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It was a Sunday morning, and while the world outside was still waking up, I found myself battling exhaustion after a long night of comforting my baby and my almost four-year-old. My reward? A pounding headache and a wave of guilt that washed over me. Before anyone suggests sleep-training, I’m not interested in that right now.
At 6 am, my husband took our baby downstairs, giving me a chance to rest. I heard no cries, and the delightful aroma of pancakes wafted up to me. It would have been so easy to drift back to sleep, but years of conditioning prevented me from doing so.
As I made my way downstairs, my husband greeted me with, “You’re supposed to be resting!” I confessed, “I felt guilty for sleeping longer.” Then it hit me: why did I feel this way? The answer was clear—religious trauma.
From a young age, I was steeped in conservative religious beliefs that dictated every aspect of my life. The teachings were like an extreme feast, and I consumed them without question for many years. However, as I joined many peers in stepping away from the church, I began to recognize how deeply this trauma affected me.
I experience anxiety, distressing memories, hyper-vigilance, and a constant sense of dread—all symptoms of religious trauma. Experiences during religious holidays often trigger anxiety and emotional breakdowns afterward. Yet, the effects of this trauma can be subtle, creeping into my daily thoughts, feelings, and choices.
Let me explain why I attribute my inability to sleep in to this trauma. In my childhood, the emphasis was on being productive and self-sacrificing, especially for women. This meant anticipating others’ needs, maintaining appearances, and embodying the ideal of motherhood. Sleeping in was seen as lazy, a violation of the expectation to serve others. The Proverbs 31 woman was often cited as a model of virtue—a reminder that waking up early was essential to fulfilling one’s role.
Somewhere inside me, I still believe that to be a good person, mother, and wife, I must rise early on Sundays, despite no one needing me to do so. Even though I was exhausted, my body ached for rest, and my partner encouraged me to sleep more.
The manifestations of religious trauma lurk around every corner. My therapist helps me navigate these feelings, and I’m learning that I deserve the time and energy to heal. Leaving my religious background has been challenging but ultimately liberating. I’m discovering new ways to care for myself instead of subscribing to the exhausting martyrdom narrative. Each day, I’m learning to love myself, ask for what I need without guilt, and accept feedback without shame. Healing is liberating, and it’s something we all deserve.
With this new understanding, I now recognize that prioritizing sleep is as crucial as addressing other parts of my healing journey. So next weekend, my goal is to allow myself that luxury.
Cheers to Sunday sleep-ins, my fellow ex-believers!
For more insights on self-care and healing from past trauma, check out this blog post. If you’re interested in home insemination options, consider visiting Make a Mom, a reliable source for advice and products. Another great resource for pregnancy-related services can be found at Johns Hopkins.
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In summary, recognizing the impact of my religious upbringing has been an eye-opening journey. Understanding and addressing my feelings of guilt and the deep-seated beliefs about productivity have allowed me to appreciate the importance of self-care. Prioritizing my needs, including sleep, is vital for my healing.
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