Seven months after moving away from the parishes where we were
psychologically bullied for almost 5 years, our lives are still
dominated by the experience as our minds and bodies struggle daily to
survive the psychiatric injuries we have sustained. And, as we sit
here thinking how we can write about our experiences, there is the
sudden realisation that to go through it all is too much and too
soon; the memories are just too painful, too distressing. So what we
write below will be incomplete and perhaps confused at times, but we
hope we will manage to communicate the destructive power of bullying.

Firstly, who are we? My name is Sue* and my husband’s name is Peter*.
We are both 41, approaching our 20th wedding anniversary, and have a
son aged 18 and a daughter aged 17. We used to be an ordinary couple,
far from perfect, but enthusiastic and committed Christians called
into ministry. Peter was ordained in the Church of England in 1985,
and I became a Reader (voluntary lay minister) a few years later.

It’s almost impossible to explain how the bullying started because
much of it was very gradual and subtle. We had the misfortune to
stumble across two or three people for whom bullying was a way of
life. They held positions of leadership within the congregation,
leadership which they abused by dominating and controlling everyone
around them to the extent of getting rid of those who refused to
comply with their order. The bullies alternately used and supported each
other.

The process began with friendliness – “we’re nice chaps here, look
how good life can be for you if you slot in with us”. It seemed
innocent enough at first, a friendly welcome into ministry in a new
area and knowledgeable support during the early months. One of the
bullies did come across as rather overbearing at times, whilst
another was clearly very deeply attached to the old services and
hymns, but all churches have people like that and there was nothing
to indicate the abuse that was to follow.

Yet follow it did. It began with vaguely critical comments made
(pleasantly enough) at meetings etc, which on their own sounded
harmless and too trivial to answer, but which subtly began to
undermine other people’s respect for us and our ministry. No doubt
this was backed up with similar comments behind our backs. Then there
were the continual nit-picking remarks addressed to us privately
which began, almost imperceptibly at first, to chip away at our
self-confidence.

We began to lose our joy in ministry and started getting very tired.
At this point the pressure on us was increased. The criticism was
strengthened – Peter wasn’t working hard enough, he didn’t do enough
visiting, our sermons weren’t intellectual enough, we were too rigid
about taking days off, and on and on. Then the shouting and the
threats began, which in our already weakened state, we just couldn’t
handle. The attacks became more intense and focused on our
partnership; as I was the easier partner to get rid of, all attempts
were made to discredit me and to portray me as the cause of all the
problems. By this time I was hardly coping and had to withdraw from
ministry, much to the delight of the bullies.

I was suffering from acute reactive depression (and many other
psychiatric injuries, though I didn’t know it at the time). Still the
pressure continued and there were attempts to persuade Peter that he
was better off without me as a Reader alongside him; the pressure was
so great that our marriage nearly broke down. Inevitably, it all
became too much for Peter too and he was signed off sick for the next
six months. The bullies delighted in their triumph!

Those six months were hell. We were both exhausted, on medication and
barely coping with the bare essentials of survival. Yet many members
of the congregation seemed to believe we were having a glorified
holiday. One member of the congregation offered to help with driving
our children to school, another offered help with shopping, but that
was it. In six months of illness hardly anyone visited us, and no-one
cooked us a meal or even brought us a cake. Living next door to the
church only accentuated the pain.

What was the support from the Diocese in all of this? Well, the
Diocesan Care & Counselling Scheme paid for independent counselling,
and initially our Archdeacon had been understanding, but then he
retired. Other than that – well, we were blamed for what had
happened, and told to pull ourselves together and face up to the real
world. Peter was told to get on with the job he was being paid to do
– “you can’t just opt out every time things get difficult!” Some
terrible things were said to us by the Bishop, and I sometimes wonder
if I’ll ever get over them. I came very close to committing suicide
at that time.

After six months Peter was forced to return to work, though he was
not able to work anything like full-time for another 6 months. We
were both treated like people who’d done something terribly wrong,
and I wasn’t allowed to resume ministry. We were accused of being
unforgiving and unspiritual, when in reality we were severely damaged
people. I eventually stopped going to church altogether, but Peter
had to struggle on or lose his job – and with it our home (a tied
house) and only source of income. It was absolute hell – Peter
couldn’t even get another job to get us out of there because he
wasn’t well enough!

The inevitable eventually happened. Peter had another stress
breakdown 15 months ago and has been unable to work ever since. It
was still another 8 months before we were able to move away from the
parish. In that time he applied for, and was refused, a disability
pension. Eventually, the only option left was for him to agree to
resign from paid ministry for good (though he remains a priest) in
return for temporary support and housing provision from the Diocese.
Still the Bishop denied that we’d been bullied and still he blamed
us; this denial is even more painful than the bullying.

So where are we now? Well, relieved to have moved away obviously, but
we are both still exhausted, still unable to work, and with no idea
what we will do to survive in the future. We are too terrified to go
near a church, and even television services trigger a state of
complete panic. (You will no doubt have noticed that none of the
above mentions God – the pain of doing so is too much because of the
things that have been done ‘in God’s name’.) We are both suffering
from psychiatric injuries, and my symptoms have been diagnosed as
being very similar to post-traumatic stress disorder. We are both
terrified of meeting people, and I am unable to go out alone. We are
constantly on edge, sleep badly and find it very hard to concentrate.
We very rarely see anyone and our injuries have prevented us from
going out and finding any friends here.

We will probably recover eventually, at least to some degree, but we
are told it is likely to take years rather than months. (The National
Health Service has been considerably more supportive than the
Church.) Whether we will ever feel able to go to church again – or
whether we will ever want to go again – we just don’t know.
Meanwhile, Peter’s former parish has just appointed his replacement
and it seems that life continues there as if we’d never existed!

Writing this hurt like hell, and was altogether too much for Peter.
But we hope it helps people to realise just how destructive bullying can
be.

* Names have been changed.