Hillary L. McBride, a leading voice in the field of spiritual trauma, sheds light on a harsh truth that many of us have lived but struggled to name:

“There are very real psychophysiological consequences of living in systems that use fear to motivate, coerce, and control, but tell the people within those systems that their fear is bad, dangerous, and can’t be trusted.”

Pause for a moment and consider what this means. Systems—whether religious, cultural, or social—often thrive on fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of hell. Fear of failure. They whisper (or shout) that our fear is not only undesirable but sinful, unworthy of attention, and proof of our inadequacy.

The irony? Fear is one of the most human responses we have. It is a deeply wired survival mechanism, designed to protect us. But when we’re conditioned to mistrust it, to suppress it, or to believe it’s inherently wrong, we’re left in a double bind: our natural alarm system becomes the enemy, and instead of feeling safe, we become trapped.

McBride explains how this repression creates a cascade of harm:

• Unprocessed fear mutates. What starts as a natural and healthy reaction can transform into chronic anxiety, hyper-vigilance, or a constant state of “fight, flight, or freeze.” Our bodies remain on high alert, ready to react to threats that may or may not exist.
• Coping mechanisms emerge. We develop strategies to manage or mask this unrelenting tension—numbing out, overworking, people-pleasing, or avoiding connection altogether. These strategies often serve to keep us functioning in the short term but erode our well-being over time.
• The cycle of shame deepens. Tragically, instead of offering compassion for these responses, systems of control often heap on more blame. “Why are you so anxious? Where’s your faith? Pray harder.” This further isolates and disempowers individuals, ensuring the system’s grip remains tight.

And sometimes—most heartbreakingly—these coping mechanisms are rewarded by the very systems that created the fear. Hyper-vigilance might be praised as “discernment.” Exhausting overwork might be lauded as “sacrificial service.” Avoiding confrontation might be reframed as “turning the other cheek.” The dysfunction becomes invisible, even celebrated, while the person suffering is left to bear the brunt of its toll.

Breaking the Cycle

To heal from this cycle, we need to start by naming it. When we acknowledge how systems of fear distort our relationship with ourselves, we can begin to reclaim what has been taken from us: the right to feel, to trust our instincts, and to process our emotions fully.

Healing begins with understanding that fear is not our enemy. Fear is a messenger, alerting us to what feels unsafe. When we embrace it with curiosity instead of shame, we can create space to listen to what it’s trying to tell us.

This journey isn’t easy—especially for those whose fear was weaponized against them. But as McBride’s work reminds us, it’s possible. By naming the harm, dismantling the systems that perpetuate it, and supporting one another in our healing, we can step out of the cycles of fear and shame and into lives of authenticity, safety, and trust.

What would it look like to truly trust your fear as a friend? To listen to your body’s signals without guilt? Maybe that’s the first step in creating a new kind of freedom.