Family members of dysfunctional families are experts in emotional manipulation. That is why it is important for such members to find strong examples of family members to look up to. The church should have emotionally strong and sound family members that others can look up to. In other words, be an example.
Hey Michael, I appreciate many of the concerns you raise in this article. You are right that emotional manipulation is real. It happens in personal relationships, in churches, and even at a cultural level. Pain can be used as a tool of control, and Christians—rightfully drawn to compassion—can be exploited by those who leverage their suffering to gain sympathy or power.
I also agree that pain should not be sovereign. The Christian life is not about being ruled by our emotions but about submitting all things—including our suffering—to the lordship of Christ. As you point out, sanctification is often painful, and growth sometimes requires us to endure discomfort rather than avoid it.
But here’s where I believe your argument becomes dangerously simplistic, could prove significantly harmful if not balanced out, and why I'm choosing to put some work into a response: In trying to guard against emotional manipulation, you risk swinging to an extreme that denies the real, God-given purpose of pain—which is to alert us to what is broken so it can be healed.
While it’s true that some emotional pain is socially conditioned and that we must guard against using it manipulatively, not all pain is an illusion. Not all pain is weakness. Not all pain should be ignored or dismissed simply because it might be subjective.
A broken heart, a betrayal, a childhood wound, spiritual abuse—these things don’t cease to be real just because they cannot be measured like physical pain. To suggest that people should “starve their pain” by refusing to acknowledge it is not a call to strength—it is a call to emotional suppression. And suppression does not make wounds disappear. It drives them underground, where they fester and shape our lives in ways we don’t even recognize.
Unacknowledged wounds do not heal. They become the very thing you warn against: tools of manipulation. The man who has not dealt with his wounds will inevitably inflict them on others—often unconsciously.
One of my biggest concerns with your argument is that it seems to indicate that naming pain equals being controlled by it. But throughout Scripture, we see godly men and women naming their pain before God—not as a way of manipulating others, but as a way of being honest.
David poured out his sorrow in the Psalms. He didn’t “starve” his pain—he brought it before God and found healing there (Psalm 13, Psalm 34:18).
Jesus did not dismiss suffering. He wept with Mary and Martha at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35), even though He knew He would raise him.
Paul openly acknowledged his afflictions. He spoke about his hardships, his weaknesses, his "thorn in the flesh"—not to manipulate, but to show the power of Christ in his suffering (2 Corinthians 12:9-10).
You rightly acknowledge that pain is necessary for sanctification, but contradict yourself by suggesting that we should suppress pain. If pain is a tool God uses for growth, why should we ignore it? Rather than suppressing pain, the biblical model is to bring it into the light where it can be redeemed (2 Corinthians 1:3-4). There is a profound difference between dwelling in pain for attention and bringing pain into the light for healing. Your article does not allow for this distinction, and that is where it becomes spiritually and pastorally dangerous.
Your recommendation to issue a moratorium on words like “hurtful,” “trauma,” or “wounded” unless a clear sin can be identified is particularly concerning. Yes, words have power. And that is precisely why removing the language of suffering does not make suffering disappear—it only makes it unspoken.
Telling someone they cannot name their pain unless they can prove a clear sin has been committed against them is not a call to resilience. It is a form of emotional legalism that forces people to suppress their wounds until they become undeniable. This approach does not create stronger Christians. It creates disconnected, numb, and repressed Christians. And numb people are far easier to manipulate than those who are emotionally whole.
Refusing to name pain does not eliminate it. It simply ensures that it remains hidden, where it will continue to exert its power in unseen ways. Unprocessed pain does not stay buried—it surfaces in anger, in emotional detachment, in addiction, in relational dysfunction, in generational trauma.
This is precisely how implicit memory works. Painful experiences are stored deep within us, even when we do not consciously remember them (Siegel, The Developing Mind, 2012). Many people, particularly those who have been conditioned to suppress their pain, cannot even access their true emotions until they "borrow" them from someone else. A mentor, a counselor, or even a friend expressing anger or sorrow on their behalf can be the first step toward them feeling what they have been taught to ignore.
For example:
A counselor might say, “That wasn’t okay. That should have never happened to you.” And suddenly, the person begins to feel anger—anger they were never allowed to feel before.
A friend might weep over someone’s suffering when they are still too numb to cry themselves.
A mentor might say, “I would have fought for you. I would have protected you.” And suddenly, the deep grief of never having had that protection rises to the surface.
This is not manipulation. This is emotional permission. It allows people to reconnect with their own hearts in a way they could not do alone. You emphasize personal responsibility over emotions but downplay the biblical role of community in healing. Scripture teaches that we are to ‘bear one another’s burdens’ (Galatians 6:2) and to ‘mourn with those who mourn’ (Romans 12:15). Healing is often communal—not just an individual effort. The solution to emotional manipulation is not isolation, but healthy, God-centered relationships that allow pain to be processed truthfully. I've heard it said, "What is broken in relationship is healed in relationship."
Ironically, your article—written to warn against emotional manipulation—contains its own form of emotional control. By suggesting that people should suppress their pain and avoid words that name suffering, you are encouraging a culture of emotional suppression. By implying that acknowledging pain makes someone weak or manipulative, you are pressuring people to deny their own experiences. By framing avoidance as moral superiority, you are setting up a false dichotomy between resilience and emotional honesty.
In doing so, you risk creating the very problem you want to avoid. The less people are allowed to name their pain, the more likely they are to use passive-aggressive or manipulative methods to express it. When suffering has no legitimate voice, it will find an illegitimate one.
We can definitely agree on this: pain should not rule us. It should not be used to control others. It should not be sovereign.
But pain does have a purpose. It is a warning system that something is wrong. It is an invitation to healing. And most importantly, it is the very place where Christ meets us. Jesus did not overcome suffering by avoiding it. He went through it. And He calls us to do the same.
To deny pain is to deny the very process through which God redeems us.
Michael, I like you. I believe your core concern is valid. You want to protect people from manipulation and help them grow stronger in Christ. That is a noble goal.
But your solution lacks the necessary nuance. In trying to prevent people from being ruled by their emotions, you risk teaching them to suppress the very emotions that need to be healed. And in doing so, you may actually cause more harm than the problem you are trying to solve. This article may actually be leading people away from the gospel, rather than towards it.
The answer to emotional manipulation is not emotional suppression.
The answer is emotional honesty under the authority of Christ.
That is the path to true strength and avoiding "loser theology."
People have different ways of dealing with pain. There are also many different types of pain. I believe Michael’s point is that we should not let ourselves be overwhelmed or guided by it or demand attention and benefits for it. There is a time for mourning and a time for gladness. Some pains require a longer time to go away than others. They are all legitimate. However, self pity does not help overcoming it. It delays healing. Some pains might never go away completely, like abuse, trauma, the loss of a child, etc. We can’t let ourselves succumb to it, or desire that others forgive our misgivings because of it. The Lord is lord overall, and we must continue to live a life that pleases Him. The rest will come to place at His own time.
Family members of dysfunctional families are experts in emotional manipulation. That is why it is important for such members to find strong examples of family members to look up to. The church should have emotionally strong and sound family members that others can look up to. In other words, be an example.
This is a great article. Thank you!
Hey Michael, I appreciate many of the concerns you raise in this article. You are right that emotional manipulation is real. It happens in personal relationships, in churches, and even at a cultural level. Pain can be used as a tool of control, and Christians—rightfully drawn to compassion—can be exploited by those who leverage their suffering to gain sympathy or power.
I also agree that pain should not be sovereign. The Christian life is not about being ruled by our emotions but about submitting all things—including our suffering—to the lordship of Christ. As you point out, sanctification is often painful, and growth sometimes requires us to endure discomfort rather than avoid it.
But here’s where I believe your argument becomes dangerously simplistic, could prove significantly harmful if not balanced out, and why I'm choosing to put some work into a response: In trying to guard against emotional manipulation, you risk swinging to an extreme that denies the real, God-given purpose of pain—which is to alert us to what is broken so it can be healed.
While it’s true that some emotional pain is socially conditioned and that we must guard against using it manipulatively, not all pain is an illusion. Not all pain is weakness. Not all pain should be ignored or dismissed simply because it might be subjective.
A broken heart, a betrayal, a childhood wound, spiritual abuse—these things don’t cease to be real just because they cannot be measured like physical pain. To suggest that people should “starve their pain” by refusing to acknowledge it is not a call to strength—it is a call to emotional suppression. And suppression does not make wounds disappear. It drives them underground, where they fester and shape our lives in ways we don’t even recognize.
Unacknowledged wounds do not heal. They become the very thing you warn against: tools of manipulation. The man who has not dealt with his wounds will inevitably inflict them on others—often unconsciously.
One of my biggest concerns with your argument is that it seems to indicate that naming pain equals being controlled by it. But throughout Scripture, we see godly men and women naming their pain before God—not as a way of manipulating others, but as a way of being honest.
David poured out his sorrow in the Psalms. He didn’t “starve” his pain—he brought it before God and found healing there (Psalm 13, Psalm 34:18).
Jesus did not dismiss suffering. He wept with Mary and Martha at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35), even though He knew He would raise him.
Paul openly acknowledged his afflictions. He spoke about his hardships, his weaknesses, his "thorn in the flesh"—not to manipulate, but to show the power of Christ in his suffering (2 Corinthians 12:9-10).
You rightly acknowledge that pain is necessary for sanctification, but contradict yourself by suggesting that we should suppress pain. If pain is a tool God uses for growth, why should we ignore it? Rather than suppressing pain, the biblical model is to bring it into the light where it can be redeemed (2 Corinthians 1:3-4). There is a profound difference between dwelling in pain for attention and bringing pain into the light for healing. Your article does not allow for this distinction, and that is where it becomes spiritually and pastorally dangerous.
Your recommendation to issue a moratorium on words like “hurtful,” “trauma,” or “wounded” unless a clear sin can be identified is particularly concerning. Yes, words have power. And that is precisely why removing the language of suffering does not make suffering disappear—it only makes it unspoken.
Telling someone they cannot name their pain unless they can prove a clear sin has been committed against them is not a call to resilience. It is a form of emotional legalism that forces people to suppress their wounds until they become undeniable. This approach does not create stronger Christians. It creates disconnected, numb, and repressed Christians. And numb people are far easier to manipulate than those who are emotionally whole.
Refusing to name pain does not eliminate it. It simply ensures that it remains hidden, where it will continue to exert its power in unseen ways. Unprocessed pain does not stay buried—it surfaces in anger, in emotional detachment, in addiction, in relational dysfunction, in generational trauma.
This is precisely how implicit memory works. Painful experiences are stored deep within us, even when we do not consciously remember them (Siegel, The Developing Mind, 2012). Many people, particularly those who have been conditioned to suppress their pain, cannot even access their true emotions until they "borrow" them from someone else. A mentor, a counselor, or even a friend expressing anger or sorrow on their behalf can be the first step toward them feeling what they have been taught to ignore.
For example:
A counselor might say, “That wasn’t okay. That should have never happened to you.” And suddenly, the person begins to feel anger—anger they were never allowed to feel before.
A friend might weep over someone’s suffering when they are still too numb to cry themselves.
A mentor might say, “I would have fought for you. I would have protected you.” And suddenly, the deep grief of never having had that protection rises to the surface.
This is not manipulation. This is emotional permission. It allows people to reconnect with their own hearts in a way they could not do alone. You emphasize personal responsibility over emotions but downplay the biblical role of community in healing. Scripture teaches that we are to ‘bear one another’s burdens’ (Galatians 6:2) and to ‘mourn with those who mourn’ (Romans 12:15). Healing is often communal—not just an individual effort. The solution to emotional manipulation is not isolation, but healthy, God-centered relationships that allow pain to be processed truthfully. I've heard it said, "What is broken in relationship is healed in relationship."
Ironically, your article—written to warn against emotional manipulation—contains its own form of emotional control. By suggesting that people should suppress their pain and avoid words that name suffering, you are encouraging a culture of emotional suppression. By implying that acknowledging pain makes someone weak or manipulative, you are pressuring people to deny their own experiences. By framing avoidance as moral superiority, you are setting up a false dichotomy between resilience and emotional honesty.
In doing so, you risk creating the very problem you want to avoid. The less people are allowed to name their pain, the more likely they are to use passive-aggressive or manipulative methods to express it. When suffering has no legitimate voice, it will find an illegitimate one.
We can definitely agree on this: pain should not rule us. It should not be used to control others. It should not be sovereign.
But pain does have a purpose. It is a warning system that something is wrong. It is an invitation to healing. And most importantly, it is the very place where Christ meets us. Jesus did not overcome suffering by avoiding it. He went through it. And He calls us to do the same.
To deny pain is to deny the very process through which God redeems us.
Michael, I like you. I believe your core concern is valid. You want to protect people from manipulation and help them grow stronger in Christ. That is a noble goal.
But your solution lacks the necessary nuance. In trying to prevent people from being ruled by their emotions, you risk teaching them to suppress the very emotions that need to be healed. And in doing so, you may actually cause more harm than the problem you are trying to solve. This article may actually be leading people away from the gospel, rather than towards it.
The answer to emotional manipulation is not emotional suppression.
The answer is emotional honesty under the authority of Christ.
That is the path to true strength and avoiding "loser theology."
People have different ways of dealing with pain. There are also many different types of pain. I believe Michael’s point is that we should not let ourselves be overwhelmed or guided by it or demand attention and benefits for it. There is a time for mourning and a time for gladness. Some pains require a longer time to go away than others. They are all legitimate. However, self pity does not help overcoming it. It delays healing. Some pains might never go away completely, like abuse, trauma, the loss of a child, etc. We can’t let ourselves succumb to it, or desire that others forgive our misgivings because of it. The Lord is lord overall, and we must continue to live a life that pleases Him. The rest will come to place at His own time.