u/theworldismine_1992

I’m a pastor’s kid, and I’m wondering how other PKs have reconciled chronic illness with their faith.

I was dedicated to God as a baby, baptized in the Holy Spirit at 12 and water baptized at 16.

At 17, I developed vitiligo. At 19, I developed endometriosis, had surgery, and spent years on hormone treatment. My vitiligo is still progressing.

Growing up in church, I was taught to see suffering through God’s glory. At 25, I even received a prophecy that my vitiligo would disappear. It didn’t.

Years later, I’m still asking: Where is God in this? I don’t want to keep finding ways to turn my suffering into a testimony. I want to be honest about the unanswered questions, the shame, and the disappointment.

For those of you who are PKs with chronic illness or other experiences that don't fit the usual Christian narrative:

How did you reconcile it with your faith? Did your understanding of God change?

Disclaimer: Written with help from GPT to organise my thoughts. The experiences and questions are my own.

I’m a pastor’s kid, and I’m wondering how other PKs have reconciled chronic illness with their faith.

I was dedicated to God as a baby, baptized in the Holy Spirit at 12 and water baptized at 16.

At 17, I developed vitiligo. At 19, I developed endometriosis, had surgery, and spent years on hormone treatment. My vitiligo is still progressing.

Growing up in church, I was taught to see suffering through God’s glory. At 25, I even received a prophecy that my vitiligo would disappear. It didn’t.

Years later, I’m still asking: Where is God in this? I don’t want to keep finding ways to turn my suffering into a testimony. I want to be honest about the unanswered questions, the shame, and the disappointment.

For those of you who are PKs with chronic illness or other experiences that don't fit the usual Christian narrative:

How did you reconcile it with your faith? Did your understanding of God change?

Disclaimer: Written with help from GPT to organise my thoughts. The experiences and questions are my own.

I’m a pastor’s kid, and I’m wondering how other PKs have reconciled chronic illness with their faith.

I was dedicated to God as a baby, baptized in the Holy Spirit at 12 and water baptized at 16.

At 17, I developed vitiligo. At 19, I developed endometriosis, had surgery, and spent years on hormone treatment. My vitiligo is still progressing.

Growing up in church, I was taught to see suffering through God’s glory. At 25, I even received a prophecy that my vitiligo would disappear. It didn’t.

Years later, I’m still asking: Where is God in this? I don’t want to keep finding ways to turn my suffering into a testimony. I want to be honest about the unanswered questions, the shame, and the disappointment.

For those of you who are PKs with chronic illness or other experiences that don't fit the usual Christian narrative:

How did you reconcile it with your faith? Did your understanding of God change?

Disclaimer: Written with help from GPT to organise my thoughts. The experiences and questions are my own.

Living alone with my dad for the past 1.5 months has shown me something I can't ignore.

There have been deaths in the church.

Meetings almost every day.

Phone calls.

Hospital visits.

People needing prayer, counseling, and support.

I've watched my dad show up, again and again, for people in their hardest moments.

And while I admire his heart, it's also brought back a grief I don't think I've ever fully acknowledged.

As a pastor's kid, I often felt like I had to watch my dad be there for everyone except me.

Not because he didn't love me.

But because there was always someone whose need felt more urgent.

Over time, I stopped expecting much.

You learn to tell yourself, "It's ministry."

But the child in you still notices.

Still waits.

Still wonders what it would have been like if your dad had a little more time, a little more energy, a little more of himself left for home.

I'm not writing this to criticize my father. I know he has faithfully served people for decades, and I know ministry carries a weight most people never see.

I'm writing this because I wonder how many pastor's kids carry this quiet grief—the grief of sharing a parent with an entire congregation.

Did anyone else grow up feeling this way?

Disclaimer: I used AI to help organize and refine this post, but the experiences, reflections, and thoughts shared here are entirely my own. I'm sharing my personal story, not claiming that every pastor's kid or every pastor's family has the same experience.

I know this will make some people uncomfortable, but here it is:

Many pastors spend their lives saving other families while their own family slowly starves for attention.

The church gets the best of him. The wife gets what's left. The son learns to stop asking. The daughter learns to stop expecting.

Everyone praises the sacrifice of the pastor.

Very few talk about the sacrifice of the family.

The late-night calls. The interrupted dinners. The canceled plans. The emotional unavailability. The expectation that the family should "understand" because it's ministry.

I've heard people say that a pastor's wife lives like a widow and his children like orphans.

For some pastor's families, that's not an exaggeration.

A man can be physically present in the house and still be emotionally absent because he belongs to everyone else.

The congregation knows his sermons. His family knows his absence.

What's heartbreaking is that many pastor's kids grow up feeling guilty for having needs because the church's needs always seem more important.

So they learn not to ask. Not to complain. Not to take up space.

Then years later, everyone wonders why so many pastor's kids struggle with resentment, burnout, people-pleasing, addiction, anxiety, emotional numbness, or walking away from church altogether.

Maybe because ministry was never supposed to cost a family its husband, wife, father, or mother.

Maybe the first flock a pastor is called to shepherd is the one sitting around the dinner table.

Anyone else resonate with this, or was your experience different?

I know this will make some people uncomfortable, but here it is:

Many pastors spend their lives saving other families while their own family slowly starves for attention.

The church gets the best of him. The wife gets what's left. The son learns to stop asking. The daughter learns to stop expecting.

Everyone praises the sacrifice of the pastor.

Very few talk about the sacrifice of the family.

The late-night calls. The interrupted dinners. The canceled plans. The emotional unavailability. The expectation that the family should "understand" because it's ministry.

I've heard people say that a pastor's wife lives like a widow and his children like orphans.

For some pastor's families, that's not an exaggeration.

A man can be physically present in the house and still be emotionally absent because he belongs to everyone else.

The congregation knows his sermons. His family knows his absence.

What's heartbreaking is that many pastor's kids grow up feeling guilty for having needs because the church's needs always seem more important.

So they learn not to ask. Not to complain. Not to take up space.

Then years later, everyone wonders why so many pastor's kids struggle with resentment, burnout, people-pleasing, addiction, anxiety, emotional numbness, or walking away from church altogether.

Maybe because ministry was never supposed to cost a family its husband, wife, father, or mother.

Maybe the first flock a pastor is called to shepherd is the one sitting around the dinner table.

Anyone else resonate with this, or was your experience different?

I know this will make some people uncomfortable, but here it is:

Many pastors spend their lives saving other families while their own family slowly starves for attention.

The church gets the best of him. The wife gets what's left. The son learns to stop asking. The daughter learns to stop expecting.

Everyone praises the sacrifice of the pastor.

Very few talk about the sacrifice of the family.

The late-night calls. The interrupted dinners. The canceled plans. The emotional unavailability. The expectation that the family should "understand" because it's ministry.

I've heard people say that a pastor's wife lives like a widow and his children like orphans.

For some pastor's families, that's not an exaggeration.

A man can be physically present in the house and still be emotionally absent because he belongs to everyone else.

The congregation knows his sermons. His family knows his absence.

What's heartbreaking is that many pastor's kids grow up feeling guilty for having needs because the church's needs always seem more important.

So they learn not to ask. Not to complain. Not to take up space.

Then years later, everyone wonders why so many pastor's kids struggle with resentment, burnout, people-pleasing, addiction, anxiety, emotional numbness, or walking away from church altogether.

Maybe because ministry was never supposed to cost a family its husband, wife, father, or mother.

Maybe the first flock a pastor is called to shepherd is the one sitting around the dinner table.

Anyone else resonate with this, or was your experience different?

​

I know this will make some people uncomfortable, but here it is:

Many pastors spend their lives saving other families while their own family slowly starves for attention.

The church gets the best of him. The wife gets what's left. The son learns to stop asking. The daughter learns to stop expecting.

Everyone praises the sacrifice of the pastor.

Very few talk about the sacrifice of the family.

The late-night calls. The interrupted dinners. The canceled plans. The emotional unavailability. The expectation that the family should "understand" because it's ministry.

I've heard people say that a pastor's wife lives like a widow and his children like orphans.

For some pastor's families, that's not an exaggeration.

A man can be physically present in the house and still be emotionally absent because he belongs to everyone else.

The congregation knows his sermons. His family knows his absence.

What's heartbreaking is that many pastor's kids grow up feeling guilty for having needs because the church's needs always seem more important.

So they learn not to ask. Not to complain. Not to take up space.

Then years later, everyone wonders why so many pastor's kids struggle with resentment, burnout, people-pleasing, addiction, anxiety, emotional numbness, or walking away from church altogether.

Maybe because ministry was never supposed to cost a family its husband, wife, father, or mother.

Maybe the first flock a pastor is called to shepherd is the one sitting around the dinner table.

Anyone else resonate with this, or was your experience different?

I’ve been wondering lately how many pastors’ kids grew up constantly suppressing emotions, staying “strong,” performing wellness, carrying family pressure… and later developed chronic health issues.

I’m a 33-year-old woman and over the years I’ve dealt with things like chronic stress, emotional suppression, hypervigilance, and always feeling responsible for everyone else’s emotional state.

And somewhere along the way, my body started speaking too.

I developed autoimmune-related issues and I honestly can’t ignore the connection anymore between:

living in survival mode

never fully feeling safe

carrying unprocessed grief/stress

and the body eventually reacting

Not saying trauma directly “causes” everything medically. I know it’s more complex than that. But I do think long-term emotional stress changes the body deeply.

Especially in environments where:

appearances matter

vulnerability feels unsafe

emotions get spiritualized away

and children quietly absorb everything

Sometimes I wonder how many PKs became emotionally numb just to survive — and whether our bodies eventually carried what our voices couldn’t.

Would genuinely love to hear if others relate.

The Quiet Numbness of Being a Pastor’s Kid

As a pastor’s kid, I learned how to perform long before I learned how to feel.

Be good. Be strong. Be spiritual. Be available. Be everything for everyone.

And somewhere along the way, I became disconnected from myself.

I used men to feel chosen. Alcohol to quiet the noise. Work to feel worthy. Busyness to avoid silence.

Not because I was rebellious. But because I was numb...I wanted to feel something. ANYTHING.

That’s the strange thing about dissociation. You can still function while feeling emotionally absent from your own life.

You can worship while disconnected. Smile while exhausted. Pray for others while abandoning yourself.

A lot of pastor’s kids become experts at managing atmospheres while never learning how to feel safe inside their own bodies.

Healing has looked like learning how to sit with myself without needing distraction, performance, or escape. YOGA HELPS ME SO MUCH.

I’m slowly learning that God never asked me to disappear in order to be loved. Yet it haunts me sometimes.

I’m a 33-year-old woman who grew up as a pastor’s kid — which meant being seen as “the good one,” the strong one, the example.

But behind that, there was a lot I didn’t have space to process:

Pressure to be perfect

Emotional neglect hidden under “spiritual responsibility”

Learning to take care of others before understanding myself

Carrying family expectations while dealing with my own pain

As I got older, this showed up in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time — relationships, coping patterns, identity struggles, even how I see my body and worth.

I’m doing the work now — therapy, self-reflection, rebuilding safety in my body and mind. But sometimes it still feels like I’m untangling years of things I was never allowed to name.

Just wondering… are there others here who grew up as pastors’ kids and feel this?

What has your journey looked like?