Discussion: Belief systems and abuse
Thresholds, October 2025

When talking about something sensitive in the therapy room, I’ll often say something like, ‘I want to hold this idea delicately.’ This phrase is an attempt to invite nuance and spaciousness when exploring topics that may carry complicated stigma or harmful stereotypes. For many, belief systems can be one such topic. Perhaps the oldest of all belief systems is religion, and it can be a divisive subject among male survivors. Its divisive nature came alive one summer when searching for a new venue to hold group meetings. We found a large community hall.

It hosted cinema nights, had comfy sofas, and gave us access to art materials, a kitchen and a garden. For a small charity still reeling from austerity, it was the jackpot! The first session in the new venue was booked for a Sunday. That morning, I woke up with a mix of nerves and excitement. A new home for male survivors of abuse to come together, share stories and process the trauma they had survived. However, on arrival, my mood shifted. What we hadn’t realised was that the hall next to the venue was used by a large Evangelical church. The church’s band played music and the sounds of worship carried through the air into our space. As male survivors arrived for the first session, emotions were immediately heightened. Many survivors move through the world hypervigilant, anticipating danger.¹ For some that day, the institution that had either abused them, or denied, covered up or shamed their abuse, was now audibly present in a space meant to feel safe. For others who had not experienced abuse in a religious context, the church – an institution that can mean many different things – became, in that moment, a stark symbol of abuse. To be confronted by church music and worship created an unexpected barrier to feeling safe for those who are rarely able to find safety. 

Religious harm 

Religious organisations have historically held, and in many parts of the world continue to hold, enormous influence over communities. A religious leader often wields not only spiritual power but also real-world power. They are frequently regarded as representatives of God and therefore carry immense weight in the lives of their followers. In many cases I’ve worked with, sexual abuse perpetrated by a religious leader can feel comparable in psychological impact to incest. This is due to the power, and in some cases symbolic parental roles, embedded in many religions, where the community may function as an extension of family. When someone raised within a belief system is abused by that system – whether by a religious leader or through institutional denial or cover-up – the harm can be life changing. Such experiences can sever connection to spiritual support, leaving survivors abandoned. The imbalance of power is profound. Survivors may feel the abuse they experienced at the hands of religious leaders was also the will of a faceless, all-powerful God. Plus, many religions hold conservative or repressive views about sex, which can make the abuse more confusing and shaming.^3Ìý

In 2021, the UK’s Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse published the report Child Protection in Religious Organisations and Settings, which found that sexual abuse occurs across most religious organisations. In other words, no single religion is uniquely prone to child sexual abuse. The report also found that many religious organisations lack proper child protection policies and that victim blaming is common. Some religious communities do not have the language or capacity to describe rape or abuse, let alone to report it.³ The report also found that male victims of religious abuse far outnumber female victims. Researchers noted that there was no requirement on the part of the police to collect statistics at a national level in England and Wales as to the number of convictions or allegations relating to child sexual abuse in religious organisations and settings. There is no way of knowing the true scale of such abuse.’^3Ìý

For many abused, religion becomes a literal and psychological ‘bad object’,⁴ into which all pain in the world can be split off. However, perhaps a different sort of pain is when survivors wish to retain faith, despite their abuse. These survivors face the often complex question of whether a belief system in which they were abused, can also help heal them? 

Religious survivors 

Some survivors find themselves caught in between religious beliefs and their identity or abuse history. This may leave them in a constant state of self-questioning, unsure of where they belong within their faith community. This can become an intersectional struggle, where culture, sexuality, family expectations, duty, and the experience of sexual abuse all compete for psychic space and meaning. This is because for many, religion is more than a place of weekly worship. It is a living, breathing network of support, shared with family, extended relatives, childhood friends, and neighbours. Religious institutions have played pivotal roles not only in individuals’ lives but also in the histories of entire communities. The stories of immigration, the founding of football clubs and civil rights movements across the globe are often also the stories of places of worship. Because of this cultural depth, survivors of religious abuse who wish to maintain a relationship with religion can find it exhausting. One way that some survivors choose to make sense of this conflict within themselves is by exploring what forgiveness can mean to their faith and for their abuse. 

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In many religions, forgiveness may be framed as an obligation. For devout survivors, the focus on forgiveness may be so intense that personal feelings are sidelined, replaced instead by the expectations of their religious community. Loved ones might say things like, ‘God wants us to forgive’, or ‘I will pray that you find the strength to forgive’. While religious frameworks can offer comfort and guidance, they can also pressure survivors into forgiving before they are emotionally ready. In some cases, they may even be used by families or communities to minimise or dismiss the abuse. 

Regardless of whether the abuse occurred within a religious context or outside it, some families and communities use religious language to push survivors towards moving on, framing forgiveness solely as a religious duty, or as proof of a survivor’s faith. This can deny them the opportunity to fully process their feelings towards the perpetrator. It can also damage their ability to trust those around them, especially if support and love feel conditional upon their forgiveness. In this way, it may seem as though the needs of the family or community are being prioritised over the lived experience of the individual, something that can feel selfish, even cruel. Additionally, if a survivor does not want to forgive, and many will not, they may never get the chance to explore this with another person. 

For many survivors, faith can be a powerful coping strategy and a source of deep healing. It can also support survivors in deciding whether or not to forgive. What is important though, is that any decision to forgive comes from within – not from pressure to conform to a belief system that frames forgiveness as a requirement.

Contemporary belief systems 

Belief systems outside organised religion can also offer coping strategies. They can even loosen the grip trauma has on survivors, particularly in the short term, by offering a framework through which to view and understand the world. These systems provide guidance for how to live and can help survivors manage overwhelming feelings or memories. Such beliefs may range between spiritual and practical, including: contemporary interpretations of stoicism, modern philosophy, spirituality, astrology, self-help literature by public figures, positive psychology, radical politics or conspiracy theories. Their scope is broad, ranging from helpful principles to potentially harmful or misogynistic ideologies. 

The appeal is understandable. When we become the victim of senseless abuse, it’s natural to seek a way of coping that restores meaning and a sense of control. For many male survivors, investing in these beliefs can be lifesaving. However, for some, the systems they come to rely on can eventually contribute to further distress. Some men hold on to their belief systems so rigidly that when emotionally painful life events occur, such as a relationship breakdown, bereavement, an episode of complex PTSD, or job loss, it can destabilise those beliefs and the rigidity with which they are held. In these cases, the survivor may not only feel disturbed by the event itself, but also by the sense that the belief system they trusted is no longer effective. When this happens, the experience of sexual abuse often starts to creep back in. Nightmares, flashbacks and harmful behaviours intrude on the everyday life of the survivor. It is at this crisis point that some male survivors seek therapy. 

In the therapy room 

Therapy can be challenging for both the therapist and the survivor, particularly when the survivor’s belief system has been disrupted. Both parties may share the same goal – that the survivor feels better. A survivor might enter therapy stating a desire to explore their sexual trauma in order to find freedom from its aftermath. The therapist, in turn, may respond with empathy and non-directive approaches such as active listening, gentle questioning and deep validation. 

However, therapy can soon begin to feel stuck. The survivor may, unconsciously, be striving not to return to examine the sexual trauma they encountered but rather return to a time when their belief system made them feel powerful and in control. Meanwhile, the therapist may be trying to help the survivor move back to a time of abuse, when they had little power – inviting them to explore the traumatic experience. Without realising it, both may be pulling the therapy in opposing directions. In such cases, therapy often ends unceremoniously. The survivor might say they have made progress or experienced breakthroughs. The therapist may agree, recalling moments of insight or relief. But practical constraints: money, time, life changes, may bring therapy to an unnatural close. The therapist may leave feeling they helped in moments of crisis, but never truly connected with or fully understood the survivor’s core needs. Meanwhile, the survivor may return to a belief system that temporarily restores a sense of control until the next life event that disrupts it once again. It can be disheartening for the therapist, as if the therapy never really got started.

Yet within this cycle lies opportunity. While belief systems can offer structure and purpose, they may not always provide the intimacy, support or emotional challenge that some male survivors need. Many belief systems male survivors turn to, whether spiritual, philosophical or self-help-oriented, are engaged with in isolation. Based on my experiences of running groups, it seems common for men to dedicate significant energy to personal development as a solitary pursuit, never discussing it with others, or engaging only through parasocial relationships with authors, influencers or podcast hosts.

This is where therapy stands apart. It offers relational space for survivors to re-examine their belief systems within a live, supportive relationship. It allows them to ‘try on’ new interpretations of beliefs and to challenge them with curiosity rather than judgment. If a survivor feels compelled to forgive a perpetrator, the therapist can explore what forgiveness means to the survivor personally and in relation to their religious identity, and whether any conflict lies within this dynamic. In this way, therapy becomes a relational catalyst, helping survivors explore not only how belief systems have shaped their responses to trauma, but how those systems might continue to serve or harm them. Therapy does not replace belief, but it can deepen it, placing the survivor at the centre of their own meaning-making process.

It is my belief that therapy offers survivors something many modern belief systems do not: a relationship. It provides a space where faith, coping and personal meaning can be explored in depth and in connection with another human being. For male survivors, this can be a powerful counterpoint to isolation, offering the chance to integrate belief systems into their healing in ways that are sustainable, authentic and personally empowering.