Amy loves Jesus.
As she relayed her story to me, I heard her deep trust and love for God. Soul-deep faith. The kind that doesn’t waver easily.
But as the conversation continued, I also heard something else — the way she kept stepping around her own pain. “I know I shouldn’t feel...” Taking on blame. Explaining away the betrayal trauma as if it needed to be justified before she was allowed to have it.
Then she said quietly, “I just don’t understand why I can’t stop crying. What’s wrong with me?”
Nothing is wrong with you, Amy.
She had prayed, believing God would heal her husband’s porn struggles. But they continued. Now intrusive thoughts hijack her days. She looks at her husband sometimes with a rage that frightens her — and then drowns in guilt for feeling it. She doesn’t want to let him out of her sight, but can’t stand to be near him either.
When Faith Becomes a Way to Avoid the Pain
So she does what so many faithful women do: she spiritualizes it. She prays harder. She reminds herself of God’s goodness. She quotes the verses she knows by heart.
And the pain stays exactly where it is.
Spiritualizing Pain Is Not the Same as Processing It
Here’s the thing I want to say gently — but directly: Spiritualizing our pain is not the same as processing it. And until we process it, we can’t get to the place where God does the deep inner healing we’re actually desperate for.
Faith is not a bypass. It was never meant to be.
When we tell ourselves I shouldn’t feel this angry or a woman with real faith wouldn’t struggle like this, we’re not surrendering to God — we’re abandoning ourselves. We’re skipping straight to the resolution and leaving the wounded part of us behind in the rubble.
God doesn’t ask us to do that. Scripture is full of people who wept, raged, and cried out as they dealt with their very real pain. The Psalms are not polished. Lamentations is not tidy. Jesus wept.
You Are Not Faithless for Asking Hard Questions
If you resonate with Amy’s story, I see you.
The confusing thoughts. The words you never thought you’d say. The venomous anger. The exhaustion of trying to keep wearing the good Christian wife coat when it no longer fits.
Where was God when this happened? How do you hold your faith and your fury in the same hands?
Those aren’t faithless questions. They’re the beginning of honest ones — and honest is exactly where healing starts.
There Is a Better Way
I know because I’ve been exactly where Amy is.
I said the spiritual platitudes. I quoted the verses. I pulled that good Christian wife coat tighter around me, convinced that if I just had enough faith, I could somehow sidestep the painful questions underneath.
What I discovered — on the other side of finally letting myself feel it — is that there’s a better way. Not an easier way. But a truer one. A way where God meets you in the mess instead of waiting for you to clean it up first.
If you’re ready to shed that coat and find out what’s underneath, let’s talk.