“I come from three generations of pastors. I’ve never known anything else. So I don’t even know what to do with myself when I get up in the morning. I thought I had all the answers … and now I know nothing.”
I knew this man well. I knew his father from my Bible College days. I had watched him grow up.
He was rock solid.
Until he was traumatized by ministry.
He had served faithfully on the staff of a mega church. The leader fell from grace. A new regime came in and released everyone associated with the previous leadership.
He was shaken to his core.
Many had expected him to be named lead pastor. Now he was unemployed. Unhirable by association.
You might be tempted to call his response weak.
Don’t say that within my presence. I’ll have to show you what weak really looks like …by holding up a mirror to that kind of judgment. 😊
What happens when we are traumatized by ministry is real. And it’s not something I’d wish on anyone.
Let me help you understand what it does to our biology, our bodies, and our brains.
When ministry trauma hits …directly or indirectly …our brains release a Niagara Falls of stress hormones. Immediately, our prefrontal cortex …the part responsible for processing, reasoning, and making sense of our world …shuts down.
Our amygdala, the part of the brain responsible for keeping us safe, sounds a deafening alarm. We go into fight, flight, or freeze.
In that moment, everything we know, everything we think, everything we believe …is placed behind bars while our biology goes into pure survival mode.
In real time, that can feel like:
- Feeling paralyzed, unable to move
- Feeling thrown flat on your back, unable to breathe
- Racing heart and racing thoughts
- Dizziness and ringing in your ears
- Knots in your stomach
- Muscle tremors or shaking
- Deep, heaving sobs
- A desperate need to run …hard and fast
This is not weakness. This is biology.
And unless it’s addressed, it doesn’t just go away. It can affect us for a lifetime.
“I just feel like I can’t have a cohesive thought. I don’t want my story to end here. But I don’t know what to do or how to move forward.”
That’s not weakness. That’s honesty.
That’s what traumatized by ministry actually looks like up close.
1. When our worldview is blown up, the anchor of our soul feels adrift.
“I know what I believe. But I don’t even know how to practice it right now. It’s like someone cut my anchor and I’m out in the middle of the ocean in deep fog. No motor. No oars.”
I knew exactly what he meant.
Everything that had worked for him throughout his life was still technically true. But he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t access it. He was drifting.
You might be tempted to call that a lack of faith.
But if you suddenly found yourself in deep fog, in the middle of the ocean, with no motor and no oars …would you be disoriented? Of course you would. That’s not faithlessness. That’s the human response to losing your bearings all at once.
“I have to pull myself together. I have to help my wife and kids. Their schooling was part of the compensation package …now we can’t afford it. My wife needs me more than ever.”
I reminded him gently …no big decisions had to be made today. The first task was simply getting his own air mask on so he could help those around him.
“I have no skills outside of ministry. No certifications. What will I do?” he asked, with a desperation that was almost palpable.
“I always just prayed and believed. I’m still praying. Still believing. But I don’t even know what to pray for.”
I understood the anguish. And I knew this was not the moment for a religious platitude.
I leaned in and whispered: “As you heal from this wound, your purpose …your calling …will re-emerge. It might look different. But it’s still there. Buried beneath the trauma.”
He looked at me quietly and said: “I’ve always told people that God has a plan and it’s good. I wish I had offered more compassion. I wish I had been more real.”
“You will be,” I assured him. “You will be.”
2. When our faith is shaken, we question everything.
“I don’t know if I ever really cared about people …”
He teared up and looked away.
“I don’t even know if I was really a good husband … Hell, I don’t even know if I’m a good dad …”
I sat with him quietly while he sobbed, head in his hands.
After a few moments I offered: “When our faith is shaken, it’s normal to question everything.”
He looked up like a little boy and asked: “It is?”
I nodded. And then it poured out of him:
“I don’t know if God really used me …or if I was just flying by the seat of my pants.”
“I hope I’m not being punished.”
“Maybe I was insensitive. Maybe I’m reaping what I sowed.”
I leaned in, said his name quietly, and looked directly into his eyes.
“Are those really your questions? Or are they coming from somewhere else? Because I know those aren’t God’s questions.”
He nodded slowly.
“What are the better questions …the ones that could actually move your life forward?”
At first he looked puzzled. Then he tried one out:
“What do I need to do to trust that God’s got me? Got my family?”
“Good,” I said. “But what about asking God for what you need right now?”
He began to weep deeply as he choked out: “God… can you still use me?”
That was the beginning of his healing.
When you find yourself questioning everything …about yourself, about God, about life …that’s not a sign that your faith is gone. That’s a signal that it’s time to heal the wound underneath.
3. When our world crumbles, we feel we have nowhere to turn.
Living in ministry is often described as living in a glass house. Everything is watched. Everything reflects on something larger than ourselves.
So when our world crumbles, we feel the pressure to stand strong. To be the example. To hold it together.
But where do we actually turn?
Secular counseling feels risky …what if it pushes people away from God?
Christian counseling feels risky …what if revealing the inside reality damages someone’s faith?
And the “right” Christian answer …just turn to God …is true in principle. But in the moment, we need a human. Someone who is, as it’s often said, God with skin on.
Someone we can trust. Someone who won’t judge. Someone who has been there.
I know that dilemma personally. My own second experience of being traumatized by ministry is what compelled me to begin developing the healing process I use today.
My client said to me one day: “If I hadn’t come to you, I think I would have just drifted off. I don’t know what would have happened to me and my family.”
I was deeply moved. Because that is exactly my mission …to provide for others what I desperately needed and couldn’t find. Not just to make people feel better. To see them all the way through to healing and restoration.
*****
Recently I began speaking openly about being traumatized by ministry …because I want people to know there IS a place to turn.
I have a healing program I believe was given to me as I worked alongside masters in this field. And I am now training coaches …many of whom were themselves traumatized by ministry …to multiply this healing in their own communities.
Your pain can become your purpose.
Not long ago, I received this message from the man whose story I’ve shared today:
“Dr. Neecie, my wife and I have recently secured a property where we hope to have couples come and heal after being traumatized by ministry. We want to work with just three couples at a time. God has provided supernaturally …and we are grateful that you helped show us the way so we can do the same for others.”
My heart is full.
Healing is possible.
Your calling is alive and well.
Your family can have a fulfilling, abundant future.
I am committed to helping you get there. 💙
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