Anxious to Anchored: Healing Your Attachment to God After Trauma

I was sitting at my desk today, May 13th, just trying to get through the workday, when I realized I needed to start documenting my thoughts the moment they hit me. You know those revelations that feel like they’re literally bubbling up from your soul? I couldn’t even wait to sit down with my journal. I had to record it right then and there.

Lately, I’ve been doing some "spiritual archaeology." I used to think that my healing was isolated to one chapter of my life: toxic relationships, spiritual disappointment, and the things I could clearly point to. I thought, “Okay, I’m healing from that marriage, I’m rebuilding my life, I’m good.” But what I’m realizing is that trauma doesn't stay in one lane. It spreads. Childhood wounds, deep losses, unhealthy family dynamics, miscarriages, toxic relationships: all of it can shape how we experience safety, love, and even God.

That kind of pain doesn’t just affect our emotions. It can train our nervous system to live on high alert. It can make survival mode feel normal. It can make us jaded without us even realizing it. And yes, it can absolutely impact our attachment to God.

If you’ve ever felt like your faith has gone from "supernatural and loud" to "quiet and jaded," I want you to know you aren’t alone. I’ve been there, and I’m finally understanding why.

The Days of "Loud" Faith

When I was a young believer, God spoke so loudly. It was like I couldn’t deny Him if I tried. I’m talking about seeing angels, encountering demons, and going through deliverance where things were literally manifesting. I remember being filled with the Holy Spirit all alone in my living room, starting to speak in tongues without even fully understanding what was happening: only the Bible could explain it.

Back then, my favorite show was Sid Roth’s It’s Supernatural. I was obsessed with growing and learning. I’ve had visions that felt like out-of-body experiences, like Paul talks about. I remember seeing a literal portal over my bed. God was so clear, so loud, and so present. I knew the spirit realm was real. I knew Jesus was who He said He was.

But then, life happened.

When the Soul Gets Crushed

I eventually found myself in a relationship with someone who was a pastor. On paper, it looked perfect. I thought, “Finally, someone aligned. I’m going to grow so much in this relationship.”

What I didn’t know was that I was married to a covert narcissist. They were operating out of a Jezebel-type spirit, and they didn’t just hurt my feelings: they shut everything in me down. They crushed my soul. They crushed my spirit.

But if I’m being real, that survival mode didn’t start there. That relationship triggered places in me that were already tender. It touched old childhood pain. It stirred up the grief of losses I had never fully slowed down enough to process, including miscarriages that left me carrying heartbreak in my body and spirit. So when everything started crashing in that marriage and in unhealthy religious spaces, it wasn’t just one wound talking. It was years of pain piling on top of pain.

I stopped growing. I entered into "survival mode": a place I hadn't been since I was a child. I was re-traumatized in ways I didn’t even realize at the time. I made this person an idol, and while I thought my relationship with God was being "perfected," I actually woke up one day and realized my faith had gone still.

I still knew He was real, but I had entered into this religious space without even knowing it. I was just going through the routine. I was showing up to church because I was "supposed" to. Suddenly, it was hard to read my Bible: the same Bible I used to spend hours in without ever turning on the TV. There was this jadedness in my spirit. And I want to be clear: that jadedness wasn’t just about toxic religion or a toxic marriage. It was the weight of trauma in general: family stuff, loss, disappointment, heartbreak, and relational pain that had taught me to brace myself instead of rest. The loud encounters stopped, and I was just trying to get by.

The Revelation: Attachment Styles and God

I’ve been gleaning a lot from Apostle Tomi Arayomi lately, and something he said recently hit me like a ton of bricks. He talked about how our relationship with God is often a mirror of our attachment style.

When I was healing and learning about attachment styles, I studied anxious, avoidant, and secure attachment. I realized I lean more toward the anxious attachment side. I need that constant reassurance. I need someone to show up and prove they love me.

And here’s the lightbulb moment: I was looking for that same thing from God.

And honestly, that didn’t come from just one experience. Anxious attachment is often shaped by trauma: childhood instability, painful family dynamics, grief, loss, miscarriages, betrayal, toxic relationships, all the places where safety felt inconsistent or love felt interrupted. So of course stillness felt hard for me. Stillness can feel unfamiliar when your soul has been trained to scan for danger.

Because of that anxiousness, I felt like if God wasn’t speaking loudly, if He wasn’t sending visions or waking me up with crazy dreams, then He didn't love me the same. I felt disconnected. I felt like He wasn't showing up for me like He did when I was a "young" believer.

But Apostle Tomi said something so profound: When we are children, God speaks loud. When you’re raising a child, you have to yell, "Don't do that!" or "Stop that!" to get their attention. But as a child matures and becomes more anchored in the Word, the parent doesn't have to shout anymore.

Learning to Love the Stillness

I realized I’ve been waiting for God to wake me up with a shout, but He just wants to sit with me in the stillness.

It’s a bit of a catch-22, right? When we don't hear Him loudly, we feel unloved, which makes it harder to seek Him, which keeps us out of the Word, which prevents us from creating the "still" space where He’s actually speaking.

And for those of us with trauma, stillness can feel uncomfortable before it feels safe. If your life has taught you to stay alert, to anticipate pain, to brace for loss, then quiet can feel like abandonment instead of peace. That doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means your heart has been protecting itself.

If you’re in that jaded, "survival mode" space where the Bible feels heavy and God feels quiet, maybe it’s not because He’s left you. Maybe it’s because He’s inviting you into a mature intimacy. He’s not the abusive authority figure who shuts you down; He’s the Father who is so close He only needs to whisper.

Reclaiming the Prophetic

For a long time, I relied on other people’s relationship with God. I trusted their "word" more than my own because I didn't trust myself after being so gaslit in my marriage. But lately, my dream life has been increasing. I’m realizing I have a prophetic gift that I’ve been sleeping on because I was too scared to lean into it.

At The Best You Network, we talk a lot about moving from survival into wholeness. Part of that wholeness is reclaiming your own ears. You don't have to outsource your relationship with God to a pastor or a friend. You are allowed to hear Him for yourself: even if it’s just a quiet nudge in your spirit while you’re doing the dishes.

An Invitation to Sit

If you’re feeling "anxious" with God today, take a deep breath. You don't have to strive for a portal to open over your bed to know He’s there. You don't need a "loud" encounter to be valid.

Whether your trauma came from family, loss, childhood wounds, miscarriages, or toxic relationships, God is not intimidated by the parts of you that still feel jumpy, tired, or guarded.

He just wants to sit with you.

Healing your attachment to God takes time, especially after trauma has taught you to live in survival mode. But as you move from survival into aligned living, you’ll find that the stillness isn't empty. It’s full of Him.

Are you struggling with feeling "jaded" in your faith after a toxicity or trauma? Let’s talk about it in the comments. You aren’t alone in this.