing everything I knew,

My church,

My friends,

My future,

And most of all,

My relationship with God.

The shame had been ingrained so deeply that I truly believed that if I chose to love freely,

I would be choosing to walk away from my faith entirely.

At the same time,

I was leading worship at a large Hispanic church,

A place that had become my home,

A community that had embraced me as a spiritual leader.

The pastor of this church had become a father figure to me,

Whose approval and guidance I deeply valued.

One night,

After a Wednesday service,

I remember sitting across from him,

My heart pounding in my chest,

Knowing that I couldn't keep carrying this secret alone.

I told him everything,

That I had been struggling with same-sex attraction,

That I had been in a relationship with a man for over a year,

And that I believed it was my responsibility to step down from leading worship because that was the right thing to do.

I fully expected him to agree,

To confirm my worst fear,

That I was unworthy,

That I had failed God,

That I needed to disappear,

But instead,

He pulled his chair closer to mine,

Looked me in the eyes,

And said one of the most profound things that I have ever been told.

He said that he was not going to allow me to step down,

Yes.

Responsibilities would shift,

And we would have to navigate this together,

But he refused to take away the one thing that kept me connected to God.

He knew that,

For me,

Standing on a stage leading worship was more than just singing a pretty melody.

It was my spiritual lifeline,

And he was not going to be the one to cut it.

That moment changed me.

In a world where I had been conditioned to believe that rejection was inevitable,

He chose love.

He chose to see me,

Not as a problem to be fixed,

But as a person who deserved to be nurtured,

Guided,

And understood.

And for the first time in a long time,

I felt like maybe,

Just maybe,

I wasn't as lost as I thought.

On my 21st birthday,

During a trip with my mom,

After a beer and a glass of wine,

I came out to her.

Though I had previously confided in her about my quote-unquote struggle,

I had never been fully honest.

I hadn't told her that I had given into temptation.

The weight of that moment had been building inside me for what felt like years.

And yet,

As I opened my mouth,

I wasn't sure how the words would lend.

Would she cry?

Would she be disappointed?

Would she bow her head right then and there,

Praying for God to fix what the church had taught us was broken?

I told her I was no longer friends with my ex because he wasn't just my friend.

He was,

In fact,

My ex-boyfriend.

I held my breath,

Bracing from the impact of what I had just confessed.

My mom looked at me and said,

That makes sense.

And in that moment,

A weight I had been carrying for so long began to lift.

I had prepared for the worst,

But instead,

I was met with an attempt of understanding,

Even if it wasn't fully spoken.

I was never a witness to my mom's process of acceptance.

I was never a witness to the process of understanding about who I am sexually.

I don't know the thoughts that ran through her mind that night,

Or the days after,

And the weeks,

And the months that followed.

But I can only imagine the questions she must have wrestled with,

The fears that she had to process in silence.

Yet,

One thing my mom taught me was that sometimes we don't need to understand to be able to accept.

Love doesn't require comprehension.

Sometimes,

It simply requires presence.

And for that,

I will always,

Always be grateful.

Sadly,

Through my journey of ups and downs,

Great victories,

And some unhealthy choices,

Those who call themselves my closest friends,

Who believed in the calling that God had for me and my life,

Were the same people who not only turned their backs on me,

But used God,

The same God they claimed to be love itself,

As an excuse for separation,

For hatred,

And for causing more pain.

These were the people who celebrated my spiritual victories,

Encouraged my ministry,

And stood beside me as I poured my heart into serving God.

And yet,

When the fullness of who I was no longer fit into the framework of what they had built around faith,

They walked away without hesitation.

And the most painful part?

They framed it all as righteousness.

As if their abandonment was somehow an act of obedience to God.

As if the rejection of me was a reflection of His will.

For a long time,

I carried the shame of their absence as if it were my own failure.

I wonder what I could have done differently.

How I could have changed to make myself more worthy in their eyes.

But what I have come to realize is this.

Their leaving had nothing to do with my worth.

And everything to do with their own fear.

Fear of questioning what they had been taught.

Fear of stepping outside the rigid boundaries of their doctrine.

Fear of realizing that God's love might be bigger than what they had ever dared to imagine.

The way a big part of the church has interpreted Christianity taught me to hate myself.

It taught me that I was inadequate.

That because I was a sinful human,

God didn't want anything to do with me.

It taught me to reject myself because God had already rejected me.

That the only way to get close to God was based on my works.

Truth be told,

None of that was true.

But what happens when the foundation of faith begins to crack?

When the very thing meant to bring love,

Acceptance,

And belonging instead becomes a source of fear,

Shame,

And suppression?

Religious trauma is difficult to define.

Yet,

Its impact is undeniable.

For some,

It manifests as a lingering fear of divine punishment or persistent guilt for just existing outside the boundaries of said doctrine.

For others,

It's a lifelong struggle to reclaim autonomy over their bodies,

Identities,

And beliefs after years of being told that deviation equates damnation.

It is a pain that borrows deep.

Not just because of what is taught,

But because of who teaches it.

The very people who were supposed to love unconditionally.

It is a pain that makes one question not only just doctrine,

But their own worthiness of love and belonging.

I have continued to follow the true calling in my life,

Which is to help others not only heal,

But find the essence of who they were created to be.

To find God within.

To understand that even in the midst of pain,

The fact that there's still a heartbeat within their chest means that there is not only divine identity,

But divine purpose.

For so long,

I searched for God in the places I was told He existed.

In the church.

In the pulpit.

In the scripture.

In the approval of spiritual leaders.

But God was always within me,

Waiting to be embraced.

God was there in the moments when I wept in solitude,

Believing I was unworthy of love.

God was there in the songs I sang when my soul searched for connection.

God was there in every act of kindness.

In every person who chose to love me,

Despite the voices that told them not to.

And when I finally turned inward,

When I silenced the noise of condemnation,

I found,

I found that God had never left me at all.

Now,

My mission is to remind others of what I had to rediscover for myself.

That they are already enough.

That they are already loved.

That they don't need to contort themselves into something they are not to be seen by the divine.

Healing is not about erasing the past,

But about reclaiming our story.

About recognizing that even in our darkest moments,

We were never truly alone.

It is about seeing our wounds not as evidence of failure,

But as proof of our resilience.

The scars we carry are not a sign of God's absence,

But of our endurance.

If,

If there is still breath in your lungs,

There is purpose in your existence.

If your heart is still beating,

There is more love to give.

More joy to experience.

More healing to embrace.

The journey towards wholeness is not about perfection.

It is about presence.

It is about showing up for others,

For yourself,

For the world.

It is about showing up with the full awareness that you're not broken.

You are becoming.

I want to once again make it clear that this is not meant to tear down the church or Christianity.

My intention is not to cast blame or diminish the faith that has brought so many people comfort and hope.

This is simply my story.

One thread in the vast tapestry of human existence.

This is not an angry letter to God,

Nor is it a rejection of the sacred.

Rather,

It is a chapter in an ongoing love story.

One filled with questions,

Revelations,

Heartbreak,

And grace.

It is the journey of reconciling what I was taught with what I had come to know in my heart.

It is about finding divinity not just in doctrine,

But in the quiet moments of clarity,

In the deep exhale of truth,

And the unwavering embrace of unconditional love.

This,

This is unholding wholeness.

Honoring the process.

Alejandro.

Reviews

What an open and courageous story.You are wonderful and full of unconditional love.Thank you so much for your courage and your openness, and I feel that what you are saying is true within you, that what you are saying is what you have experienced.It was incredibly exciting to follow your story, and I feel that something deep within us is changing and transforming in suffering and dissolving in love, and that we can be certain that there is a great love.

What an inspiring, beautiful story! In the act of sharing this, you were literally demonstrating what it looks like to care for others by being your whole self and sharing that. I hope to do the same someday—thank you for the inspo!

A peaceful, loving guidance for finding your own trusting path; I really enjoyed listening to your story. Thanks Friend.

Alejandro, this is so incredibly powerful and moving, I’m in tears 😭😭😭💜. Thank you for sharing this chapter of your story and letting us see your beautiful, tender heart ♥️🙏🏼

Dear Alejandro, your Love Story touched me deeply ❤❤ I feel all of your pain. All of your brave decisions to honor who you are in the face of rejection and abandonment from those you loved is such an inspiration. I Love the spiritual healing work you are doing for us my friend ❤

This talk 😭 wow! Touched my soul 🤍 I love you so much Alejandro 🩷 I am grateful for your existence in this beautiful world 🦋

Thank you for your honesty and compassion. My path has been a bit different, but we share the years of hiding and self-hatred. I’m so happy to be on a path of hope and joy, and to honor my past while also shedding its burden. The journey and the work continues, but today, just today, I feel blessed to have so much love in my life ❤️☀️

Thank you, Alejandro. This is a beautiful and poignant story—so full of tenderness, truth, and power. I’ll be returning to it again to take in all the wisdom you so generously share through your pain. Deep gratitude for your voice and presence.

YOU are by far the most beautiful soul I've ever had the privilege of knowing. This was beyond amazing to listen to and I'm so happy that you are sharing your gifts with the rest of us. Humbled to know you 🙏🏼 as a friend, a mentor 🙏🏼 and a guide. 💜🧘‍♀️🙏🏼💜