Today we’d like to introduce you to Jessica Fadel.
Hi Jessica, we’d love for you to start by introducing yourself
Growing up in the church, I had no category for the ones who were hurt, bruised, misused, or discarded. Tears were fine, but the gospel needed to be preached. Struggling with depression was okay, but the good news had to be plainly spoken.
And then, six years ago I experienced the pain of spiritual abuse. And I began to understand, process, and heal, and from that pain came a way for me to begin sharing my story, to join others in their sorrow and scars, and to wonder about the faith that felt as though it kept pulling me back. For me, through my darkest nights, Jesus continues to be someone that intrigues me, confounds me, and causes me to consider how I see myself and my neighbor.
And while I have remained curious about faith and Jesus, for some who have been hurt, bruised, and burned by the church, Christianity, Jesus, and faith can be hard to come to. And so, I began to write about my questions and doubts, about the things that caused me deep pain and sorrow, and about the hope, I continued to see in the world around me.
Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way? Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
Sharing our story of spiritual abuse has been muddled with great joys and intense grief—it often looks like watery eyes, shaky hands, and harsh messages that continue to cut through still open wounds. To be caused to think once again, “am I crazy?” or “maybe it wasn’t that bad” because a listener misunderstands, misinterprets, or just doesn’t want to believe that abuse could take place in their midst.
Each time we share and someone listens, healing takes place. Each time we share and someone helps us honestly name, healing takes place. And when people continue to poke and prod with more hurt and spiritually trite speech, we are reminded of that pain all over again.
Naming spiritual abuse is risky. It can leave us vulnerable to deeper cuts in fresh wounds and gut-punching blows. It costs us something. It is not something we do for fame, popularity, or glamour, but for our very health, healing, and life.
Thanks – so what else should our readers know about your work and what you’re currently focused on?
I am so grateful to write for people who are hurting, doubting, wondering, and hoping.
Much of my writing has begun to revolve around spiritual abuse and deconstruction—how we might begin to heal, the unhelpful pressures and expectations that have been put on us, or ways in which to name our sorrows. This reality of writing for those who have been deeply wounded or abused comes with the tension of being both thankful that my words speak to their pain and also grieved that my words resonate.
During the last year or so, when churches were opening back up, I had a couple of conversations with friends who were feeling unsure about returning to church—some felt like different people, some felt unsafe because of previous hurts or experiences, and some had just lost all hope. And so, out of those conversations, I began to write prayers for Sundays.
Sunday (or whatever day someone might attend church) can be a hard day for those who have been hurt, spiritually abused, or wounded by the church, spiritual leaders, or religious institutions. It can be hard as they consider risking with church and church people again.
And so, my hope was that the prayers offer a way in which to name some of those anxieties and feelings, to know that they are not alone in their pain and sorrow, and to consider how Jesus welcomes still welcomes them, even with broken words, cursing cries, and tear-filled hands.
We’re always looking for the lessons that can be learned in any situation, including tragic ones like the Covid-19 crisis. Are there any lessons you’ve learned that you can share?
I have learned that gentleness is needed.
We’ve experienced and felt the divide between politics and beliefs. We’ve lost friends. Our families are fractured. The places we once called home are no longer safe. The communities we once flourished in no longer breathe life into our weary bodies. The faith that once comforted us in the night no longer provides even a flicker of light.
We are desperate for rest, for care, for comfort—for just a glimpse of hope.
Along with it all, many here have known all too well the shadows of depression, anxiety, isolation, and loneliness amid it all. And so, I asked myself, what would it look like to meet eyes with those whom we might disagree with, and see them as a whole person who is going through the same hardships, pains, and sorrows as us.
To sit with our friends who feel as though they have nowhere else to go because they’ve lost it all—and be a calming presence in their lives. To provide a safe place for the weary ones to rest their minds and heads when the chaos consumes.
So I continue to remind myself that gentleness is needed.
Contact Info:
- Website: jessicafadel.com
- Instagram: @jessicalfadel
- Twitter: @jessicalfadel
