22. 📰 The Church Bulletin Never Said ‘Run’

But my body did. Every Sunday.

There was no “fight or flight” box to check on the welcome card.
No warning label on the pew.
No line in the bulletin that said:
“You might dissociate before the second hymn.”

But my body knew.
And every Sunday,
it begged me to leave.

🧠 When “Worship” Felt Like a Trigger

They called it conviction.
I called it panic.

The stomach drop during altar calls.
The full-body tension during sermons about submission.
The praise songs that made my skin crawl—
not because I didn’t believe,
but because I’d learned to associate God with danger.

They thought I was moved by the Spirit.
I was just trying not to throw up.

😶 Dissociation Is Not Devotion

• I learned to ignore my shaking hands.
  
• To smile while disassociating through communion.
  
• To stay seated when every nerve in my body screamed:
  Get. Out. Now.
  

But instead of trusting my instincts,
I told myself I was being attacked by doubt.
When really, I was being protected by my own nervous system.

✝️ The Problem With Calling Trauma “Spiritual Warfare”

When your trauma wears a Sunday suit,
you stop trusting your own body.
You stop listening to the panic,
because panic has been renamed “lack of faith.”

But what if my hypervigilance wasn’t rebellion?
What if it was wisdom?
What if the Spirit wasn’t telling me to stay—
but to run?

🙏 For the Ones Who Sat Still but Were Screaming Inside

This is for:

• The ones who went numb in the pews
  
• The ones who mistook anxiety for anointing
  
• The ones whose bodies were telling the truth
  while their faith communities silenced it
  
• The ones who were told to “sit still and trust God”
  while their trauma whispered “run.”
  

💬 Final Reflection:

They told me I had to be still to be blessed.
But stillness felt like danger.
And sometimes, survival means breaking the ritual
before it breaks you.

I didn’t leave because I hated God.
I left because I finally listened to the part of me
that never stopped trying to save me.

🧨 Closing Hook:

I didn’t need an altar call.
I needed a f*cking exit.
And now?
That exit is sacred, too.