Reason Is No Match for Pain: Why People Stay in Spiritually Abusive Churches

For years, I struggled to understand why people stay in spiritually abusive churches.

At first, I assumed they simply didn’t see the red flags. Maybe they were unaware—blinded by charisma, drawn in by compelling vision statements or emotional worship. I thought if they just had the facts, if they just knew the manipulation behind the curtain, they would wake up and walk out.

Later, I changed my mind. I realized many did see the red flags. They just rationalized them. “Every church has issues.” “He’s just passionate.” “God still uses imperfect leaders.” I saw people justify concerning behavior, dismiss legitimate criticism, and explain away clear problems. And I understood that. I had done it too.

Then I moved on to a third theory: maybe people were stuck. Paralyzed. Helpless. Maybe they wanted to leave, but couldn’t. Maybe they feared what would happen to their kids, or how their extended family would react. Maybe they were exhausted, broken down, spiritually confused, and unable to even think straight—let alone take a bold step.

All of these theories hold some truth. But recently, I’ve come to believe something deeper is at play:

Reason is no match for pain.

The Emotional Cost of Leaving

Leaving a church—especially in a small town—isn’t just about swapping Sunday morning locations. It’s not like changing your gym or trying a new coffee shop. It’s often the equivalent of cutting out your whole social, spiritual, and sometimes even professional world.

For many people in abusive church settings, the church isn’t just something they attend—it’s something they inhabit. Their calendar is packed with church-related activity: small group, serving teams, prayer meetings, ministry nights, leadership training, worship rehearsals, discipleship meetups. All their friendships are there. Their identity is tangled up in it. Their sense of purpose, their belonging, their community, their reputation. Even their spiritual worth.

And when problems surface—authoritarian leadership, emotional manipulation, twisted theology, control tactics, abuse of power—their mind knows something is wrong. They can feel the dissonance. They might read articles, listen to podcasts, talk with a trusted friend, and admit, in quiet moments, “This isn’t healthy.”

But knowledge alone rarely moves people.

Pain stops them.

Leaving costs too much.

Pain Overwhelms Reason

It’s painful to admit that the church you’ve loved and served for years isn’t safe. It’s painful to accept that the people you trusted may have spiritually harmed you. It’s painful to face the possibility that your loyalty was misplaced.

But more than anything, it’s painful to walk away.

Because when you leave a spiritually abusive environment, you don’t just lose a church—you lose your place in the world. You lose your social network. Your rhythm. Your belonging. You lose the version of yourself that had it all together.

You may lose the trust of people who think you’ve “gone astray.”

You may be accused of bitterness, rebellion, pride, gossip, or division.

And if you’re in a smaller town, the fallout echoes through your community. You run into people in the grocery store who used to call you “brother” or “sister” but now avert their eyes. You might hear secondhand how your story was told—distorted and reinterpreted to protect the system you left behind.

No wonder people stay.

Reason says, This is wrong.
Pain replies, But I can’t afford to leave.

And in that battle, pain often wins.

The Narrow Road

Jesus said that following Him requires denying ourselves, taking up our cross, and losing our lives for His sake. That’s not just poetic—it’s a piercing reality.

In spiritually toxic environments, following Jesus may mean walking away from the crowd. It may mean doing the hard thing. Not the easy thing. Not the safe thing. Not the popular thing. But the right thing.

It may mean enduring the pain of disorientation, the ache of loneliness, the fear of the unknown.

But there is life on the other side.

Jesus never called us to follow a church. Or a personality. Or a community. Or a movement.

He called us to follow Him.

And if your church demands silence over truth, loyalty over conscience, and conformity over Christlikeness—leaving may not be betrayal. It may be obedience.

It will hurt. But sometimes pain is not a sign that you’ve gone wrong. Sometimes it’s the labor pain of rebirth.

A Final Word

If you're reading this and feeling the tension—if your heart knows what your mouth is afraid to say—take courage. You're not crazy. You're not alone. And you're not a threat for asking honest questions.

You don’t have to choose between faith and truth. You don’t have to silence your conscience to stay in good standing.

Jesus is not confined to the walls of a toxic church. His voice is still kind, still clear, still calling.

And though the way out may be painful, He walks it with you.

Rooted in Jesus Grace,

Mara Wellspring