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Special to United Methodist Insight | Oct. 6, 2025
I lay on my back in the quiet room, ankles and neck supported. The traditional Chinese healer carefully inserts needles into my body: ankles, elbows, stomach, head. I hear the snap of the needle, but rarely feel it going in. When I do, there’s no discomfort.
The healer, reminding me to breathe deeply with longer exhales than inhales, lowers the lights and quietly leaves the room. Silence falls; my breathing deepens; I visualize healing; the itch slowly dissipates; a sense of health fills my body.
Several days before this glorious acupuncture session, I had been reading a compelling and, for me, revealing book called When The Body Says No, by Gabor Maté. Two sentences early in the book resonated with me:
How many people unwittingly spend their entire lives as if under the gaze of a powerful and judgmental examiner whom they must please at all costs?
And
In important areas of their lives, almost none of my patients with serious disease had ever learned to say no.
Maté described my life. Suddenly, I saw with fresh eyes my judgmental examiners—who also made it impossible for me to say no.
My first judgmental examiner was my father—and I never, ever passed one of his tests. However, my second judgmental examiner was much, much worse, for it was the all-powerful God, the heavenly Father-figure, ever present, ever watching over every single thing I did, knowing every thought, systematically stripping me of mental/physical/emotional/spiritual privacy, ever judging, ever finding me wanting, ever whispering to me that I was a hopeless sinner, saved only by the blood covering me, and that every time I did not measure up, which was constant, I nailed the divine Son back on the cross again.
I lived with unrelenting guilt, piled relentlessly upon me by both of my daddy-figures, often supplemented by others who, in some way or another, had authority over me—or thought they had.
All this was likely a precursor to my current unrelenting misery. I have essentially become allergic to myself.
It makes sense: I was never good enough, never measuring up—why shouldn’t I turn against myself? Wasn’t that the rule—the whole JOY thing? Jesus first, Others second, Yourself (me) third thing?
Unfortunately, Jesus/Others demanded 100% of my time and energy. Any "me time" or attention was deemed selfish/sinful/unacceptable or, worse yet, a sign of a rebellious, unsubmissive spirit. I will never forget one of those male authority figures pointing a finger at me, shouting “Jezebel,” because I had dared question one of his dictates.
And suddenly, in that quiet room, floating with a few minutes of itch relief, deeply relaxed, I found myself saying a profound and, frankly, shocking NO! to this judgmental, voyeuristic, male-God-figure that I promised long ago to serve the rest of my life.
Now, theologically, I had left that world a long time ago—but something ingrained in my soul and embedded in my body continued to internalize the message of never, ever being good enough, of always being a disappointment to the power/authority figures in my life, of constantly striving to please, all to no avail.
My theology, aided by my family background, has now sucked the life and health out of me.
I often wonder how many in the Evangelical world, particularly the female portion, have been afflicted with autoimmune diseases. I suspect answers would shock many— but not enough to change the essential message or carefully examine the toxicity of the core theology. Instead, the male leadership would only double down on the idea that women should not be in spiritual leadership roles — clearly, we are too weak to handle their so-called absolute truths — the ones that keep them in absolute power.
And now, my body speaks after years of being silenced. I have a red rash covering 95% of my skin — and it itches and it hurts. I have to fight the urge to scratch — and often I fail. I take massive amounts of medicine, none of which works very well.
And, sigh, Medicare just denied coverage of the one medicine that might actually bring relief. Although I’m working with my medical providers on an appeal, I am not hopeful — it’s an expensive drug ($5,000/month), I’m an old woman, PLUS, the government is now shut down, so likely no new appeals will be processed any time soon.
The one drug that does give some relief, Prednisone, has also left me with some truly terrible side effects. In addition, the relief is always temporary, with a rebound even worse than the “before” situation.
And so, I have decided that the one helpful thing I can do now is seek to learn the lessons my body has been trying to teach me. I will no longer seek to silence it. I do not think that learning these lessons will bring a physical cure — I suspect the damage is too significant for that — but I can hope for healing and, perhaps, some peace in the midst of the persistent pricking of my skin.
The number one lesson? If it is true that God is male, that, as a woman, I will remain second-class in all eternity, always subject to male leadership, then I reject that version of heaven. So be it.
Christy Thomas
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A retired clergy member of the former North Texas Conference of The United Methodist Church, the Rev. Dr. Christy Thomas invites readers to subscribe to her Substack to explore detrimental theology together — and find better answers.