Rachel Mataraki reflects on her experiences of abusive relationships and asks whether Christian teachings on forgiveness, grace and reconciliation can sometimes make it harder for women to recognise abuse and walk away. As a pastor’s daughter, she shares how her faith shaped her decisions and why she believes the Church must take emotional abuse more seriously.
October marks the annual Domestic Violence Awareness Month. The Netflix show about Mica Miller was a hard watch for me. I had abusive relationships before my current healthy marriage – but why did I, a pastor’s daughter, stay in toxic relationships? Does Christian teaching make it harder to leave?
I am a classic prodigal – a wild vicar’s daughter who was also sincere and searching. My first abusive relationship was complicated by a prophetic word I had been given – that I would marry someone with his exact name. It turned physically violent – he got so angry he pinned me to the floor and tried to strangle me.
READ MORE: I stayed silent because I thought God wanted me to: The hidden cost of faith and abuse
My second experience was emotionally abusive and was with someone I had known as a Christian friend for a decade.
My second experience was emotionally abusive and was with someone I had known as a Christian friend for a decade. He began to be flirty when I changed my social media picture. Subtle put-downs started with seemingly innocuous comments like, “A lot of women don’t like their legs.” When I shared impressions from scripture, he told me that I didn’t hear from God and that my desire for marriage needed a “different approach”. Proverbs 26:24–26 warns that “enemies disguise themselves with their lips…” Emotional abuse can happen slowly. Microaggressions on their own can seem small or easily misunderstood.
Looking back, as a foreigner abroad, it can be lonely and, very honestly, I probably put marriage on a pedestal. This likely made me vulnerable to the “love bombing” phase of an abusive relationship – often characterised by many green flags – attentiveness, kindness, laughter. It sets up a false sense of euphoria and safety. Mixed in with push-pull dynamics – swinging from stonewalling me to telling me that, because I was in therapy, “people” suggested that I was not marriage material – this was creating stressful confusion. Intermittent reinforcement creates an addictive-like state when things are inconsistent.
READ MORE: Channel 4’s Married at First Sight has allegedly enabled abuse. Is Christian culture any better?
I told myself, “He is a believer”, “He knows what happened to me before and he was my friend…”
I told myself, “He is a believer”, “He knows what happened to me before and he was my friend…” My father had taught me the importance of forgiveness, grace and reconciliation. I knew that we were supposed to forgive “77 times” (Matthew 18:22), and I applied that even to situations that were harmful to me. In my desire to treat him with the same forgiveness that Jesus gave to me, I confused forgiveness with enabling.
I ignored red flags – but why? Partly because what was right in front of me was a man who went to church, did Bible study, volunteered a lot and was charismatic. Yet he was also leading a double life, lying to multiple people and curating a very specific persona. It becomes too stressful to sit in the middle between two opposing ideas, so we choose one. I learned over time this was called cognitive dissonance. Close friends encouraged me to talk to the church. In a meeting with the pastor’s wife, she gently suggested that I simply break it off. It was clear that she viewed it as a relational issue, not an emotional abuse one.
READ MORE: Five early warning signs of domestic abuse that Christians might miss
A little later, the #MeToo movement and #ChurchToo were in full swing. My small group leader, having heard more details of his multiple hidden simultaneous relationships, along with another supportive, mature female leader, helped me to navigate writing a formal complaint. I had to be careful to ensure that it would not be seen as “bitter”, retaliatory or ignoring my own sin. I had made mistakes for sure, so I wrote a super-transparent letter with sensitive material read out in a room full of male pastors. Was I a victim? Yes. Was I also someone with agency? Also yes. But by this point, I was writing not only for myself but because I was worried for other women.
Suggesting victims call systematic emotional abuse a “mutual sin” distorts justice (Proverbs 17:15) and protects the deceitful person under the guise of harmony. Scripture does not require victims to tone down their anguish or disguise abuse as a “shared failing”. Hidden double lives must eventually be brought into the light (Ephesians 5:11–13), and my hope is that my story and that of so many women in abusive relationships will begin to be taken more seriously by the Church.
If any of these issues have affected you, you can call Premier Lifeline for support. Premier Lifeline is a national, confidential helpline offering a listening ear, emotional and spiritual support from a Christian perspective. If you would like someone to talk with and pray for you, call Premier Lifeline on 0300 111 0101.
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