‘Being silenced by my church was like being re-abused’

In 2002, my husband and I joined a new, evangelical church that had opened in our hometown. I was a student in my early 20s and was excited to be part of something that, to many of us, felt God-given. After graduating, I was offered a job and, for the best part of 13 years I ran the church office around raising our young family. I became office manager and personal assistant to the pastor, who I will call Dan*.

When I first met Dan, he was presented as having been chosen and sent from overseas to plant a church specifically in our town. I was a young adult hungry to grow in my faith and Dan, it seemed, carried wisdom, vision, charisma and spiritual understanding. He viewed himself as a spiritual father, particularly to the young adults in the congregation.

At first, I loved working for Dan and felt somehow privileged, but within a short period of time, Dan assumed a number of significant positions of power in my life. He become my pastor, boss, father-figure, counsellor, friend, and being in his mid-50’s, he was more than twice my age. I began to feel trapped. 

Over time, I realised that despite his outward persona, Dan was deeply insecure and required absolute loyalty. The church had a strong pyramidal leadership structure that necessitated absolute respect for the pastor; he was constantly defended by the fully male eldership, who were also trustees and between them covered the roles of safeguarding officer and also my line manager.

The consequences of crossing Dan were harsh. He openly disliked women, and I repeatedly saw how he spread slander and rumours which hurt and divided. A number of families and marriages were significantly harmed. Many left the church, and some lost their faith. Yet Dan repeatedly saw himself as the victim of attack, both from individuals and the devil, and in defending their ‘man of God’, the leadership would jump to his protection. I began to fear his scowls and emotional retribution, and when my own line manager (who was also an elder and trustee) refused to listen to a concern I raised, I knew that there was no route for redress.

Crossing a line

Despite being unqualified, Dan regularly counselled me. He saw this as part of his pastoral role and came to know everything about me. Unexpectedly, he also began to confide his own struggles and secrets to me. It took many years, but I was slowly manipulated into a place of secrecy and obedience. I lost my autonomy and was swimming in a culture of control where spiritual and emotional abuse felt like normality.

Gradually, everything I did became analysed; from the way I spoke or stood, to who I talked to - even who I was friends with on social media. Dan would address other men in the church if they even spoke to me, warning them away with what he said was protective, fatherly love. I lost a number of friends and found myself becoming increasingly isolated. Eventually, Dan presented me with the twisted secret that he, my ‘spiritual father’, was in love with me. In fact, he explained, he had first fallen for me back in 2003, when I was just 23.

My experience was textbook, narcissistic abuse within a toxic church culture. It was like being slowly brainwashed

In 2015, after a counselling session, Dan sexually assaulted me. Ignoring my requests that he stop, the assaults became regular and were serious. Dan repeatedly spiritualised and justified his actions; manipulating scripture and saying that God was using our relationship to heal him from past wounds.

Over 18 months, he sexually assaulted me virtually every day that I was in the office. I had nowhere to turn. I hid everything; the leadership were trained to protect him, and I was convinced that if anyone found out, the shame would be too great. The church and both of our families would fall apart, and I, the female secretary, would surely be held responsible.

The depth and complexity of the deception was profound. While regularly abusing me, Dan continued, apparently, to operate as a Spirit-filled ‘man of God’; warm and friendly to many, openly worshipping at the front of church, teaching, prophesying and praying for others. I felt internally fragmented.

My escape route came in the form of bringing forward a plan my husband and I had to relocate. In 2016, we moved. It took me nearly two years but, as my head slowly cleared, I began to see that what I had experienced was abuse. I had been consistently lied to and trained to be loyal but, as my controlled mindset began to calm and the walls in my mind dissolved, I saw the hideous, ugly mess that had ensnared me.

Re-abused

In spring 2018, I spoke out for the first time and disclosed the abuse I had suffered at the hands of Dan, describing in writing the emotional, psychological and sexual abuse.

I gave my disclosure to the elders and trustees of my old church, as well as the leaders of the overseeing organisation. Initially, the safeguarding officer didn’t want to receive my disclosure, rejecting it as spiritual attack against God’s appointed leader. Eventually, the church contacted the Churches Child Protection Advisory Service (now thirtyone:eight), who advised that a report be made to the Local Authority Designated Officer (LADO), responsible for safeguarding children and vulnerable adults. As I fell into neither category, the LADO stated in an email that I should be encouraged to “report this directly to the police”.

This advice was not passed on to me. Instead of an impartial, external investigation, the elders put in writing that my disclosure could be dealt with as an internal matter and went to visit their friend, Dan, who had also since relocated, but was still employed part time as senior pastor of the church.

At the meeting, Dan was given a statement from my husband alleging that he had groomed, controlled, manipulated and abused me, committing sexual acts against me. In an email, the elders informed us that Dan accepted responsibility for what had happened. Yet, despite his admission, it became clear that he was going to be protected. The safeguarding officer did not make contact with me, no police report was made and, instead of being dismissed, Dan was allowed to resign and begin his retirement. The church’s annual Charity Commission reports show that he continued to receive payments for at least a further year.

I won a huge out of court settlement yet, whatever I did and whatever evidence I provided, the church would not speak the truth

Within a few days, the church’s apostolic oversight – another old friend of Dan’s – arrived in the UK and, despite having little knowledge of British charity law or culture, took control of the situation and went to visit Dan. On his return, he told us that all parties were to write statements that would be approved and then shared with the church. We were given written guidelines on what to include. I was told to state that I regretted of my own behaviour, to “seek the forgiveness” of church members and confirm that I had “forgiven and released” Dan. Statements were ‘tweaked’ and, at the request of Dan, my husband was directed to remove the word ‘groomed’ from his statement.

Within just 12 days of receiving my disclosure, a church meeting was held, and the statements were shared with church members. Rather than honestly naming sexual assault and abuse, my experience was re-framed and minimised, with repeated emphasis on forgiveness. The elders wrote that the LADO “confirmed that…it could be dealt with as an internal matter” when in fact they had recommended reporting it to the police. They apologised for “failing to cover and support (Dan) with sufficient effectiveness” and misapplied scripture, emphasising the importance of “forgetting those things which are behind” (Philippians 3:13).

The leaders had also already shared the phrase “inappropriate relationship” to describe what had happened to me. Dismayed, I immediately emailed my objection to this but received no response. The phrase persisted for many years.

Thereafter, Dan spent six weeks overseas for a period of “reformation and restoration”, overseen internally. Upon conclusion, he issued a vague apology to elders and staff for his ‘actions’, directing people not to be drawn back to the past. In an accompanying letter, the church’s apostolic oversight focussed on the painful time Dan had had as he “dealt with ‘blind spots’”. I was not mentioned, and abuse was not alluded to. Dan was presented as a victim of his own past, and all parties were reminded that we had “sought and gave forgiveness”. The letter concluded: “Let us therefore keep it under the blood of Jesus Christ and give the enemy no foothold.”

To me, the church’s response was a new level of abuse. Forgiveness was weaponised, the narrative hijacked and abuse re-framed. In the concluding letters, I had simply been erased.

Finding my voice

My husband and I tried to lay things down and move on but faced with such a distortion of our experiences, we struggled to find closure.

On several occasions, we asked that the church tell the truth about what happened, and in 2022, we approached two of the new leaders with a longer written statement, describing the abuse in more detail. This was initially received well. They expressed deep sorrow for what had happened and brought in an independent safeguarding expert. Over a 12-month period there were many positive changes, including restructuring the leadership, safeguarding training, teaching on healthy church culture and a new, detailed safeguarding policy. However, while leadership acknowledged my abuse in private, the narrative was never publicly corrected.

Around this time, I also reported the sexual assaults to the police. The lack of safeguarding support and continual gaslighting had left me isolated and uncertain of my own credibility. My report triggered a 13-month investigation, but with the case considered historic, there was not enough evidence for a criminal conviction, and it did not progress.

Forgiveness was weaponised, the narrative hijacked and abuse re-framed

Having exhausted all other options, in spring 2023 I finally resorted to making a civil claim. As part of the process, an independent psychiatric assessment was requested. I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), caused by the abuse.

My motive for a claim was not financial but to form a clear narrative and have the abuse acknowledged. I also wanted to take a stand on behalf of many other people who I knew had been harmed over the years by Dan’s bullying, emotional and spiritual abuse. To this end, the wording of my claim was specific: “For the avoidance of doubt the Claimant endured: Coercive, manipulative and controlling behaviour; Sexual assault; Sexual touching; Unwanted kissing.”

In September 2024, the claim concluded. On the basis of being indefensible in civil court due the extent of the evidence, an out-of-court settlement of £100,000 was agreed. At last, I believed the narrative was clear.

But, after several weeks of silence from the church and with no forewarning, I was emailed a statement that had already been sent to church members. It was obliquely worded and referred to a personal injury claim relating to “events that were previously disclosed” that had now been settled “without admission of liability” (a condition of the church’s insurance policy). Vague and unclear, it named nothing. In fact, it almost sounded as if the church had won something.

For me, this was the lowest point. I felt as if I had been shot in the chest. I had won a huge out of court settlement, had the validation of lawyers and yet, whatever I did and whatever evidence I provided, the church would not speak the truth.

Thereafter, my efforts to contact the church leadership were redirected to lawyers. Devastatingly, the journey concluded exactly where it had begun. Their final act felt like a repeat of my first disclosure: control, minimise, re-frame, isolate.

A new purpose

I believe that my experience was textbook, narcissistic abuse within a toxic church culture. It was like being slowly brainwashed. When I finally spoke out, the church I had served faithfully for years failed to respect my story enough to tell it honestly. They chose to protect an abusive leader and their own reputation over those he abused. What began as clergy spiritual and emotional abuse became clergy sexual abuse, church abuse and institutional betrayal.

Finding my voice has been an essential part of breaking free. My hope is that by speaking, I might help others who have been hurt begin to make sense of their own experiences. Unexpectedly, the most healing thing I did was to make a civil claim. I was finally shown respect and felt professionally cared for and carried. For me, the whole process was validating and empowering.

Over 18 months, he sexually assaulted me on countless occasions – virtually every day that I was in the office

My prayer is that my story challenges wider Church leadership to examine themselves and their internal structures - primarily in the hope that they become safe places for all, but also so that where allegations do arise, they are handled in ways that are victim-centred, transparent and honest. To minimise and re-frame a disclosure, or protect an abuser, is utterly un-Christlike. It is the opposite of who we see Jesus to be.

I am also speaking out on behalf of the many people who, over a 15-year period, experienced emotional and spiritual abuse from Dan within that church. So many people had their faith, reputation, friendships and mental health deeply harmed. Some families were devastatingly wounded. I still hear heartbreaking stories of people who have been left carrying shame and deep hurt, with no open acknowledgement that what they went through was abuse.

My greatest message and comfort throughout this journey has been the knowledge that God sees and knows. It is not God who abuses, but people. His tangible presence has held me together. He values justice and stands with the broken. When I felt at the bottom of the pit, there, in gentleness and power, was God.