Spiritual Abuse and Patriarchal Structures in High-Control Religion
The Cost of Compliance: How Spiritual Abuse Silences and Controls
For as long as I can remember, obedience was the measure of my worth. To be good, to be faithful, to be worthy of love. These were tied to how well I conformed, how much I suppressed, and how seamlessly I fit within the rigid structures of evangelical Christianity. But that obedience came at a cost. It wasn’t just about following rules; it was about erasing myself.
Growing up in the evangelical world, I was taught that my role was clear: be modest, be submissive, be pure, be silent. My identity was crafted not in the fullness of my humanity, but in how well I could embody the expectations imposed upon me. Spiritual abuse and patriarchy were so deeply intertwined that they were indistinguishable. To challenge one was to challenge the other. To step out of obedience was to risk exile - not just from the church, but from God himself.
The Burden of Obedience
I learned early that obedience wasn’t just a virtue; it was a survival strategy. The weight of spiritual authority loomed over every decision. Sermons, women’s conferences, and Bible studies all reinforced the same message: my heart was deceitful, my desires were dangerous, and my purpose was to serve.
Purity culture drilled into me that my body was not my own. My worth hinged on my ability to preserve myself for a man I had yet to meet, while at the same time ensuring that my presence didn’t cause any man to stumble. The contradictions were dizzying! I was both responsible for male sin and utterly powerless within the system that governed me.
When I moved into ministry, the burden of obedience only intensified. I was no longer just expected to submit, I was expected to enforce. To disciple others into the same toxic theology that had eroded my own sense of self. I believed I was doing holy work, yet I was drowning under the weight of impossible expectations, burning out under the relentless pressure to be a woman after God’s own heart.
When Control Crumbles
Like so many who have walked this road, I didn’t wake up one day and decide to leave. The unravelling was slow, painful. It started with cracks, small moments when the sermons didn’t sit right, when the theology that once comforted me began to suffocate instead.
I saw the way power was wielded, how abuse was dismissed as church discipline, how suffering was spiritualised instead of addressed. I saw women shrink under the weight of submission, saw myself disappearing into the expectations that demanded my silence and compliance. I told myself it was just a phase, that I needed to pray harder, submit more, suppress better.
But suppression has its limits. The breaking point came when I could no longer ignore the harm - the harm to myself and the harm to others. When I stood in church and the words of worship songs felt like gaslighting. When I saw manipulation wrapped in scripture, control dressed up as godliness. When I finally admitted that obedience was killing me.
Naming the Trauma
Religious trauma and spiritual abuse don’t just exist in moments of acute harm. They exist in the slow erosion of self. In the way spiritual abuse distorts love, making it conditional. In the way patriarchy strips agency, calling it divine order.
Leaving was not just about stepping away from church, it was about dismantling the very framework that had shaped my existence. It was about unlearning the belief that suffering was sanctification, that submission was holiness, that obedience was love. It was about reclaiming my own voice, my own body, my own mind.
There is grief in this process. Grief for the years lost to self-abandonment. Grief for the relationships that could not withstand my evolution. But there is also freedom. The kind of freedom that evangelicalism had promised but never delivered.
Reclaiming My Own Wisdom
In leaving, I have found a spirituality that no longer demands my silence. One that does not require me to contort myself into a shape that fits within the narrow expectations of patriarchal religion. I have found a faith that does not call my doubt rebellion, does not frame my autonomy as a threat.
Reclaiming my own wisdom has been an act of defiance. Trusting my own intuition, my own body, my own mind - these are things I was taught to fear. But I am learning that my body is not deceitful, that my thoughts are not sinful, that my voice is not a liability.
Healing from spiritual abuse is not just about deconstruction; it’s about rebuilding. It’s about choosing joy, choosing curiosity, choosing life outside of the fear that once held me captive. It’s about learning that worth is not something to be earned and that divinity is not held captive within the walls of the church.
I am still unlearning. Still healing. Still reclaiming. But I am no longer afraid. No longer bound by the chains of obedience disguised as holiness. No longer willing to submit to a system that thrives on control.
Because I have found freedom - not in obedience, but in the radical act of being fully, unapologetically myself.
Elise Heerde is a trauma-informed counsellor and coach specializing in religious trauma and recovery from high-control environments. With over 30 years of lived experience in evangelical Pentecostal Christianity, she brings deep empathy and insight to her work. As co-founder of The Religious Trauma Collective (Australia/New Zealand), she connects clients with trauma-informed practitioners and offers a safe, non-judgmental space for healing in her private practice. Elise also writes and speaks on the long-term impacts of high-control religion and is the author of Unlearning Obedience, an e-book exploring how religious conditioning affects identity and autonomy. Find her on Instagram at @eliseheerde.