When Religion Teaches You That Love = Control

Can I share a story that used to bring me deep shame… but ended up being one of the most illuminating moments of my life?

My son was in 3rd grade, and up until this point, school had been really rough for him. He has significant ADHD and just couldn’t sit still or focus. Starting in kindergarten, I was getting calls from the principal or his teachers constantly. But this year, things escalated.

He locked a friend in the bathroom as a prank, and got suspended.  In 3rd grade. 

I got called into the principal’s office again. I sat at the table while the principal went off  lecturing me, telling me how my son absolutely hadto change his behavior. I could feel my face burn with shame.

The good girl in me  (the rule-follower, the peacemaker)  couldn’t even fathom this kind of trouble. I thought, You’re preaching to the choir, lady. I’m horrified. I’ve already spent years trying everything I can.

And then… clarity.
Right there, in the middle of my embarrassment and panic, something shifted.

I thought:
💭 Why are you talking to me like I did something wrong?
💭 Why aren’t you talking to him?
💭 These were his choices, not mine.
💭 This is his life to lead.

That was the moment I woke up to something I hadn’t seen before: It’s not my job to rescue him. It never was.

Now, years later, he’s thriving in high school with way more self-awareness and coping tools. But that moment in the principal’s office still stands out as a turning point.

It was when I realized:
I had been living with a full-blown rescue complex.
And I know I’m not the only one.

Let’s be real.

If you were raised in high-control religion, you were programmed to carry responsibility for things that were never yours to begin with. Think about it:

• You were told it was your job to save people’s souls — because if you didn’t, they might spend eternity in hell. (No pressure.)
• You wore WWJD bracelets and tried to model your life after Jesus, who took on the pain of the world and rescued everyone. (a lot to live up to)
• You were praised for self-sacrifice, silence, obedience, and always putting others first.
• And if someone walked away from the faith? It was probably because you didn't do your job and pray hard enough. 

You were taught to take responsibility for the impossible, and give away your power in the places that were actually yours to claim.

✔️ Instead of tending to your own needs, you were told to “cast your cares on Him.”
✔️ Instead of trusting your instincts, you were told “the heart is deceitful above all else.”
✔️ Instead of setting boundaries, you were told “turn the other cheek.”
✔️ Instead of choosing your truth, you were told to die to yourself.

No wonder so many of us still feel responsible for everyone else’s feelings, choices, and healing. We were groomed for it.

But what if rescuing isn’t love? What if it’s actually control . . . dressed up in care?

That hit me like a brick. Because rescuing someone can feel loving. But at its core, it assumes they can’t handle their own life. It bypasses their agency. It steals their dignity. And it burns you out in the process.

So what can you do when that old rescuer complex shows up?

Here’s a practice I come back to often: Ask yourself:
→ “Whose responsibility is this, really?”
→ “Is this a burden I’m meant to carry, or am I picking it up out of habit?”
→ “What would shift if I trusted them to handle this part of their journey?”

Then do one small thing that supports your autonomy AND gives them back theirs. That might look like silence. A pause. A boundary. A moment of self-reflection before jumping in to fix. It’s not detachment; it’s respect.

So here is the question I will leave you with:  Are you in the process of trying to rescue someone, even though it isn’t your job? What would it feel like to let go of that pressure?