Unlearning Religious Shame as a Queer Person: You Were Never the Problem

Updated: Jul 27

For LGBTQIA+ folks raised in rigid or rejecting faith traditions, healing can start with the radical idea that there was nothing wrong with you to begin with.

Religious Shame and the Myth of Being “Cursed”

This post was originally inspired by a Friday the 13th—a date people love to call “unlucky,” “cursed,” or just plain creepy. In recognition of Pride month, this post goes out to my fellow queers with a history of religious trauma. Those words—the ones superstitious folks use to describe Friday the 13th—to you who broke with religious expectations may seem... oddly familiar.

For our exvangelical readers, Friday the 13th (the movie) probably wasn’t something you were allowed to watch. Maybe it was too violent, too sexual, or too “worldly.” Or maybe it just had the misfortune of existing in a culture your youth pastor disapproved of. But the fear-based messaging? That part probably felt familiar—because some of us were taught that we were the scary ones.

Too queer. Too emotional. Too loud. Too soft. Too different.

Too much.

What if that wasn’t a curse? What if it was a clue?

What if the shame you were handed wasn’t divine truth—but cultural baggage? What if the discomfort that led you to question everything was your first sacred (look, I'm an entirely secular therapist, but I don't have a better word) act of clarity?

What Is Religious Trauma Syndrome? Understanding Lingering Effects

It’s a common misconception that religious trauma ends when someone leaves the faith. But many queer and neurodivergent folks find that even after they’ve stopped attending services or cut ties with religious institutions, the messages linger.

Psychologist Marlene Winell coined the term Religious Trauma Syndrome to describe the lasting psychological and emotional impact of harmful religious experiences. In her book Leaving the Fold, she outlines how indoctrination, fear-based teachings, and authoritarian environments can create deep and persistent distress that doesn’t simply disappear with time.

Winell identifies several symptoms of Religious Trauma Syndrome, including:

Chronic feelings of guilt and shame
Difficulty making decisions or trusting oneself
Fear of damnation or punishment
Anxiety, depression, and grief
Loss of a sense of community or belonging
Difficulty establishing boundaries
Sexual dysfunction or shame around sexuality

Daryl R. Van Tongeren’s Done: How to Flourish After Leaving Religion adds another layer to this conversation with the concept of "religious residue"—the lingering effects of beliefs and practices that shaped your sense of morality, identity, and self-worth long after you’ve walked away. For many, these echoes show up in feelings of guilt around sexuality, discomfort with autonomy, or shame about simply existing as oneself.

And even for folks who were never personally religious, living in heavily religious regions—where policies, social norms, and even billboards reflect rigid theology—can mean constant exposure to messages that undermine authenticity and reinforce fear.

In other words, you don’t have to believe in hell to still feel like you're burning.

Exvangelical Healing: From Deconstruction to Reconstruction

For many people raised in evangelical or fundamentalist traditions, there comes a moment—sometimes sudden, sometimes agonizingly slow—when the internal dissonance becomes unbearable. Maybe it’s a sermon that crosses a line. A youth group message that turns your identity into a threat. A moment of grief that cracks the illusion of certainty.

That’s often where "deconstruction" begins. It’s not about rebellion—it’s about integrity. It’s about listening to the knot in your stomach or the lump in your throat that says, this doesn’t feel like love.

Deconstruction is often framed as a loss of faith, but in reality, it’s the beginning of something much more honest: a reconstruction. A clearing-out of what was harmful so that something more rooted in your values can take its place. You don't have to think of this as throwing your beliefs away—though you certainly can—but composting them. And what grows back may look very different from what you were taught.

Many exvangelicals find that what remains is not absence, but clarity. A fierce sense of justice. A commitment to compassion. A longing for connection that doesn’t come with conditions. The discomfort that started it all? That was you finally connecting with your inner wisdom—pointing in the direction of what matters to you.

If you’re in this place—or remember what it was like—know this: you are not broken. And you are not alone.

Affirmations for LGBTQIA+ People Healing from Religious Shame

Before we begin: language is powerful—and sometimes, it’s loaded. Words like "sacred," "whole," or even "affirmation" can carry religious connotations that may feel activating or just plain off-putting. If any of the language here doesn’t resonate with you—or gives you the ick, you are invited to adapt, translate, or discard it entirely. Take what works for your experience. Leave the rest.

Let’s be clear: affirmations are not about wishful thinking. They’re about empowering you with strength and clarity that was clouded by fear, shame, and manipulation. If you were told you were evil, dangerous, or beyond saving, you deserve words that counter that harm with honesty and care.

Here are some affirmations to try out:

I was never the dangerous one.
The parts of me they tried to cast out are the ones that hold my light.
It is not a sin to be who I am.
My boundaries are sacred.
Love did not fail me—dogma did.
My queerness is not a flaw. It is a truth worth celebrating.
I don’t need to be purified. I am already whole.
Questioning was not betrayal. It was wisdom.
I have the right to make meaning that honors my dignity.
I am not alone. I am part of a legacy of survivors, seekers, and sacred misfits.

These aren’t empty words. They are reminders. Invitations. And sometimes, the first step toward believing something better is possible.

It's unreasonable to expect anyone—especially those who’ve been taught they’re inherently sinful—to automatically believe affirmations like these. That’s okay. Practicing them isn’t about flipping a switch—it’s about developing your internal resources over time. It's about giving yourself new options for self-talk, powered by something very cool and very real: neuroplasticity. Your brain can change. And you deserve words that help it change in a direction that works for you.

Healing Religious Trauma: Therapy, Community, and Spiritual Autonomy

Healing from religious trauma isn’t linear—and it’s never one-size-fits-all. For some exvangelicals, healing means walking away from religion entirely and finding community in secular spaces. For others, it might mean leaning into spirituality outside of organized religion. And for many, it means redefining or reclaiming faith in a way that aligns with justice, dignity, and lived experience.

Some folks find comfort in progressive faith communities like the Unitarian Universalist Church—especially those who miss the ritual and connection of Sunday service but have no desire to return to dogma. Others reconnect with their tradition of origin in more liberation-oriented spaces: progressive Jewish, Christian, and Muslim communities that affirm queer and neurodivergent identities. Progressive Christians, for example, may find affirmation in scriptures like:

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear.” —1 John 4:18
“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb… I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” —Psalm 139:13–14
“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” —Romans 12:2

You don’t have to choose religion—or leave it—to heal. Both are valid, whole, ways of being. What matters is that you’re allowed to ask questions, feel safe in your body and identity, and make meaning on your terms.

There are also many resources and communities for support:

The Exvangelical Facebook community is vast and active
The American Humanist Association offers secular Meetup groups
Books like Leaving the Fold by Marlene Winell and Done by Daryl Van Tongeren can offer language and validation

And working with a religious trauma-informed, intentionally inclusive therapist isn’t about being directed to any particular path. It’s about having support while you explore what healing, belief, community, and meaning look like for you. Your direction is yours to choose—and you deserve to feel safe while you do it.

Finding Support for Religious Trauma: Inclusive Therapy & Community Resources

I want to be transparent about where I’m coming from. I’m a mostly lifelong non-religious person. As a teenager, I attended a progressive Episcopalian church for a couple of years—what seemed at the time to be more about my moms’ desire for social life in rural Virginia than any deep belief system. While I don’t identify as religious, I deeply respect the diversity of ways people find meaning, healing, and community.

I know that acknowledging a secular identity can feel risky and that in doing so I might lose credibility—some folks hear "non-religious" and worry it means cynical, disconnected, ungrounded, or—let's face it—evil.

Some youth pastors might describe me—and my fellow queer and trans-affirming therapy and healthcare providers—as the boogeyman or a close cousin of Jason Vorhees—the nightmare-fuel of Friday the 13th. At Divergent Path Wellness, we take our commitment to authenticity, honesty, and deep respect for individual experience seriously. Way more seriously than we take ourselves. Our commitment to authenticity goes for our therapists and the people we work with. I never want someone to feel misled or disappointed because I’m not who they expected. And I never want that to stand in the way of connection. There are therapists at Divergent Path Wellness who have other lived experiences and, regardless of whether you share a specific lived experience or not, what I want for you—if you're seeking a therapist—is to work with someone you genuinely connect with.

Any competent therapist (and believe me, I’ve heard enough consultation horror stories to know how many incompetent ones are out there) knows their role is not spiritual direction—but a commitment to walk alongside you as you process, unpack, and rebuild. Whether you're diving deep into a new spiritual practice, holding on to threads of faith, or clearing out space to make meaning without any of it, therapy can be a supportive, affirming part of that process.

Community matters. Even if faith communities have harmed you, you still deserve connection. Whether you find it in an affirming church, a secular discussion group, a queer book club, or a good therapist’s office—you’re allowed to seek out people who make you feel seen.

You’re not cursed. You’re not broken. You’re allowed to heal—and you don’t have to do it alone.

By Helen Dempsey-Henofer, LCSW, ADHD-CCSP

Helen is the founder and clinical director of Divergent Path Wellness, a queer- and neurodivergent-affirming therapy practice based in Charlottesville, VA. If you’re seeking inclusive, trauma-informed therapy in Virginia with someone who truly gets it, schedule a free 15-minute consultation to learn more.