Tag Archives: trauma

When Trauma Touches Every Part of Life

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Today, I sat across from people carrying stories too heavy for one heart to hold: war, abuse, abandonment, loss, betrayal. Each one unique, and yet each one echoing a truth we don’t often say out loud: trauma changes us.

It touches the way we see ourselves, the way we trust others, the way we move through the world. Sometimes it shows up as restlessness, sometimes as cynicism or withdrawal, sometimes as shame or self-doubt. Trauma doesn’t stay in the past. It tries to convince us we are still unsafe, still unworthy, still alone.

But trauma is not the end of the story.

Over and over again, I am reminded that the same human heart that absorbs unthinkable pain is also capable of deep healing. With compassion, safety, and God’s presence, the story can shift. What felt like permanent ruin can slowly become a place of new growth. The psalmist’s words ring true: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

I can’t share the details of the lives I encounter. Those stories are sacred, and privacy is part of the safety each person deserves. But I can tell you this: people are finding courage to face what they’ve endured. They are discovering that their worth was never erased by what happened to them. They are learning that God’s love meets them not in some future perfect version of themselves, but right here, in the middle of the mess and the ache.

For those who feel weary, weighed down by wounds no one else can see: you are not forgotten. You are not alone. Healing is possible. And even on the days when hope feels faint, God has not turned away.

As a community of faith, may we be people who refuse to look away from suffering. May we create spaces of gentleness and belonging, where survivors can breathe, tell the truth, and remember that their story isn’t finished yet.

When Trauma Becomes Testimony: How Childhood Wounds Shape Our Hearts—and How Faith Heals

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Recent insights from Neuroscience News reveal that childhood trauma doesn’t just leave invisible scars—it actually rewires the brain, triggering chronic inflammation that reshapes its structure and function over a lifetime. As believers, these findings don’t just inform our understanding—they invite a prayerful response to suffering, hope, and redemption.


Childhood trauma doesn’t just hurt emotionally—it shapes how the brain and body function at the most foundational levels. According to recent research highlighted in Neuroscience News, early adversity can leave behind more than just painful memories. It can biologically reprogram how the brain’s immune system functions, setting the stage for inflammation that lingers for years—sometimes decades.

Neuroinflammation: When the Brain’s Alarm Won’t Turn Off
Our brains are equipped with microglia—tiny immune cells that serve as the nervous system’s “first responders.” In a healthy system, these cells activate when we’re sick or injured, helping the brain recover. But when a child experiences abuse, neglect, household instability, or chronic fear, those microglia can become chronically activated.

This is sometimes called “neuroimmune priming.” It means the brain becomes stuck in a hyper-alert state, constantly bracing for danger, even long after the threat is gone. Over time, this leads to chronic inflammation in areas of the brain critical for emotional regulation, memory, and relational trust—like the amygdala, hippocampus, and prefrontal cortex.

In biblical terms, it’s like the body becomes a land under siege, with every gate guarded and every door bolted. Safety feels foreign because the internal alarm never truly shuts off.

Genetic and Epigenetic Impact
This kind of early stress also affects gene expression. Even if a child was born with healthy brain wiring, trauma can flip certain switches “on” or “off”—changing how genes responsible for stress regulation and emotional balance behave. This is known as epigenetic change, and it helps explain why some people struggle with emotional dysregulation, depression, or autoimmune conditions even when their environment has improved.

Researchers are now identifying biomarkers—biological signatures of trauma-related inflammation—in the blood and brain imaging of trauma survivors. This holds promise for earlier diagnosis and more targeted treatment in the future.

Long-Term Consequences: Emotional, Physical & Spiritual
Children whose brains were shaped by early adversity may grow up more likely to experience:

Anxiety or hypervigilance

Chronic shame or self-loathing

Depression or emotional numbness

Disrupted sleep and appetite

Increased risk of autoimmune illness, heart disease, and other physical conditions

Difficulty with trust, connection, and a sense of self-worth

But here’s the part that matters most for those of us walking with Christ: none of this is destiny. The brain—though deeply affected by trauma—is also incredibly resilient. Neuroplasticity means healing is possible. The same inflammation that was once destructive can be reversed through safety, connection, and care.

As research continues to affirm what many of us already know in our spirits—that trauma affects every part of a person—it also confirms the deep wisdom of a holistic gospel: that God came to heal not only souls, but bodies, minds, and relationships too.

Faith’s Response: From Woundedness to Wholeness
Naming the Wound with Compassion
Scripture frequently reminds us that God gathers our tears (Psalm 56:8). Acknowledging the biological reality of trauma gives language to the invisible, offering a bridge from suffering to prayer.

  1. Spiritual Practices as Soothing Balm
    • Prayer, lament, and scripture meditation are not only spiritual acts—they’re healing interventions. By activating the parasympathetic nervous system, they can actually lower inflammation and calm the brain’s stress circuits.
      Romans 8:11 reminds us that the Spirit who raised Christ lives in us—bringing not only spiritual revival, but potential neurobiological renewal.
  2. Building Safe Spiritual Communities
    • Trauma distorts relational wiring—making community feel threatening. Yet small groups, trauma‑informed churches, and safe listening partnerships create relational “safe zones” where trust can be rewired through consistent love and grace.
  3. Partnering with Professional Care
    • The discovery of inflammation biomarkers pushes us to incorporate mental‑health care into our pastoral work. Faith and psychotherapy aren’t competitors; they’re collaborators in bringing holistic healing.
  4. Embracing Transformation—not just Coping
    • The most hopeful part of this science? The brain remains plastic (malleable), and inflammation is reversible. Just as Paul speaks of being “transformed by the renewing of your mind” (Rom 12:2), God invites us into permanent renewal—soul, mind, and neurons aligned in healing.

This science shows us that what Jesus called shalom—total flourishing—isn’t sentimental, but rooted in deep biological and spiritual transformation. In that truth, we can move forward with faith: that wounds can heal, hope can flourish, and the renewing Spirit can reshape more than our souls—He can change our very wiring.

When the Body Breaks: How Faith Calls Us to Respond

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The University of Glasgow recently published sobering findings in BMJ Mental Health: among 632 women aged 40–59, 14% had endured physical intimate partner violence (IPV). Even decades after the abuse—on average, 27 years later—they showed significantly higher rates of traumatic brain injury (TBI), depression, anxiety, sleep disorders, and PTSD. These are the silent wounds that last much longer than bruises—hidden in the mind, body, and spirit. And they call each one of us, as Christians, into compassionate, active response.

  1. The Heart of the Matter: Brain Trauma as Emotional Legacy

Far from fleeting, these injuries echo through time and health. Those affected often share histories of repeated head blows and even TBI, with “higher lifetime and ongoing diagnoses” of mental health struggles: anxiety, depression, PTSD—all without relief years later.

Beyond Glasgow, neuropathology studies of over 80 women reveal white matter damage, vascular injury, higher risk of dementia, cardiovascular disease, and cerebrovascular issues—all stemming from IPV-related brain trauma. The scientific truth is clear: these are far-reaching, lifelong scars.

  1. Biblically Called to Notice and Offer Touch

“When you see the hurt of the broken, you are called to be the hands of Jesus.”

Scripture calls the Church to lament with those who lament (Romans 12:15), to bind up the brokenhearted (Isaiah 61:1), and to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God (Micah 6:8). Yet too often, domestic violence is met with silence or dismissed as a “private matter”—leaving survivors feeling unseen and unsupported.

As followers of Christ, we must resist complacency. Real care means going beyond words to tangible support and resources for safety, healing, and reclaiming dignity.

  1. Practical Compassion: Church as Sanctuary and Strength

Here’s how our faith communities can respond:

Raise awareness. Teach about IPV as a sin that corrupts God’s image in us. Use sermons, small groups, and Bible studies like “The Church’s Call to Refuge” to bring the issue into light.

Equip leaders. Train pastors, counselors, and volunteers to recognize and respond with sensitivity, not silence. Many churches still give outdated guidance asking women to “endure in submission”
—we must change that.

Create tangible support. Offer safe conversations, connections to counseling, help accessing mental health and TBI treatment, and go-to resources like the National Domestic Violence Hotline.

Partner care. Collaborate with local shelters, medical professionals, trauma-informed therapists, and legal advocates to offer holistic care.

  1. Educate Faithfully: Remembering the Lifelong Implications

The Glasgow study reminds us: abuse leaves far more than emotional traces—it leaves enduring brain injury, even into mid-life. That means healing might include neurological support, mental health care, and medical follow-up—even decades later.

As Christ‑followers, we believe healing takes place in the whole person—body, mind, and soul. We must help survivors name the full impact of their pain and access the necessary care.

Jesus calls us to more than sympathy—He calls us to solidarity. We must refuse to ignore or minimize violence in homes among our parishioners. Instead, let our churches be safe spaces where women feel heard, valued, and guided toward healing.

May we be quick to listen, eager to protect, and faithful in action. For as James 1:27 reminds us, true religion that pleases God is this: caring for orphans and widows in their distress—and keeping ourselves from being polluted by the world. Let’s let this study spark both awareness and advocacy in our churches.

Trauma-Informed & Spirit-Led: How Caring for the Wounded Reflects the Heart of God

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In recent years, the term trauma-informed has gained traction in counseling, education, ministry, and leadership. But for those of us rooted in Scripture, being trauma-informed isn’t a trendy philosophy—it’s an invitation to live out the gospel with greater tenderness, discernment, and grace.

What Does It Mean to Be Trauma-Informed?

At its core, being trauma-informed means recognizing that people’s behavior is often shaped by what they’ve lived through. It means understanding that survival responses—like withdrawing, lashing out, people-pleasing, or shutting down—are not character flaws but protective adaptations to pain. Being trauma-informed doesn’t require us to know every story. But it does require us to approach others with humility, curiosity, and compassion.

And isn’t that what Jesus did?

He didn’t shame the woman at the well—He met her in her story (John 4).
He didn’t recoil from the bleeding woman—He called her “daughter” (Mark 5:34).
He didn’t condemn Peter for his betrayal—He cooked him breakfast (John 21).
He didn’t dismiss Thomas’s doubts—He invited him to touch His wounds (John 20:27).

Jesus was, and is, deeply trauma-informed.

Scripture’s Trauma Lens

Throughout the Bible, we see God’s consistent attention to the wounded, the weary, and the overlooked. The Psalms give voice to grief, confusion, and fear in ways that mirror trauma recovery. The prophets rail against injustice. Jesus comes not as a conquering king but as a suffering servant—“a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3).

To be trauma-informed is to be slow to assume and quick to listen. It is to become a safe place for those who are carrying stories too heavy to speak aloud. Scripture calls us to this kind of love:

  • “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” – Galatians 6:2
  • “Let your gentleness be evident to all.” – Philippians 4:5
  • “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” – Ephesians 4:32

The Fruit of the Spirit Is Trauma-Informed

When we walk in the Spirit—cultivating love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23)—we naturally create safer spaces for those who carry invisible wounds. A trauma-informed faith community:

  • Makes room for emotion without shame
  • Holds boundaries with kindness
  • Honors the pace of healing
  • Doesn’t rush someone’s “comeback story”
  • Values presence over performance

Healing Is Holy Work

As followers of Christ, we are not called to fix everyone—but we are called to be with them. We are called to reflect the tenderness of Jesus, who never demanded instant healing but instead offered dignity, presence, and peace. Trauma-informed care aligns with the heart of God because it reflects His way of healing—with truth and grace, with timing and trust.

When we become more trauma-informed, we don’t just become better helpers.
We become more like Jesus.

Why Sexual Abuse Prevention Must Be a Priority in Our Churches, Organizations, and Culture

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Last night, I sat with two men—wise, thoughtful, and honest—talking about something that should never have to be discussed, and yet must be: sexual abuse.

The conversation was sobering. We spoke of statistics—how many people have been harmed, how often it happens, and how rarely it’s addressed with the depth and seriousness it deserves. But there was a moment that stopped me: we were looking at the numbers of victims, and my heart asked, “Then how many perpetrators does that mean?”

It was a gut-punch.

Because if we listen to the data—and more importantly, if we listen to survivors—then we must acknowledge that sexual abuse is not a rare, distant horror. It is a widespread, near-at-hand reality. It is not always some dramatic “stranger danger” moment; most often, the perpetrators are known and even trusted by the victims. They are youth volunteers, family members, coaches, neighbors, teachers, ministry leaders. They are often not visibly monstrous—they can seem disarmingly normal. Some aren’t driven by deep, deviant fantasies; they’re opportunists. They act when they think no one will notice, no one will stop them, no one will believe the child or the vulnerable adult they target.

And too often, they’re right.

The Church, of all places, must be where this cycle ends—not where it hides.

Because abuse isn’t just a crime or a psychological wound. It is a sin—an assault against the image of God in another human being. It is a desecration of innocence. It’s a betrayal that shatters trust and buries people in shame that never belonged to them in the first place.

As Christians, we are compelled—by love, by justice, by the very heart of Christ—to act.

We are called to:

  • Believe the wounded when they speak.
  • Break the silence that too often protects the perpetrator more than the victim.
  • Build systems of protection that are not reactive, but preventative.
  • Train our staff and volunteers, not with checkbox policies, but with trauma-informed, survivor-centered wisdom.
  • Create cultures of safety, where abuse cannot thrive and where power is stewarded with integrity.
  • Hold perpetrators accountable, not hide them in hopes they’ll just go away or “repent quietly.”
  • Tend to the healing of survivors, not just spiritually, but emotionally, physically, and communally.

Jesus never turned away from the brokenhearted. He never protected the powerful at the expense of the vulnerable. He flipped tables. He fought for justice. He restored dignity. He invited the wounded near.

So must we.

This isn’t just about protecting our reputations or checking off legal requirements. It’s about reflecting the heart of Christ. It’s about building churches, ministries, and communities where survivors are safe and seen, not silenced or shamed. It’s about acknowledging that for every statistic, there is a story—and that story deserves not just our awareness, but our action.

If we say we follow Jesus, we cannot ignore this.

The cost of silence is too high.

The need is urgent.

And the time is now.

“The systems we build either protect the vulnerable or preserve the powerful. They rarely do both.”
— Diane Langberg

The Weight and Wonder of Being an Online Trauma Therapist

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Being an online therapist specializing in trauma is both deeply rewarding and uniquely exhausting. It’s a profession that requires me to hold space for some of the most painful human experiences—grief, betrayal, loss, abuse—while also believing, fiercely, in the capacity for healing.

The Space Between the Screens

There’s something intimate about meeting clients online. They are in their own space—sometimes curled up on a couch, sometimes taking a call from a parked car, sometimes in a quiet corner of an office between meetings. The screen creates a buffer, but not a barrier. In some ways, it allows for a kind of rawness that traditional in-person therapy doesn’t always invite. There’s no office door to step through, no waiting room to navigate. Just me, them, and the work.

And yet, there’s a heaviness to it. The stories don’t dissipate when the session ends; they linger in the quiet hum of my computer screen, in the way my body holds tension after logging off. Unlike in an office, where I might have a moment to reset before my next client, in the online space, I sometimes find myself staring at my own reflection between sessions, taking deep breaths, shaking off the energy that clings.

The Unseen Challenges

Online therapy comes with its own set of challenges. There’s the heartbreak of frozen screens and lagging audio when a client is sharing something profoundly vulnerable. There’s the frustration of technological glitches when the work demands presence and attunement. And there’s the reality that sometimes, I have to sit with my own helplessness—when a client is in crisis and I’m not physically there to hand them a tissue, offer a grounding touch, or ensure their immediate safety beyond the words I can speak.

There’s also the paradox of being so deeply connected to clients yet physically alone. In a traditional therapy office, colleagues might be down the hall, a quiet reminder that I’m not holding all of this by myself. In online work, the space between sessions can feel isolating, the echoes of difficult stories left bouncing around in my own home.

The Beauty in the Breakthroughs

And yet, there’s profound beauty in this work. I get to witness resilience unfold in real-time. I see people take tentative steps toward healing, set boundaries for the first time, reclaim their voices. I hear the shift in their tone when they start to believe they deserve more. I see the tears of relief when they realize that their pain is not too much, that they are not broken, that healing is possible.

Being an online trauma therapist means trusting in the power of presence, even through a screen. It means learning how to transmit safety and warmth with only my voice, my eyes, and the small ways I adjust my posture. It means bearing witness to both the worst and the best of humanity—the way trauma wounds, but also the way people rise.

Holding the Work and Holding Myself

To do this work well, I have to care for myself with the same compassion I offer my clients. It’s a lesson I’ve learned the hard way. I have to step away from screens, let silence fill the spaces where words once poured out. I have to remind myself that I am not responsible for fixing, only for walking alongside. I have to remember that healing is a process, and that I am simply one stop along the way.

Some days, I carry this work lightly. Other days, I feel its full weight. But always, I hold it with reverence. Because to sit with someone in their pain, to witness their return to themselves—that is sacred work. And I am honored to do it, one session at a time.