For the Women Who Can’t Explain What Happened to Them

Some women leave certain faith spaces and can’t explain why.

They don’t have a dramatic story ready.
They’re not trying to tear anything down.
They’re not deconstructing for attention.

They just know something wasn’t right — and they don’t yet have language for it.

I was one of them.

When the harm isn’t obvious

The most confusing kind of spiritual harm isn’t loud.
It’s subtle.
It happens over time.

It’s when spiritual language replaces discernment.
When intensity is mistaken for depth.
When obedience is praised but clarity is discouraged.

You’re told to trust God — but you’re also taught not to trust yourself.
You’re encouraged to surrender — but only in ways that benefit the system you’re in.

And when you finally step away, you don’t feel free right away.

You feel disoriented.

Losing your words

Leaving charismatic or Word of Faith environments often means losing your vocabulary.

You don’t know how to talk about what happened without sounding:

bitter
faithless
confused
or dramatic

So you stay quiet.

You tell yourself it wasn’t “that bad.”
You minimize your own experience.
You keep going, even though something in you is still unsettled.

That quiet confusion is not weakness.
It’s a sign your discernment is waking back up.

Why I stopped certain things

There were seasons when I stopped women’s groups.
I stopped retreats.
I stepped back more than people realized.

Not because the work didn’t matter — but because I needed to become safe again.

Safe in my own body.
Safe in my thinking.
Safe in my faith.

Spiritual leadership without safety will always cost more than it gives.

And sometimes wisdom looks like closing doors, not opening new ones.

The unseen cost of spiritualized leadership

One of the hardest things to name is how often ideas are copied instead of formed.

How quickly people adopt titles, roles, and callings without the internal work to support them.

When leadership is driven by spiritual language instead of maturity, it creates noise — not depth.

I had to learn, slowly, that what I was building couldn’t be rushed or replicated.
It had to come from lived cost, not borrowed language.

That understanding changed everything.

Who this work is for now

I still meet with my clients.
The work hasn’t stopped.

But I’m clearer now about who this work is for.

It’s not for women who want to stay in chaos.
It’s for women who are hurt and can’t yet explain why.
For the ones who are guarded, cautious, and watching quietly.
For the women who know something happened — but don’t have words yet.

I was one of them.

And I know how long it can take to feel safe enough to speak.