✨ When Belief Becomes a Battle: Healing from Religious Trauma

By Nela Jaye

Last night, I had the kind of conversation that stays with you. I met a woman from the Middle East—she spoke fluent Arabic, and we instantly connected at a Bible study. There’s something powerful about meeting someone who understands the layers of your story, even if you’ve only just met. As we talked, switching between English and Arabic, I saw her eyes widen at my testimony. She showed me her arms, “I have goosebumps,” she said in amazement. She wasn’t expecting it. But then again, neither was I—because even in sharing my story, I often forget just how far I’ve come.

Today, that conversation took me back—to Egypt, to Milwaukee, to street corners, train stations, and unexpected living rooms where my past collided with glimpses of another truth I wasn’t ready to receive.

Tea with Mary and Jesus in Cairo

In 1997, while living in Cairo, I had one of my first real encounters with an Egyptian Christian. Dressed like everyone else—long skirt, scarf, modest top—she didn’t stand out in any religious way. Muslims and Christians dressed the same, lived side by side, and yet bore unspoken tensions from past conflicts. ,,,

We were lost, looking for an address, and she guided us through twisting backstreets like she’d known us forever. That’s how we ended up in her living room, drinking tea. That’s how I saw the portrait of Mary and baby Jesus on her wall. That was her quiet way of telling me who she was. She didn’t say it out loud at first—there was hesitation, caution. But when I told her I was from America, she relaxed. We smiled, and in that moment, it didn’t matter that we believed different things.nn

What I remember most wasn’t the theology or the doctrine—it was the tea, the warmth, the way her home opened to us like an offering.

The Milwaukee Encounter That Exposed My Hard Heart

A few years later, in 1999, I was standing outside a mall in Milwaukee, covered in black from head to toe. I was a practicing Sunni Muslim, living by strict codes of modesty, gender interaction, and belief. A Christian couple approached me—handing out tracts, smiling.

The woman spoke first. “Do you know about Jesus?”

What came next was a storm. I hit her with ayah after ayah, verse after verse from the Quran—about Isa (Jesus), about salvation, about hell. My tone wasn’t calm or curious—it was combative, righteous, cutting. She stepped back. I saw her fear. And then her husband spoke. I looked him in the face for the first time and froze. He was Arab.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Egypt,” he said. “I used to be Muslim too.”

And I lost it. I let him have it with full force—reciting Quran, rejecting everything he stood for. But he didn’t flinch. Instead, he gently quoted a verse I had always known but never truly heard:

“If you are in doubt about what We have revealed, ask those who have been reading the Book before you.”
—Surah Yunus (10:94)

He asked, “Why would your Quran tell you to ask us—the Christians—if you doubt?”

I couldn’t take it in. My entire identity was wrapped up in defending Islam. My heart wasn’t open. My ears weren’t listening. I threw more verses, more doctrine. Finally, he turned to his wife and said, “You see how the Muslims are? That’s why I left.”

They walked away. I was left standing there—angry, victorious, but somehow empty.

When You Realize You Were the Pharisee

Years later, reading the Gospel of John, I came face to face with myself. The religious leaders Jesus confronted—those who knew the law, who followed every rule, but missed the heart of God—I saw myself in them.

“You study the Scriptures diligently because you think that in them you have eternal life. These are the very Scriptures that testify about me, yet you refuse to come to me to have life.”
—John 5:39-40

My speech, my arguments, my pride—they weren’t fruit of the Spirit. They were the product of fear and indoctrination. I was so sure I was defending truth, but in reality, I was protecting a version of myself that couldn’t afford to be wrong.

Healing the Hardness

Religious trauma isn’t always about abuse or manipulation. Sometimes, it’s about how deeply we internalize dogma—how we build our identity around being right and lose the softness of spirit that allows for grace, curiosity, and love.

It took years to heal the parts of me that had calcified under the weight of religious certainty. But healing started with honesty—with revisiting stories like these and seeing them through new eyes.

Reflection + Journaling Prompt

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”
—Proverbs 4:23

Prompt:
Have you ever found yourself more focused on being “right” than being loving? What moments from your past reveal a hard heart—and what would healing look like for that part of you?

I do not tell these stories simply for entertainment. I share because I am certain that others have struggled with the same experience. I am holding a torchlight for you at the end of the tunnel.

Nela

nelajaye@gmail.com

July 4, 2025 0

My Father’s Day Breakthrough: Prayers Rediscovered

This weekend, I had a breakthrough—one that quietly unfolded over music, laughter, and the scent of homemade brunch.

My siblings and I spent Father’s Day weekend with our dad. We didn’t go out or make big plans. We stayed in, talked, cooked, played music, danced around the house, and watched movies. It was beautiful, intimate, and simple.

The next day, while sitting by the lake and reflecting on the weekend, something incredible happened.

I started praying for my father.

That might sound normal, even obvious, to some. But for me, it was a radical, healing moment. It was the first time I had ever done it. I prayed for his health. I prayed for the longevity of his life. I prayed with genuine love in my heart—and I was overcome. I wept tears of joy and gratitude.

Because for most of my adult life, I believed I wasn’t allowed to.

Undoing False Teaching: When Love Was Forbidden

I spent 27 years as a strict Salafi Muslim. For those unfamiliar, Salafism is a conservative and deeply literalist interpretation of Islam, closely aligned with the scholars of Saudi Arabia. One of its foundational principles is al-walaa wal-baraa—a doctrine that teaches loyalty and allegiance to fellow Muslims and disassociation or even hostility toward non-Muslims.

In practice, this means you’re taught to love and support those who follow your faith, and to emotionally distance yourself—or even hate—those who don’t.

Yes, including your parents.

Yes, including your Christian dad on Father’s Day.

As a young student, I memorized verses like these:

“O believers! Do not take Jews and Christians as allies. They are allies of one another…” (Qur’an 5:51)

“You will not find a people who believe in Allah and the Last Day loving those who oppose Allah and His Messenger, even if they were their fathers or sons or brothers…” (Qur’an 58:22)

“And the Jews will never be pleased with you, nor the Christians, until you follow their religion.” (Qur’an 2:120)

These verses were drilled into us in context that made their interpretation clear: love is reserved for believers. Anyone outside of Islam—especially Jews and Christians—are either your adversaries or your mission field.

When Hatred Was Framed as Holiness

As a student in Cairo, I remember eagerly listening to cassette tapes from popular Salafi scholars. One tape by Sheikh Muhammad …. was a fiery response to a controversial cartoon of the Prophet Muhammad. The title was chilling: “No—They Are the Pigs and Swine.” It referenced a Qur’anic story where a group of Jews were transformed into monkeys and pigs as punishment.

This kind of rhetoric was widespread in the circles I moved in. In Saudi Arabia, I studied under female students of well-known Salafi scholars like Sheikh U…. I remember clearly one study circle where we discussed how to treat non-Muslim relatives. I asked what felt like a very personal question:

“But what about our parents? Can we love them?”

The answer was unwavering: No.

You could show them kindness. You could be polite. But love? That was reserved only for the believers.

The only acceptable prayer for them was a plea for their conversion to Islam. Nothing else.

I remember one of my Arab friends asking me one time, “Your father’s not Muslim yet?” I said, “no,” feeling ashamed. “You are not making dua/praying for him.” she scolded me.

The Lie Unraveled

Today, I see things differently.

No longer do I believe in a God who commands me to suppress love, especially for the people who raised me, nurtured me, and celebrated me. My father is still a devout Christian. And I’m not praying for him to become something else. I’m praying for his heart, his peace, his strength, and his joy.

And I feel no shame in doing that.

In fact, I feel free.

A Message to My Former Self—and Others Like Me

To the younger version of me who thought loving her family meant betraying her faith—I’m so sorry. You deserved better theology.

To those who are still wrestling with fear and guilt because of the things you were taught in the name of God—keep wrestling. God can handle your questions.

And to my father—thank you. Thank you for being constant. Thank you for your love. Thank you for always seeing me, even when I was taught not to see you fully.

This Father’s Day, I didn’t just celebrate you. I reclaimed you.

And that is the real breakthrough.

Love, Nela

nelajaye@gmail.com

June 19, 2025 0

I Have Heard Your Reactions

Dear Friends,

Good evening. This is Nela.

I want to acknowledge that my recent interview has been both shocking and deeply painful for many Muslims who knew me. I’ve heard your feedback, and I want you to know that I receive it with humility.

What I shared came from a place of deep personal struggle—a crisis of faith that was agonizing and transformative. It’s an excruciating grief I would not wish on anyone. The joy I expressed was not aimed at mocking Muslims, but at celebrating the freedom I’ve found after years of spiritual confusion. Only a few months ago, I could not have spoken about these things without bitter tears.

I wish I could have spared you the hurt of hearing the news. But you should know that my faith transition has happened over the course of 3 years. and no one is more shocked about it than me. I did not ask for this or plan it. I’m still fascinated and astonished at this whole spiritual journey myself.

Though I consistently participate in healing work, I will own that there are areas of my spirit where I am still releasing anger and disillusionment. There may be moments when these residual emotions leak out, masked by sarcasm.

And I take full accountability for what I say and how I say it.

I understand that Muslims are listening, and intend to be mindful of how I speak moving forward.

This is my story—my truth. My goal is never to cause harm, but to bear witness to the journey God is guiding me through.

My platform, Nela’s Nest, is a space carefully created for women of all faiths. This is not meant to be a forum for argument or hostile debate though thoughtful and healthy discourse is welcome. Our ultimate mission is clear: to assist women in the deep and sacred work of healing and recovery from emotional and spiritual trauma.

The topic; Perspectives on Islam is only a pretense for my platform — the gateway into my own journey of healing. It was through this deeply personal process of examining Islam, allowing myself to ask questions and face my doubts, that my eyes were opened.

I will share what God has revealed to me through His Living Word — about Islam and the Abrahamic faiths more broadly. Once all questions, doubts, and insights have found their voice — we will move into a powerful spiritual transition: rebuking falsehood and replacing it with truth.

After this foundational work is complete, we can then fully engage with the heart of this platform:
Healing and Recovery from Trauma — A Wise Woman’s Toolbox.

Thank you to everyone who has reached out, challenged me, or simply listened.

With respect and sincerity,
Nela

formerly known as ‘Nadiya’

May 16, 2025 0