Elliott Kemmet, MSW, BSW, RSW
Founder of My Restored Roots & Lead Therapist
Some wounds aren't visible on the outside—they bleed quietly in your mind and emotions. Maybe you vividly remember the moment you discovered those text messages, the browser history, or noticed a sudden shift in your partner's behavior. From that instant, it felt as if your sense of time shattered. Ever since, your thoughts have been racing and circling endlessly, replaying events over and over. You might have found yourself awake at 2 a.m., Googling symptoms of betrayal trauma, scrolling through forums trying to find timelines for healing, or searching for guidance like "Christian response to porn addiction." Yet, even after all your searching, you might feel just as restless and confused as when you began.
If this sounds familiar, please hear this clearly: Your racing thoughts don't mean you're broken or beyond help. Rather, they're a sign that your mind and heart are actively trying to protect you and help you make sense of what happened. Healing is possible, even when it feels overwhelming.
You wake up suddenly, heart racing, immediately replaying the same memories—the screenshots, the chat history—as if reviewing them again might finally reveal something new, something you might have missed that could make sense of it all. You find yourself going through his credit card statements to see what he bought, your mouth dry and hands shaking slightly as your body feels overwhelmed by anxiety. Your mind desperately attempts to piece together what happened, as though rearranging the fragments might somehow restore the trust that's been broken.
This obsessive loop of thoughts is often the first clear sign of betrayal trauma. While this experience can feel incredibly frustrating or even maddening, it actually follows a deeply human and logical survival mechanism. Your mind is driven to complete the story and find clarity, believing this will finally allow your body and nervous system to relax and realize the threat has passed. Every unanswered question triggers a subconscious warning that "danger is still present," keeping your internal alarm system activated, especially in quiet moments or during sleepless nights.
If this describes how you're feeling, take a moment to pause. Place your hand gently over your chest, and notice your heartbeat. Quietly acknowledge yourself by saying, "I understand why you're working so hard to figure this out." Doing this won’t immediately stop the obsessive thoughts, but it can create enough space for the calmer, wiser parts of you to join the conversation and offer some comfort.
Clinical manuals often describe this experience as hyperarousal; Scripture refers to it as "distress of soul" (Psalm 31:7). Whichever term resonates most, it means your nervous system has shifted into a heightened state of alert, scanning your environment for any possible threats. This heightened vigilance can result in forgetting simple daily details, like where you placed your keys, yet recalling stressful details with startling clarity, such as the exact timestamp of a troubling message. This isn't a flaw or weakness. It's the logical response of a brain shaped by trauma, diligently working to keep you safe.
Think about a smoke detector loudly alerting you when toast gets burnt. It's irritating, certainly, but it isn't broken. Its job is to signal potential danger until someone checks and confirms everything is safe or takes action if a threat does exist. Similarly, the repetitive and intrusive thoughts you're experiencing are like an internal alarm system that's still waiting to hear that things are safe again. The solution isn't to disconnect or silence this internal alarm. Instead, it's about gently guiding your body and mind back to a genuine sense of safety and calm.
When you find your concentration breaking apart during a meeting, or you realize you've read the same Bible verse several times without understanding, remind yourself that your nervous system believes it's responding to an emergency. You're not failing or falling short—you're actively surviving. Calming breaths act as cooling water on a fire. Small gestures such as sipping water, stretching your body, or stepping outside for fresh air can communicate to your nervous system that you're safe. These simple, intentional actions reassure your internal alarm, gently sending the message, "I'm here, and it's safe enough now to breathe."
Betrayal doesn't just break trust in your spouse—it can deeply affect your trust in God. When the vows of "for better or worse" collide with painful discoveries like hidden tabs or secret habits, questions inevitably emerge. You may wonder, "Is God punishing me?" or ask yourself, "Did I not submit enough? Was my prayer life insufficient? Did I fail to hear the promptings of the Spirit clearly enough?"
These questions are understandable and common for anyone whose faith has been shaken by betrayal. Even Jesus, during His deepest moment of suffering on the cross, expressed His anguish by crying out, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Matthew 27:46). If Christ Himself could openly voice feelings of abandonment without losing His connection to the Father, you too can express your doubts and fears without fear of rejection or separation.
Though your faith might feel tangled and unclear right now, remember that threads of belief and trust can always be rewoven. God invites you gently—not through loud condemnation, but through quiet encouragement:
"Come now, let us reason together," He says in Isaiah 1:18.
Psalm 139:12 reassures us further: "Even the darkness is not dark to You."
Talk with God openly about your pain and confusion, but try not to get caught in speculation about His hidden purposes. While your darkness feels overwhelming and unclear, it remains fully known and visible to Him. Rest in this truth: you don't have to clearly see the path ahead, because you can trust in the One who sees everything clearly.
When betrayal or trauma happens, it's natural to reach immediately for information—endless spreadsheets of timelines, hours spent listening to recovery podcasts. Gathering information can feel protective, like armor. But armor made hastily out of anxiety is heavy and burdensome, and no one can rest well beneath its weight.
Eventually, understanding and clarity will play a valuable role in your healing. However, right now, healing doesn't start with absorbing more facts or striving for logical explanations—it begins with reducing self-judgment. Recognize your urge to search every theological blog or resource available, desperately trying to make sense of your experience. Then gently remind yourself of a different truth: connection and presence matter more than performance and perfection.
In trauma recovery, there's a concept that "connection regulates"—it calms your nervous system and helps you feel safe. Sometimes this connection comes from conversations with a therapist or sharing honestly with a trusted friend. Other times, especially in quiet, solitary moments, it's about reaching out to the compassionate presence of God, who understands human fragility deeply (Psalm 103:14).
Take a moment to pause. Set your phone aside. Plant your bare feet on the cool floor beneath you. Notice the relief that comes with simply being present. Answers to your questions will be valuable, but genuine healing requires emotional attunement. Your value and worth have never been tied to how quickly you recover or how neatly your relationship appears to others in your community or church. You cannot achieve true safety through relentless studying or analysis. Instead, allow yourself to be guided gently and patiently toward it.
Imagine planting a seed in the ground. At first glance, if you were to dig it up after a few days, it would seem as if the seed had broken apart or been destroyed. You might assume that it had failed entirely because its outer shell appears damaged or split open. But inside, something important is happening. Roots are beginning to extend downward, searching for something sturdy and reliable to hold onto. Meanwhile, tiny shoots are starting to reach upward, looking for sunlight.
Obsession often feels distressing, like an endless, uncontrollable loop of anxious thoughts. However, obsession does not mean you've lost control or gone crazy. Instead, it’s more accurate to view it as your mind's way of reaching out, much like those roots underground. Your mind is testing your environment, searching for something solid and dependable to anchor itself to. In a strange way, this repetitive thinking, even though it's painful, indicates a sense of hope. It shows that some part of you is still actively reaching out, trying to find answers, comfort, and reassurance.
So, when you notice yourself caught again in this cycle—perhaps finding yourself compulsively Googling terms like "betrayal trauma anxiety" over and over, or scrolling endlessly through multiple pages of search results—pause for a moment. Close the tab on your browser or put down your phone. Take a deep breath and gently place your hand on your stomach or your chest. Acknowledge what your mind is doing. Say aloud, "Thank you, roots. You are trying to find water, nourishment, and stability. I understand that you are doing your best to help me survive. We are safe, and we are not going to drown."
Speaking kindly and compassionately to yourself in these anxious moments is a practical way to comfort your nervous system. By doing this, you are essentially stepping into the role of a nurturing parent for your own anxious thoughts. Over time, these simple acts of spoken compassion can gradually calm your mind, making the spirals feel less frightening and more manageable.
Feeling unable to pray, having no words left to write, or experiencing pain rather than comfort when you listen to worship music—none of these experiences push you away from God's compassion. Trauma, especially betrayal trauma, can often silence our hearts. The places you once turned to for peace may now feel empty, hollow, or even painful. That doesn't mean your faith is broken or your relationship with God is lost. It means you're hurting, and your heart needs rest before it can fully reconnect.
Think about the prophet Elijah, exhausted and fearful, collapsing under a broom tree. He had reached a place beyond words, a moment when prayers felt empty and meaningless. God didn't chastise him or ask Elijah to rise immediately and push onward. Instead, God gently allowed Elijah the grace of deep rest, followed by nourishment. He sent an angel who provided simple food and water—not spiritual platitudes or demands, but physical care and tenderness. God understood Elijah's human limits. Rest came first, long before understanding, answers, or healing.
Right now, you might be at that broom tree moment yourself. Trauma isn't something you simply pray away or overcome quickly. Your soul, like Elijah’s body, may need rest, quiet, and care before it can process what's happened or begin to find meaning again. So take time to rest. Wrap yourself in your favorite blanket, find comfort in familiar surroundings, and give yourself permission to stop striving, if only for a moment.
If stepping away from your phone and social media eases your anxiety, let yourself disconnect. However, if keeping your phone nearby, using it for distraction, connection, or comfort feels safer right now, allow yourself that gentleness, too. There's no single right way to manage trauma’s aftermath; your comfort and peace in this moment are essential.
Remember, God's mercy and support aren't conditional on your current state of faith, strength, or emotional stability. Even if anxiety still tightens your chest, or painful memories loop in your mind, His strength quietly remains with you. His care is patient, His presence steady—even when you feel distant, numb, or overwhelmed.
God is not disappointed by your silence or your inability to find peace in familiar spiritual comforts. Like Elijah’s experience, your season of rest is sacred. God’s mercy meets you exactly where you are, holding space for healing to come gently and at its own pace. Trust that, even in this heavy quietness, you are held securely. God's understanding and compassion are wide enough to carry you through this darkness and into a time when prayers, music, and words bring comfort once again.
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