I’ve been reflecting on some of the times in my life when I was told something about myself was sinful. With greater understanding of my own brain, there are many instances that I now realize were not sin, they were autism.
I spent the first 3+ decades of my life very involved in religious activities, including evangelical church services, youth events, mission trips, etc. Most of the decade between age 25 and 35 was spent working in vocational ministry in a context where I experienced spiritual abuse – the misuse of power to manipulate or control someone in a spiritual setting.
There are multiple instances during that time working in ministry where I recall being questioned about things and being told directly that certain behaviors or responses were sinful. In many Christian contexts the word “sin” is the word used to describe thoughts, emotions, and actions that are not aligned with the belief system. The more rigid the belief system, the more things fit under the umbrella of the word “sin.” There is generally the idea of punishment or consequences for sin, with the ultimate punishment being eternal separation from God and burning in hell forever.
In other words, sin is a pretty serious deal. For a person who takes everything to heart and who strives to exceed standards and avoid causing trouble, the accusation of sin can be devastating.
Recognizing that many of these accusations were actually the result of a misunderstanding (or lack of desire to understand) of the way my brain functions has left me experiencing another wave of grief in relation to being late-identified autistic. This “grief-relief cycle” is quite common for those who discover their neurodivergence later in life.
It’s Not Sin, It’s Autism
Part of my autism discovery journey has included a growing understanding of my own nervous system. This has meant devoting time to learning about autism as a neurotype (way the brain functions – we all have a neurotype), and also reflecting on the specifics of how my brain and nervous system impact my experience of the world.
So, here are 4 examples of times when I was accused of being sinful, but it was actually just the autism:
Discomfort with large conferences.
Like many autistic people, I have a lot of sensory sensitivities. But for much of my life I thought everyone else experienced them and was just better at pushing through. I thought everyone (or at least most people) felt some sense of overwhelm in a room full of people, needed to prepare themselves to engage in interactions, or was constantly battling the desire to be included while also fearing being perceived by others. Add those sensitivities to the fact that, like many autistic folks, I struggle to sleep in the best of circumstances, much less in a new space and often with unknown roommates (because that’s what happens when you’re single and work in ministry).
All of these things are part of attending large conferences, and large conferences were a regular part of my expected job duties when I worked in vocational ministry. The year began with a 4-day conference that ended as we welcomed each new year. There was an annual spring conference, fall conference, and women’s conference, and a huge summer conference every other year. I spent weeks preparing my nervous system for these conferences. I felt overwhelmed throughout the conferences. I regularly needed 4-7 days to recover from each conference, and often got physically ill following a conference.
So, when a conference was optional, I chose not to attend. When a conference was close enough to home to be able to stay at my own house, I chose that option. And when a conference livestreamed the entire session, I much preferred watching that from the comfort of my own space rather than in a packed auditorium.
I was repeatedly reprimanded for these choices. I was told that I was not trusting God to meet my needs. Yet, I was never asked about the reasons I made these choices. I was left feeling shamed and unfaithful for doing my best to meet my own needs in difficult situations.
“Controlling” behavior.
Systems and routines help me function. In fact, like many autistic folks, my brain needs them in order to operate at my best. My brain craves to understand the thought process behind things, and it feels pressure to complete a task once the task has been decided upon. This is not the only (or even necessarily the best) way to function, but it is not inherently sinful.
Yet, I was told multiple times that my need for systems was “controlling” even when those systems didn’t require anything of others. This would occur when my ministry team had a discussion about a task to be completed and assigned roles. If I moved forward with my role, I was met with disdain and reprimands, without anyone ever stopping to ask if/why it was an issue to move forward with an assigned task.
On more than one occasion, I was told that I was “insubordinate” to both the leader of the ministry team and to God (based on the idea that God had placed that leader in charge) after completing a task that I had been assigned. I was left feeling shame, while also not understanding what I had done wrong.
Being “historical” and unforgiving.
Brain scans have shown neural pruning differences in autistic folks. This means that where neurotypical brains actively remove or stop operation of neural connections in the brain that aren’t needed, autistic brains keep more of those connections active. These differences in neural pruning can contribute to autistic individuals making lots of connections between things and recognizing patterns that may go overlooked or unnoticed by non-autistic folks. Combine this with a special interest in trying to understand people’s motivations and ways of interacting and you end up being someone who notices and remembers things that others may easily overlook or forget.
This ability to recognize patterns in human interaction was not seen as a strength within religious environments where there was an emphasis on “moving on” and “forgiving” all wrongdoings or harm. I repeatedly received messages that I was not acting in a way that honored God because I didn’t immediately trust someone who had harmed me. My experience of the interactions nor the fact that I had not seen any behavior change were dismissed based on the belief that I should automatically forgive and “believe the best.”
Not engaging in prayer times as expected.
For me, prayer always felt like something personal. It was an actual conversation with the God I believed in and was focused on building that relationship. I never enjoyed public prayer. The phenomenon of sharing prayer requests often felt like an excuse to gossip, and the prayers that were said aloud regularly felt like a performance.
At one point, I chose to not engage in a prayer experience that felt disingenuous. I did not feel safe sharing any of the things that were actually going on in my life with the present company, and I did not want to engage in praying aloud in order to “check a box” that I had done so. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this was really a way of unmasking, of not acting as expected simply because it was expected.
This also led to a conversation where I was reprimanded for being prideful and where my “walk with the Lord” (Christian speak for your relationship with God) was struggling. Another experience of being accused of sinful behavior and left with a sense of shame.
These are just a few examples of what happens when a society’s neurotypical expectations get placed upon everyone and seasoned with a bit of religious flavoring. Not only was I struggling to figure out social interactions while constantly adjusting my internal operating system, I was also facing regular accusations of being disobedient to God. The way my brain operates, the brain that these same people would’ve proclaimed to have been created by an all-powerful God, was not acceptable because it did not (and does not) meet their expectations.
Like many survivors of spiritual abuse, I was left trying to figure out how to make myself small enough to avoid being noticed and getting into (eternal) trouble, but not so small that who I actually am would completely disappear.
Next Steps
Perhaps you resonate with pieces of my story. You may have found yourself continually struggling with messages that you’re “too much” while also feeling a sense that you’re not enough. If this sounds like you, I currently have openings for a couple individual therapy clients in North Carolina. You can learn more about me and my services by checking out my website. You can contact me via this form to schedule a free, virtual consultation to see if we might be a good fit for working together. We all deserve to be seen, heard, valued, and allowed to take up space!
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Michelle F. Moseley is a Licensed Clinical Mental Health Counselor in NC. She believes ALL people deserve respect, compassion, and access to mental and physical healthcare. Michelle specializes in working with survivors of religious trauma, and with those who have body image concerns, finding there is frequent overlap in these areas. She also frequently supports late-identified neurodivergent individuals as they navigate the grief and relief of a new understanding of self. You can learn more about Michelle by visiting her website at MichelleFMoseley.com or following her on Instagram – @therapy_with_michelle
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