FAITH · CHRONIC PAIN · A PERSONAL & CLINICAL PERSPECTIVE
When Faith and Pain Intersect
A Christian Physical Therapist's Perspective on How Misunderstood Faith Patterns Can Drive Chronic Pain — and How Faith and Healing Can Work Together
My experience is as a Christian, and that is the lens I write from. This is not about faith being the problem — it is about learning to understand and practice faith in a way that supports healing rather than hinders it. Similar patterns can be seen in patients from other faith traditions. The specifics differ, but the nervous system's response to chronic guilt, shame, and emotional suppression is remarkably consistent.
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My Story — When Faith and Pain Intersected for Me
As an Indian Orthodox Christian, my faith has carried me through some of the hardest experiences of my life. It has helped me challenge the fears that drive neuroplastic symptoms — and fear reduction is one of the most important parts of recovery from chronic pain.
But I also learned, through years of working with my own pain coach, how certain patterns rooted in my faith and culture were contributing to the very symptoms I was trying to heal. It was not faith itself that was the problem. It was specific ways I had learned to relate to God, to others, and to myself — patterns that kept my nervous system in a state of chronic threat.
The first pattern I had to face was my relationship with God. I had grown up with a deep fear of God as an angry, disappointed father — someone watching for my mistakes rather than a loving parent who disciplines out of care. That fear created a foundation of chronic guilt and shame. I learned to avoid making mistakes at all costs, not out of wisdom but out of fear of that shame. That is perfectionism at its root — and it is one of the most consistent drivers of neuroplastic pain.
Anger was another area where my faith created a burden I did not recognize for years. I genuinely believed that anger was a sin. So no matter how I was treated, I never spoke up for myself. That anger did not disappear — it went inward. I also carried a belief that suffering itself was God's will for me — that I was meant to struggle, that getting better from neuroplastic symptoms was somehow outside what God had planned. That belief, held unconsciously for years, made healing feel almost spiritually forbidden.
One of the most striking examples I can share happened when I decided to leave the church I grew up in — still within the Orthodox tradition, but a congregation better suited to younger members born in the United States. It was the right decision. But making it brought on severe GI symptoms almost immediately. I realized that leaving — even temporarily, even to a church that was a better fit — felt like a violation of my obligations to my home parish, a betrayal of people who mattered to me. My nervous system responded to that perceived violation as a genuine threat. Once I processed the decision, allowed myself to feel the conflict without suppressing it, and my nervous system adjusted — the symptoms resolved completely.
I share this not to suggest your experience will mirror mine — but so you know that whoever you are, whatever your faith tradition, whatever the specific pressures you carry — I have been in a version of that place. I have navigated the tension between following my faith honestly and learning to live without chronic pain. And I have found that both are possible. They are not in conflict.
My faith today is deeper than it was before this work. More honest. More grounded in grace. I can offer you clinical guidance — but I can also offer you the perspective of someone who has walked this specific road.
How Religious and Spiritual Stress Affects the Nervous System
The brain tracks everything. When your spiritual life becomes a source of high-stakes pressure, fear, or hidden shame, the nervous system enters a state of high alert. This chronic state of perceived danger is often the hidden fuel behind persistent physical pain.
Perfectionism and the Pressure to Be a Good Christian
When being 'good' feels like a requirement for safety or love, the body never truly rests. The constant self-monitoring for flaws keeps the threat response active.
Guilt and Shame as Chronic Stressors
Guilt is meant to be felt, processed, and released. When it becomes chronic and unresolvable — because the standard is impossible or forgiveness feels unearned — the nervous system stays in a constant low-level state of threat. Shame goes deeper still, touching identity rather than behavior.
Suppressing Anger Because It Feels Ungodly
Anger is a vital boundary signal. When we suppress it to stay 'spiritual,' that internal energy has nowhere to go but inward, often manifesting as physical tension and pain.
People-Pleasing and Putting Others First
The 'servant's heart' taken to a nervous system extreme means constant self-neglect. When we lose our ability to say no, our body says it for us through pain.
Fear of God’s Judgment
Living under the shadow of judgment creates a hyper-vigilant nervous system. If the ultimate safety (God) feels unsafe, the body remains in a permanent state of fight-or-flight.
Difficulty with Boundaries
Spiritual communities often praise self-sacrifice. However, a total lack of boundaries leaves the nervous system feeling exposed and unprotected, leading to increased pain sensitivity.
This Is Not About Leaving Your Faith
Healing from chronic pain often requires looking at how your spiritual life and religious background might be contributing to a state of high alert in your nervous system. This exploration is not an indictment of your faith. It is an act of stewardship for the body you have been given.
Faith itself is not the problem. Many deeply devoted Christians live entirely free of chronic pain. What drives pain is not belief itself — but specific emotional patterns that can become distorted within religious environments. The impossible standard. The chronic guilt. The suppression of emotion. The fear of judgment. These were never meant to be part of authentic faith.
I am still a practicing Christian. My faith today is more grounded, more grace-filled, and more honest than it was before I understood this work. Healing my nervous system did not weaken my relationship with God. It deepened it.
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight." - Proverbs 3:5-6
What Changed for Me
The first shift was in how I understood God's character. I had grown up with a distorted image — a God who was primarily disappointed, watching for failures, demanding perfection. What I came to understand was something the Bible says repeatedly but that I had never truly internalized: God is a loving Father, and Christianity is built on grace, mercy, and compassion.
The story of the Prodigal Son changed something for me. The father in that story does not wait for a perfect return. He runs toward his son while the son is still far off. That image — of a God who runs toward us rather than away from us when we have made mistakes — began to dissolve the chronic guilt and shame I had carried for years. We are called to grow and to try. But we are not required to be perfect. And releasing that impossible standard did something real in my nervous system.
The second shift was around anger. I had genuinely believed my whole life that anger was a sin — something to be suppressed, hidden, never expressed. What I discovered in scripture was something completely different. Throughout the Bible, God expresses anger. Jesus overturns tables in the temple. The Psalms are full of raw, unfiltered emotional expression directed straight at God. Righteous anger — anger used appropriately, expressed rather than suppressed — is not only permitted in the Christian tradition. It is modeled.
That understanding gave me permission to speak up for myself, to set boundaries, to stop people-pleasing, and to find healthy ways to express what I had been holding in — including journaling. And I have experienced directly, many times, that when I express anger appropriately rather than suppressing it, my symptoms resolve. The connection is not theoretical for me. It is personal and consistent.
The third shift was around suffering. I know many people — I was one of them — who quietly believe they are simply meant to suffer. That illness or pain is their lot in life, perhaps even God's will or a consequence of sin. That belief, held unconsciously, makes healing feel almost forbidden.
But the New Testament is full of healing stories. People who had been sick for years — the woman with the issue of blood for twelve years, the man at the pool of Bethesda for thirty-eight years — were healed. They had likely long since accepted that this was simply their life. Jesus did not agree. The model in scripture is not passive acceptance of suffering but active pursuit of healing and wholeness.
At the same time I have come to believe that suffering, when we do experience it, is never wasted. My pneumothorax at twenty-three changed the entire direction of my life — it was the catalyst that led me to physical therapy, to this work, to everything that followed. I have heard similar stories from patients who, looking back, describe their chronic pain as the thing that finally forced them to examine their lives, change their patterns, and become who they were meant to be.
Suffering can teach. But it does not have to be permanent. Both things are true.
How I Bring This Into My Work With Patients
I do not impose my faith on patients. People of all backgrounds and beliefs — or none — are welcome in my practice. My own personal experience with the faith-pain connection gives me a unique lens to recognize these patterns when they arise, name them without judgment, and work with them directly when a patient wants to explore that dimension of their healing.
For patients who share a Christian background, there is often something deeply relieving about working with a clinician who understands the internal world of faith — the language, the pressures, the specific forms that guilt and perfectionism take in that context — without pathologizing it or asking you to choose between your faith and your health.
You do not have to choose. Both can heal together.
Does Any of This Sound Familiar?
These patterns are not a diagnosis — they are an invitation to reflect. If several of these resonate, the faith-pain connection may be worth exploring in your healing.
You feel you should be 'stronger' in your faith because of your pain.
You worry that anger or frustration about your body is a sin.
You’ve been told to 'just pray more' and feel guilty when pain persists.
You struggle to set boundaries because you want to serve others first.
You feel spiritually exhausted from trying to 'learn the lesson' of pain.
You fear your symptoms are a form of spiritual discipline or judgment.
If you recognize yourself in these patterns, know that you are not alone—and this stress is a clinical driver for the pain you are feeling.
About
Dr. Bobby Geevarughese PT, DPT
Dr. Bobby Geevarughese is a Doctor of Physical Therapy, PRT-certified, and a practicing Indian Orthodox Christian who has personally navigated the intersection of faith, emotional suppression, and chronic pain. He sees patients via telehealth in New York and New Jersey. Traditional Medicare accepted. PPO/POS plans may be reimbursable."
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