Beyond Wellness Wednesdays: The Wounds We Do Not Talk About

Faith communities in Northern Ireland have long offered hope, belonging, and moral guidance through times of peace and conflict. Yet even within these sacred spaces, there are uncomfortable truths about mental health, identity, and organisational culture that often remain unspoken. We talk about well-being—but rarely ask what happens when our churches, charities, or organisations become sources of distress rather than healing.

In his book The Conversation, Robert Livingston challenges individuals and institutions to engage in honest dialogue about racism—not only as a moral imperative, but as a transformative practice. His insight applies far beyond race. The spiritual, moral, and relational health of any organisation depends on its willingness to confront uncomfortable truths. Whether the issue is racism, women in leadership, institutional abuse, LGBTQI+ inclusion, the ongoing violence in Gaza, or something else, our ability to have the conversation determines whether we perpetuate harm or become agents of healing.

Many faith-based organisations now promote well-being—through pastoral care, prayer groups, resilience workshops, or mental health resources. These are good and necessary. Yet, at times, they may act as spiritual sticking plasters—soothing symptoms without addressing the deeper wounds. We rarely ask the harder question: what if the source of distress lies within our own community culture, hierarchies, or silences? What if exclusion, moral judgement, or avoidance of difficult topics is itself the cause of trauma?

In Northern Ireland, where faith and identity remain deeply intertwined, these questions are particularly urgent. The legacy of sectarianism, patriarchy, and colonialism continues to shape who feels safe, who is listened to, and whose suffering counts. When we avoid naming power, privilege, or exclusion, we can allow quiet forms of violence to persist—the erosion of dignity, the silencing of pain, the slow loss of trust. Avoidance does not protect faith; it corrodes it.

If faith communities are to be places of healing, they must embody the justice and compassion they proclaim. This calls for trauma-informed practice not only in our ministries, but within our organisational cultures: recognising the lingering impact of collective trauma, honouring the resilience of those who have been marginalised, and ensuring that our structures do not retraumatise those we seek to serve. It means rethinking how we make decisions, whose voices we privilege, and what stories we choose to tell—or not tell.

Livingston’s challenge to have the conversation is, ultimately, a spiritual one. Truth-telling is not a threat to faith—it is its foundation. As Christians, we know that confession precedes healing, and that truth sets us free. So, the question becomes: do we have the courage to speak honestly within our own walls?

The conversation could be uncomfortable. But without it, our communities cannot be whole—and our witness cannot be credible. Healing begins when we dare to talk about the wounds we have been too afraid to name. And sometimes, we need help to do that well—to hold space for truth, lament, and hope. My hope is that faith communities will find the courage, and the companions, to begin the conversation.