This is one of the hardest questions a wounded heart can ask, and it deserves to be approached slowly, reverently, and with deep compassion.

When we ask why a loving God allows the defenceless to be abused, we are not asking an abstract theological question. We are crying out from pain. Scripture does not rebuke that cry. It gives it words. “How long, O LORD?” is the language of the Psalms, and it is the language of those who have been sinned against.

First, we must say clearly and without qualification: God does not approve of abuse, He does not delight in it, and He is never indifferent to it. The Bible speaks with fierce clarity about God’s hatred of oppression and violence. “The LORD trieth the righteous: but the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth” (Psalm 11:5). Abuse is not neutral territory. It is sin. It is evil. And God names it as such.

Abuse exists because we live in a fallen world where human beings misuse the freedom God has given them. God created humans capable of love, obedience, and moral responsibility. That same capacity, when turned against God, becomes the capacity to harm others. Abuse is not caused by God’s will, but by human sin. Scripture never presents God as the author of evil, even when He remains sovereign over all that happens. The Bible holds these truths together without apology: God is sovereign, and humans are morally responsible.

This is where many hearts stumble, especially wounded ones. If God is sovereign, why does He not stop it? The Bible does not give us a simple answer, but it gives us something better: it shows us the kind of God He is toward the abused.

God consistently places Himself on the side of the oppressed. He describes Himself as “a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble” (Psalm 9:9). He hears the cries others ignore. He records tears others dismiss. Not one moment of abuse is unseen or forgotten by Him.

Most importantly, God did not remain distant from suffering. In Jesus Christ, God entered into it. Christ was betrayed, mocked, stripped, beaten, and violated. He knows what it is to be powerless in the hands of cruel men. Isaiah tells us that He was “oppressed, and he was afflicted” (Isaiah 53:7). This means that when survivors cry out to God, they are not speaking to someone who merely understands suffering in theory. They are speaking to a Saviour who has lived it in His own body.

This does not make abuse “worth it,” nor does it explain away the pain. Scripture never asks us to call evil good. What it does show us is that God is able to meet His people inside suffering without becoming complicit in it. He is near to the broken-hearted, not as a passive observer, but as a righteous Judge, a gentle Shepherd, and a wounded Redeemer.

There is also a future horizon that matters deeply for survivors. The Bible promises that God’s justice has not expired. Every act of abuse will be answered. Either it was laid upon Christ at the cross, or it will be answered in final judgment. God does not forget. He does not minimise. He does not excuse. This is why Scripture can promise a day when God Himself will wipe away tears, not explain them away, but wipe them away, because they mattered (Revelation 21:4).

For those carrying this question personally, it is important to say this plainly: the abuse was not your fault. God does not blame the wounded for what others chose to do. False guilt often grows in silence, but Scripture places responsibility where it belongs, on the one who did evil. God’s heart is not against you, it is for you.

We may not be able to answer every “why” in this life. Scripture itself acknowledges that some things remain hidden. But we are not left without anchors. We know what God is like. We know how He responds to suffering. We know what He has done in Christ. And we know where history is going.

Until that final restoration, God does not ask survivors to carry their pain alone. He invites us to bring it to Him, honestly, slowly, and safely. He does not rush healing. He does not shame lament. He walks with His people through the valley, not around it.

If you are asking this question because you are wounded, please hear this clearly: your pain matters to God, your story is seen, and your suffering has not placed you outside His care. The Lord who hates oppression is also the Lord who binds up wounds. And He is patient with every question that rises from a bruised heart.

This question often comes from a place of deep weariness and quiet self-blame, even if we do not mean it to. When harm has happened more than once, it can begin to feel personal, as though something about us must be drawing it in. We want to say this gently but clearly from the outset: repeated abuse is never a sign that we deserve it, invited it, or caused it by who we are. Scripture does not speak that way about the wounded, and neither does God.

When abuse happens again and again, it is usually not because the person is weak or flawed, but because trauma itself leaves us vulnerable in ways we did not choose. Trauma can shape our expectations, our instincts, our sense of what feels “normal,” and even our ability to recognise danger early. What once overwhelmed us can quietly train the nervous system to tolerate what should never be tolerated. This is not a moral failure. It is the after-effect of being sinned against. “The bruised reed shall he not break” (Isaiah 42:3). God treats wounded people with tenderness, not suspicion.

Abuse also repeats because we live in a fallen world where sin seeks opportunity. Scripture is sober about this. “The wicked walk on every side, when the vilest men are exalted” (Psalm 12:8). Those who exploit others often look for those who are already hurting, already isolated, already unsure of their own worth. That does not mean the abused are at fault. It means evil preys where it can. Christ never says to the wounded, “Why were you there again?” He says, “I am with you,” and He moves toward them in protection and truth.

Sometimes repeated harm is connected to boundaries that were never taught, never modelled, or were shattered early in life. If we were harmed when young, our sense of safety, consent, and self-protection may not have had the chance to form properly. Learning boundaries later is not selfish, unloving, or unspiritual. It is part of healing. Scripture itself commands the guarding of the heart, not because the heart is bad, but because it is precious (Proverbs 4:23).

There is also a painful spiritual confusion that can arise. We may wonder whether God is displeased with us, or whether we are being punished. The Bible does not support that fear. Jesus explicitly rejects the idea that suffering proves personal guilt (John 9:3). For those in Christ, suffering is never God’s revenge. “There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). Abuse is not a message from God about your worth. It is a violation of it.

What matters now is not solving every “why,” but gently turning toward what God offers in the present. He offers safety, truth, and restoration, often through wise support, clear boundaries, and time. Healing from repeated harm is rarely quick. It is often a slow relearning of what is safe, what is not, and what love truly looks like. God is patient with that process. “He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds” (Psalm 147:3).

If this question is coming from a place of despair, we want to say this with care: repetition does not mean inevitability. What has happened before does not have to define what will happen next. With help, with truth, and with the Lord’s steady presence, patterns can be interrupted. Protection can grow. Discernment can be rebuilt. And dignity, though wounded, can be restored.

We are not foolish for asking this question. We are hurting. And the God who keeps count of every tear does not turn away from those who ask hard questions from a broken place. He stays. He strengthens. And He leads His children, step by step, toward safety and life.

We are so sorry you are living with this. Night-time flashbacks and waking in terror are among the most exhausting and frightening effects of trauma. When the body is quiet and the mind loosens its grip, stored fear can rush back in. Scripture does not treat this as weakness or lack of faith. It recognises it as distress, and it speaks tenderly into it.

First, it helps to understand what is happening without blaming ourselves. Night terrors and flashbacks are not chosen. They are the body’s attempt to protect us, even though it no longer needs to. Trauma teaches the nervous system to stay on guard, especially in the dark and during sleep, when control feels lost. Knowing this does not make it stop, but it can remove the added burden of shame. “He knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust” (Psalm 103:14).

When you wake in terror, the most important thing is not to force the fear away, but to anchor yourself in the present. Gently remind your body that the danger is not happening now. If you can, sit up and name simple truths out loud or in a whisper: where you are, what year it is, that you are safe in this moment. Place your feet on the floor, press your hands together, or hold something solid. These physical actions help the body relearn safety. We are not trying to argue with fear, but to ground it.

Slow breathing can be especially helpful at night. Trauma shortens the breath, which signals danger to the body. Long, gentle exhales tell the nervous system that the threat has passed. As you breathe out, it can help to pray something very simple, even just one line of Scripture. Many find Psalm 4:8 a comfort in the night: “I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, LORD, only makest me dwell in safety.” If words feel hard, even repeating the name of Jesus can steady the heart.

It is also important to say this clearly: night-time terror does not mean God is absent. Scripture repeatedly shows the Lord drawing near in the night watches. “When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest my path” (Psalm 142:3). Christ does not stand at a distance until we are calm. He meets us in the shaking, in the racing heart, in the tears that come before words.

Over time, some people find it helpful to prepare gently for sleep. This is not about rigid routines or pressure to “do it right,” but about signalling safety before the night begins. Dim lights, calming Scripture read aloud, quiet worship, or a brief prayer of placing the night into God’s hands can help the body anticipate rest rather than danger. If nightmares come, remind yourself afterward that they are echoes of the past, not warnings about the present.

If these night terrors are happening every night, please hear this with care and kindness: you do not have to face this alone. Persistent night-time flashbacks are a sign of deep wounds, not personal failure. Wise, trauma-informed support, especially from someone who respects Scripture and understands trauma, can be a great help. Seeking help is not a lack of faith. It is an act of stewardship over a wounded body and soul.

Above all, hold onto this truth, even when it feels out of reach: the Lord is not impatient with your nights. He does not measure your faith by how well you sleep. He keeps watch when you cannot. “He that keepeth thee will not slumber… the LORD shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul” (Psalm 121:3,7).

If all you can do in the night is breathe and whisper, “Lord, help me,” that prayer is heard. You are not failing. You are surviving. And the God who walks with His people through the valley does not leave them alone in the dark.

This is a wise and necessary question, especially for those of us who have known what it is to live under fear, control, or confusion in a relationship. Scripture does not ask us to forget such experiences, nor to silence the discernment they have sharpened. Rather, it teaches us to bring that discernment into the light of God’s Word, so that we may learn to distinguish clearly between godly leadership and oppressive dominance.

The Bible presents godly male leadership as something that is fundamentally shaped by the character of Christ. A godly man leads not by control, coercion, or pressure, but by sacrificial love. “Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it” (Ephesians 5:25). Christ’s leadership does not diminish, silence, or erase His people. It lays down power for their good. It seeks their flourishing, their safety, and their joy in God. Where leadership reflects Christ, we find gentleness, patience, and a willingness to listen, even when authority must be exercised.

Oppressive or abusive dominance, by contrast, may use biblical language, but it does not bear biblical fruit. It creates fear rather than trust. It narrows freedom rather than guarding it. It often pressures for quick decisions, discourages questions, or treats disagreement as rebellion. Scripture warns us against such misuse of authority. “Ye know that the princes of the Gentiles exercise dominion over them… but it shall not be so among you” (Matthew 20:25–26). When leadership must constantly be enforced, defended, or justified through pressure, it is no longer Christlike.

One of the clearest biblical tests is the effect leadership has on the conscience. Christ alone is Lord of the conscience. “Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free” (Galatians 5:1). Godly leadership respects conscience, even when it seeks unity. It allows space for growth, difference, and persuasion without compulsion. Oppressive dominance, however, often presses a person to act against their conscience for the sake of peace, harmony, or spiritual approval. Over time, this leads not to holiness, but to anxiety, self-doubt, and a shrinking of the soul.

Scripture also helps us by pointing us to the fruit produced over time. Godly leadership tends to foster increasing safety, openness, and clarity. Even difficult conversations are marked by love and restraint. “The servant of the Lord must not strive; but be gentle unto all men” (2 Timothy 2:24). Abusive dominance, on the other hand, often produces confusion, fear of speaking honestly, and a growing sense of walking on eggshells. Where the Spirit of the Lord is truly at work, there is liberty, not captivity (2 Corinthians 3:17).

It is also important to remember that leadership in Scripture is never about entitlement. A godly man does not assume submission as his right, but understands leadership as a calling to serve. Christ washed His disciples’ feet. He did not demand trust, He proved Himself trustworthy. When a relationship requires one person to minimise their thoughts, suppress concerns, or endure ongoing unease in order to preserve stability, that is not the pattern of Christ.

For those of us who have escaped abusive relationships, it is common to fear that any form of leadership will feel dangerous. Scripture is patient with that fear. God does not shame us for caution. “A bruised reed shall he not break” (Isaiah 42:3). Healing takes time, and wisdom often grows slowly. Yet the Lord also teaches us that godly leadership does not feel like captivity revisited. It may be challenging, but it is not terrifying. It may require humility, but it does not require silence.

We may find it helpful to ask ourselves a simple but searching question. Does this leadership draw us toward Christ with greater freedom and clarity, or does it draw us inward with fear and self-censorship? “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7). Godly leadership is marked by those fruits.

Above all, we must remember that the Lord is not asking us to surrender discernment in order to be faithful. He is not honoured by our endurance of oppression. He is honoured when we walk in truth, wisdom, and light. “The steps of a good man are ordered by the LORD” (Psalm 37:23), and that includes the steps of those learning, slowly and bravely, to trust again.

May the Lord grant us wisdom without fear, courage without haste, and leaders who reflect not the world’s power, but Christ’s love.