Red Flags in the Church That Felt Normal—Until They Didn’t

Faith should be a source of love, freedom, and personal connection, but what happens when it's intertwined with control, guilt, and manipulation? Many of us grew up in church communities where unhealthy patterns were disguised as righteousness, making it hard to recognize the harm until we stepped away or started questioning. Looking back, I now see the red flags I once accepted as normal.

“Faith should be about connection and trust, but I was fearing disappointing leadership in the church more than I was fearing God Himself.”

My personality, passions, and friendships were constantly being reshaped to fit what that community around me looked like. Everyone seemed to talk the same, almost as if we were reading from a script. Conversations felt rehearsed, filled with repetitive phrases that signaled belonging. If I met a stranger and didn’t know what church they attended, I could almost always tell—simply by the predictable, uniform language they used. Individuality wasn’t just rare; it felt nonexistent.

The church communitie(s) I was once part of had strict expectations on how to interact with the opposite sex (like I mentioned in my first blog post). Toxic standards like don’t hang out with the opposite sex at night or make sure someone knows when you’re with them were positioned as safeguards, but they created deep disadvantages. I’ve seen how these rules made it nearly impossible for those who desired marriage to interact normally with the opposite sex. It felt like none of us could make those decisions or create boundaries on our own terms. Boundaries were created for us, as if all realtionships required the same boundaries. I’ve watched individuals struggle to hold a simple conversation with someone of the opposite sex, needing to seek out a third person to relay a message they should have been able to communicate themselves. It wasn’t about protection—it was about control, and in the process, it hindered the very relationships the church encouraged.

I’ve seen—and lived—the “eat, sleep, breathe, serve” mentality in past churches I was apart of. Serving wasn’t just something you did—it was who you were. The idea of taking a weekend away, or even missing a Sunday, felt like setting yourself up for seeming like you wanted nothing to do with a church.

Boundaries didn’t exist. It was till the wheels fall off, even if those wheels were your physical, mental, and emotional well-being. I saw members—myself included—pour everything into serving through a church, at the expense of their personal lives, health, and relationships. It wasn’t about balance; it was about sacrifice, and the more exhausted you were, the more “Im about it and here for it all” you appeared. But where was God in that? Because the more I think about it, the more I realize—He never asked for that.

I noticed that people in church looked up to those in leadership as if they alone held the answers—as if their way of doing things was the only correct way. Rarely did I hear anyone challenge leadership, even when there was a valid reason to. I’ve heard people say, verbatim, that they owe church leaders something because of the kindness and love extended to them.

While I absolutely believe in showing appreciation, I also think it’s dangerous to place yourself in a position where you believe you owe a leader something. That kind of loyalty can quickly turn into blind submission. In many churches, leadership—especially pastors—are men. And I’ve seen how some men in the congregation, particularly those who grew up without a strong father figure, latched onto the pastor as their primary source of guidance. I 100% believe in confiding in someone you feel safe with, but when it reaches a point where their word outweighs your own intellectual thinking, where you’re constantly seeking their approval, it’s no longer a healthy relationship—it’s spiritual dependency. And in that dynamic, it’s easy to lose yourself, making decisions based on what you think they would want rather than what is truly best for you. It’s no longer mentorship or guidance—it becomes an unhealthy attachment to authority.

Recognizing these red flags wasn’t easy. For so long, I believed they were just part of faith—but now I see that faith doesn’t demand control, shame, or fear. It also doesn’t demand submission to man. If my experiences resonate with you, know that you’re not alone. Questioning isn’t wrong, and seeking a faith that brings true peace is worth it.

What are some red flags you once accepted as normal? Have you started unlearning them? Let’s talk about it in the comments below.