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7:28 am on a Sunday morning. After countless interruptions throughout the night with my 11-month-old and once with my special-needs almost-four-year-old, my reward was an ocular migraine and a hefty dose of mom guilt. Before you suggest sleep training, know that I’m not interested.
At 6 am, my wonderful husband took the baby downstairs, allowing me a moment of rest. I heard no cries for help from below and even caught a whiff of the pancakes he had made for breakfast. It would have been so easy to drift back to sleep; however, years of conditioning held me back.
As I trudged downstairs, my husband greeted me with, “You were supposed to be sleeping!” I replied, “I felt guilty for resting longer.” This prompted me to reflect on why I felt such guilt. The answer came to me in a flash: religious trauma.
From a young age, I was immersed in conservative religious beliefs. These extremist, evangelical ideas were served to me at every meal. I accepted these notions for most of my life until recently when I started to join others—mainly fellow millennials—who are stepping away from the church. Now, I’m beginning to see the many ways my religious upbringing still affects me.
Panic attacks, flashbacks, hypervigilance, and a persistent sense of dread are just a few of the symptoms of religious trauma that I navigate daily. Holidays like Christmas and Easter often leave me with anxiety, stomach aches, and tearful breakdowns. Yet, religious trauma is often more subtle, infiltrating my everyday thoughts, feelings, and behaviors.
To illustrate, my childhood home emphasized the importance of being productive, helpful, and self-sacrificing. The ideal of the suffering servant was glorified, especially for women and girls. I was taught to anticipate others’ needs, to always look presentable—even while at home—and to prioritize motherhood as the ultimate calling. The pressure to maintain a certain appearance and behavior was overwhelming, and it also included the notion that sleeping in was a sign of laziness. How could one serve others while resting? The archetype of the Proverbs 31 woman who rises before dawn to care for her family loomed large over me. Thus, deep down, I still believe that to be a good person, mother, and wife, I must wake up early on Sundays, even when no one requires it of me.
The symptoms of religious trauma lurk around every corner, waiting to pounce. My therapist helps me process these experiences weekly. No matter how your religious trauma manifests, you deserve the time, energy, and resources necessary for recovery. Leaving religion has proven to be a mixed blessing; while it has come with its share of pain, it has also opened doors for healthier self-care practices. I’m learning to love myself, ask for my needs without feeling guilty, and accept criticism without shame. Healing is liberating, and everyone deserves that.
With this newfound understanding, I realize that prioritizing sleep is as essential as addressing other wounded aspects of myself. So, my task for the next weekend is to embrace the joy of sleeping in.
Cheers to Sunday sleep-ins, fellow ex-evangelicals!
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, Emma Carter shares her journey of recognizing the deep-seated impacts of her religious upbringing on her mental health and daily life. Through the lens of her experiences as a mother, she explores themes of guilt, productivity, and self-care, ultimately advocating for the importance of prioritizing one’s own needs, such as sleep, in the process of healing from religious trauma.