Physical Address: Jamil King Ministries
8745 Gary Burns Dr. Suite 160 #352, Frisco TX 75034
Physical Address: Jamil King Ministries
8745 Gary Burns Dr. Suite 160 #352, Frisco TX 75034
When Church Culture Covers Up Trauma
Not everything holy is healthy.
And not everything loud is healing.
For generations, churches have taught us how to pray, worship, and serve—but not how to process pain.
We learned how to shout over it. Speak in tongues through it. Dance around it.
But we rarely learned how to name it.
A generation of believers who can:
The truth is, church culture has often been built on survival, not healing.
My mother was a powerhouse. A warrior. A woman of God with unmatched resilience.
But when my father’s health and mental stability began to decline in the 1980s, she had no tools to handle what was coming—not because she lacked faith, but because she was a product of a generation that never learned how to:
My father—strong, humble, brilliant—faced a slow decline due to diabetes, high blood pressure, and eventually bipolar disorder.
We didn’t talk about it in church.
We didn’t talk about it at home.
We just kept working—as if activity could outrun emotional collapse.
My mom kept up appearances.
She pastored. She served. She raised us.
And she suffered silently—losing all her hair from the stress and fear.
I look back now and realize:
She was grieving in silence because the church gave her praise for strength, but no permission to be weak.
This isn’t just my family’s story—it’s a generational pattern:
What’s not healed gets handed down.
Hidden trauma resurfaces as:
The church was never meant to be a place where people pretend.
It was meant to be a hospital for the soul.
John 11:35 — “Jesus wept.”
The Son of God—with all power—stopped to feel.
He didn’t skip the moment.
He didn’t rebuke Mary and Martha for crying.
He entered their grief and wept with them, even though He knew He would raise Lazarus.
That’s:
We need to stop:
Here’s what I wish my mother had been given:
Her story could’ve been a breakthrough for three generations.
Instead, her suffering became a silent sermon—one I didn’t understand until I was older.
Now, I see it clearly:
She was never weak. She was just unsupported.
And that story doesn’t have to repeat.
Church. Family. Leaders.
We have to do better.
Let’s stop pretending that praising through the pain is the only option.
Let’s normalize:
Let’s create rooms where people can cry and lead, be broken and chosen.
Because what’s unseen remains unhealed—
Until we decide to name it, face it, and walk through it… together.