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I’ve come to understand that what happened to me in a faith community in time gone by wasn’t just a difficult experience—it was a trauma trigger. And not just any trigger, but one that reached all the way back to my adolescence, to a time when I was emotionally abandoned, scapegoated, and silenced by the very people who were supposed to protect me.

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From around age 12 until I left home at 17 or 18, I was emotionally ignored by my Parents. Many of my interactions with my Parents during this time were far less than nurturing.  They just didn't have the capacity, nor the nurture they needed in their own lives.  How could they themselves give something, they didn't have. 

 

My father’s anger had already taught me to walk on eggshells, but my mother’s sudden emotional withdrawal was devastating. She changed overnight—going through her own crisis, yes—but instead of seeking help, she projected the blame onto me. I became the scapegoat. And when I developed bulimia, she didn’t ask why. She didn’t ask what I was feeling. She told her family that I was the problem.

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This was not an isolated event, it was something that occured over a number of years.  I didn’t understand it at the time. I just knew it hurt. Deeply.

My Mum took me to a psychologist, I thought maybe someone would listen me speak about what was taken place in our household. He spoke to me, then to Mum—and we never went back.

Bulimia remained for 9 years after this because it was my only source of comfort at the time.

 

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Bulimia: A Silent Cry for Help

Research confirms that bulimia is often a coping mechanism for emotional invalidation and trauma. It’s not about vanity or control—it’s about survival. Emotional neglect and scapegoating are strongly linked to bulimia nervosa. When a child is consistently blamed, ignored, or misrepresented, they internalise shame. They lose their sense of worth. And they find ways to cope—often in secret.

Bulimia became my way of managing the unbearable. It was my body’s cry for help when my voice had been silenced.⸻

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(Please note: I share the awkwardness of what happened in this faith community for awareness and to show examples that others might connect with, not to bring condemnation or because I am carrying unforgiveness towards those involved - I did not attack this faith community or retaliate in any way.  I have therefore included this information into Collapsible Text Format so you can choose to read...or not).

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I know what it feels like when a system, even unintentionally, mirrors the very dynamics that once damaged me so deeply.  No matter how long you've walked with the Lord—trauma can be triggered⸻and in a faith community, this is ok because we all have pain in this world to varying degrees, but what we need in our faith communities, are people who understand.  

I have found in Nehemiah a framework around how to work with the Lord to build His people, even those, like me, who experience deep trauma triggers from their past.

 

Rebuilding After Exile: Nehemiah’s Story and Mine

In the book of Nehemiah, the walls of Jerusalem had been broken down. The gates had been burned. The people had lived in exile, scattered and vulnerable. And yet, God stirred Nehemiah to return, to rebuild, and to restore what had been lost.

This story speaks deeply to those who have walked through spiritual exile—those misjudged, silenced, or wounded in places meant to be safe.

Nehemiah didn’t rush into action. He wept. He mourned. He fasted and prayed. He allowed himself to feel the weight of the brokenness before doing anything about it. This is the first step in trauma-informed leadership: recognising the pain. Not minimising it. Not explaining it away. But sitting with it. Listening. Mourning what has been lost.

Nehemiah then asked permission. He didn’t assume authority. He waited for favor. He respected timing. Trauma-informed leadership honors relational timing. It doesn’t push people into roles or decisions before they’re ready. It doesn’t override their discernment. It waits. It asks. It listens.

Before announcing his plans, Nehemiah inspected the damage quietly. He didn’t bring a crowd. He didn’t make a spectacle. He looked carefully, respectfully. This is a picture of discernment. Trauma-informed leaders don’t rush to fix what they haven’t understood. They take time to see the full picture.

And when the rebuilding began, it wasn’t done by professionals alone. It was done by families—side by side, gate by gate. Each person had a part. Each contribution mattered. This is the heart of trauma-informed ministry: everyone is seen, everyone is valued. No one is bypassed. No one is silenced.

Nehemiah faced opposition—but he didn’t stop. He prayed. He posted guards. He kept building. Spiritual restoration often faces resistance—especially when it challenges unhealthy systems or exposes past wounds. But trauma-informed leaders protect the process. They guard the vulnerable. They don’t let fear dictate the pace.

And when the walls were rebuilt, the people gathered. They read the Word. They wept. They worshipped. Restoration wasn’t just physical—it was spiritual and communal.⸻

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A Gentle Call to Leaders

If you’re a leader, elder, or ministry worker, your role is sacred. You have the opportunity to be a safe place for those who have never known safety. You can be the one who listens, who honors, who walks slowly enough to see the heart behind the hesitation.

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Trauma-informed leadership means:

• Communicating clearly and kindly.

• Not using labels to minimise another's experience.

• Honoring contributions, even when adjustments are needed.

• Creating space for dialogue, not just decisions.

• Recognising when someone is triggered—and responding with compassion, not correction.​

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A Final Word of Hope

If you’re experiencing trauma, remember: His grace is sufficient for me. Even in this. Especially in this.

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