God Is Not My Friend and The Weight of Childhood Trauma and the Silence of Men
- Brainz Magazine
- Jun 19, 2025
- 6 min read
Updated: Jun 20, 2025
Written by John Comerford, Author/Motivational Speaker
John Comerford is the author of Tarzan Loves Jane and Battle Armour ( 25 Tools for Men's Mental Health). John is also one of the authors of the number one Amazon best-selling book series, Start Over.
Have you ever questioned where to turn when the places and people meant to protect you become the source of your deepest pain? For many men, the scars of childhood trauma are carried in silence, hidden behind a mask of strength. In this deeply personal story, I share how betrayal within the walls of faith shattered my world and how breaking that silence became the first step toward healing.
1. Childhood shattered: When faith becomes fear
I was just eleven years old when everything I believed in was shattered. Caught alone in a church, under the cold gaze of marble statues and stained glass, my world was torn apart. At that moment, I was no longer a child of God; I was prey for the men who claimed to serve him, the wolves hiding in God's clothing. The red carpet burned against my cheek as I was forced down, my small body helpless against the hands that held me there. My heart pounded so violently I thought it might burst. I tried to scream, but terror strangled my voice, leaving me to sob into the floor, each cry met with more violence. In that moment, I was stripped of everything: my innocence, my trust, my voice. All that remained was fear, raw and consuming, and the horror of knowing no one was coming to save me.
Pain tore through me, sharp and bewildering, and I couldn't understand how the world could keep turning while I disappeared inside myself. Above me, the crucifix loomed, and Jesus's eyes turned away as if even he refused to witness what was being done to me. Every promise of safety, every ounce of faith was shattered. I was abandoned by God, by the adults who should have protected me, by the world itself. I was just a terrified child, violated and left alone in the dark, learning too soon that sometimes, the people and places meant to protect you are the very ones that destroy you.
2. The lingering darkness of trauma
It's hard to describe the darkness that followed, and I know depression is different for everyone. For me, the next forty years were like being trapped in a maze in total darkness, every path leading to another dead end, every turn blocked by another wall. No matter how desperately I searched for a way out, I kept running into the same hopeless corners, the same suffocating silence. I felt cut off from the world as if I were shouting for help, but my voice couldn't reach anyone. Then one night, the voices in my head kept whispering, convincing me that it was finally time to end my pain. They were relentless, circling me like vultures, and in those moments, I believed them.
I tried to end my life. I failed. I wasn't even good enough for death, and so I was left to relive that moment, over and over, as if it were my private purgatory. For forty years, I tried to outrun my pain. I filled my life with work, relationships, and distractions, anything to keep from feeling. I was eventually forced to get help. Therapy didn't help at first, not because it couldn't, but because I wasn't ready to be honest, even with myself. I convinced myself that simply speaking about my trauma would be enough, a kind of magic cure that would let me step straight into a normal, happy life. I thought if I just said the words out loud, "I was raped," I'd be free from my past, able to move on without doing the real, difficult work of healing. But it doesn't work that way.
3. The deadly weight of silence
Breaking the silence was the hardest thing I've ever done. The first time I spoke the words out loud, I felt exposed and afraid. But with each person I told, the burden became a little lighter. I learned that courage isn't the absence of fear; it's speaking the truth even when your voice shakes. It's allowing yourself to be seen, scars and all, and discovering that healing is possible.
Healing asks us to strip away our defences, to stand exposed before others, and to face the need for forgiveness not just for ourselves, but for those who failed us, for our families, and, in my case, myself. Childhood trauma teaches us to compartmentalize, to lock away the hardest parts of ourselves. We minimize the pain, telling ourselves we should be "over it" by now. But trauma doesn't follow a schedule. It seeps into our lives, often when we least expect it.
The silence is heavy. Many men never reach out for help, even when they know something is wrong. We're taught to keep our struggles to ourselves, to "tough it out." There's an unspoken rule: don't talk about pain, don't show weakness. But this silence can be isolating. It keeps us from healing and from truly connecting with others. From a young age, many boys are handed a script: be tough, don't cry, and never show fear. That script shapes how we move through the world and how we handle stress and loss. The pressure to keep everything bottled up is exhausting. We learn to hide our true selves, even from those closest to us.
4. The illusion of coping
What makes it harder is how invisible this struggle can be. On the outside, we may seem strong and successful. Inside, we're carrying a weight that few can see, a lifetime of pain and fear that we've never been allowed to express. This isn't freedom; it's a quiet suffering that keeps us from reaching out and healing. We're often told that vulnerability is weakness, that emotions are dangerous, and that strength means silence. However, the truth is that this silence can be deadly. I know how dark those thoughts can get. I've stood on the edge, convinced that the only way to end the pain was to disappear. What pulled me back wasn't a miracle cure, but a simple reminder from my children that my story mattered to them.
Speaking the truth, even when your voice shakes, is an act of courage. Each time I shared my story, the burden grew lighter. Healing requires stripping away defences and allowing yourself to be seen, scars and all.
5. The path forward
Conviction is what keeps you moving forward, even on the difficult days. Healing from childhood trauma isn't a straight path; there are setbacks and hard moments. But conviction means refusing to give up on yourself, believing that you are worthy of healing and happiness. If you're reading this and carrying your pain alone, please know that you are not weak, you are not broken, and you are not alone. The world may have given you the wrong message about what it means to be a man. Real strength is found in the courage to speak and the conviction to heal. The pain may not disappear overnight, but it does get lighter when you share it.
These days, God may not be my friend, but I am learning to be a friend to myself. I am discovering that survival is an act of hope and that even after deep harm, life can hold meaning, connection, and love. If my story helps even one person feel less alone, every word is worth it. Speak. Reach out. You are not broken. You are not alone. With courage and support, you can find your way back to yourself.
Q&A: Common questions about men's trauma
Why don't men speak up about trauma?
Social conditioning teaches men to hide pain and avoid vulnerability. Fear of judgment and stigma keeps many silent, even when they know something is wrong.
Is healing possible after decades of silence?
Yes. Healing is possible at any stage, but it requires honesty, support, and self-compassion.
Speaking your truth is the first, most vital step.
What can help break the silence?
Connection with a trusted friend, therapist, or support group can make all the difference. Knowing you're not alone is powerful medicine.
Conclusion: You are not alone
If you're carrying pain in silence, know this: you are not weak, broken, or alone. The world may have given you the wrong message about what it means to be a man, but real strength is found in vulnerability and the courage to heal. Survival is an act of hope. Even after deep harm, life can still hold meaning, connection, and love. If my story helps even one person feel less alone, every word is worth it. If this story resonates with you, please reach out. With courage and support, you can find your way back to yourself.
Read more from John Comerford
John Comerford, Author/Motivational Speaker
John Comerford is a leading advocate for men’s mental health and trauma recovery.
A survivor of childhood sexual assault, he spent 40 years suffering in silence.
After a suicide attempt, John began the journey to confront his past and rebuild.
His book "Tarzan Loves Jane", a dark romantic comedy, is based on his true story.
He later created "Battle Armour: 25 Tools for Men’s Mental Health" to give back.
Today, he speaks, writes, and leads with one clear message to all men: Speak up.
His mission: No man suffers in silence.
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