What To Do When Parents Abuse – By Thomas J. Koester

“Fathers, don’t irritate your children and make them resentful; instead, raise them with the Lord’s kind of discipline and guidance.” – Ephesians 6:4

When strangers or acquaintances abuse us, it hurts, but not as much as when it’s a sibling, mom, or dad. You see, all of our identity and self-worth are derived from family but especially from our parents. When their abuse is emotional, spiritual, verbal, physical, etc., it attacks the core of our identity.

Toni and I are battling 35 years of abuse with her family, and especially with her parents.

Toni’s father was a pastor for most of Toni’s life. What she encountered as abuse was spiritual and religious in nature, steeped in legalism and perfectionism. Her mother told Toni and her siblings to deny their feelings. To go against instinct – to submit beyond question. To fear fear. Accept failure but to keep quiet. To compromise inner truth for outer fakeness.

My story was filled, as you may know, with physical and violent abuse. I dare say, I prefer the abuse that I endured more than what my dear Toni, has endured, and still does to this day!

I’ve asked a question several times over the years when speaking at men’s retreats and gatherings.

“Which would you rather have, a broken leg or a broken heart?”

Everyone in the room, shouted:

“A broken leg!”

This is because most of us, sadly, are well acquainted with the deep pain of a broken heart and the countless years of suffering.

My wife’s heart, while broken during her adolescent life, is undergoing healing over her adult years as she walks with God. Her healing could be accelerated if her parents would join her in her healing journey.

Yet, her parents want her and me, too, to “see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil.” This silence and blindness to evil has allowed the unmitigated reign of evil over many in her family. It’s painful to watch, but prayer gives us our only hope.

However, religious abuse is hard to see, because it looks socially acceptable—it looks so spiritual! Sadly, the abuse that Toni is suffering has wreaked havoc on her innocence. Her frailty. Her femininity. On her mind. On her heart and soul. This caused her to feel spiritually dirty most of her life and hyper-subjective.

Because her abuse was from religious parents, it locked her into a prison of impossible expectations. A perfectionism that not even God would impose. Right? God’s perfection is imputed or placed upon us by the works of Jesus. Toni was expected to be perfect by religious means and not by divine decree. Sadly, this is the story of many children who are fathered by ministers.

So, how do we forgive mom or dad, or both?

“Honor your father and mother so that you may live long in the land and that it may go well with you.” – Deuteronomy 5:16

Remember, this is God’s command with no prerequisites. It’s his 5th commandment—smack-dab in the middle!

One reason God gives us this command is because parents, by design, are to be “lesser gods” to their offspring. The fifth commandment can also be applied to God.

Honor [God] so that you may live long in the land and that all my go well with you.

So, when we dishonor our parents, we also dishonor God, and we put great risks to our well-being and life expectancy.

But what about abusive parents? Are we to honor our abusers?

Here’s the question: Did God give us our parents, or did God give us to our parents?

It’s important to know, for several reasons.

The Allmighty of Scriptures is the Sovereign God. He’s the divine architect and the builder. He is motivated by nothing else than his will and purpose. Also, scripture is quite clear that God is very relational, right down to the individual — the individual parent and child. It boggles the mind, or at least mine, that God thought of you, me, and our parents before space and time!

“Before the creation of the world, he chose us through Christ to be holy and perfect in his presence.” – Ephesians 1:4

“The Lord formed me from the beginning before he created anything else. I was appointed in ages past, at the very first, before the earth began. – Proverbs 8:22-23

You see, we simply cannot deny that God put us into the care, good or bad, of our parents. We also can’t deny that God, intimately knowing you before earth began, appointed you to your parents. God is involved in both choices of parents to children and children to parents. There is nothing random about it! We had no say in the transaction.

Rather, God, in his wisdom, has appointed us to our parents, knowing fully that he will establish the commandment to honor them without hesitation and reservation. And that this commandment comes with a two-fold promise — all will go well with you and that you may have a long life on the earth.

But still, the question of forgiveness for our mom’s and dad’s abuse is unanswered for millions of hurting children of all ages, churched or unchurched.

I do want to address child abuse for those children who are still adolescent. It is not dishonoring to mom or dad if you seek help. This is for those children who are being physically or sexually abused by one or both parents. Speak to a pastor, teacher, school counselor, or coach. These people are required by law to notify Child Protective Services. Your safety is of utmost importance!

But for adult children, whereby we have moved out from mom’s and dad’s house, or perhaps they’re deceased. It’s not that forgiveness is optional. Rather, it is a necessity! Forgiving them is also about honoring them.

Many years ago, while living in Antioch, California, I invited my mother over to have a conversation. It was my plan to recall all the abuse that I had suffered by her hand.

It was just me and mom, sitting together in my home office when I began to unload on her. I was not angry or hard on my mom. I spoke from my heart and carefully described my hurts and scars.

Beginning at age 18 months old, I recalled quite accurately the violent physical abuse my little body suffered in the fit of her rage. I continued each remembrance, each story, as though it had just occurred; from 18 months through my 18th year! At the end of each story, with tears of remembrance traversing my bearded face, I said:

“Mom, I forgive you.”

… My mother just sat there, emotionless, and then replied:

“I don’t remember any of that.”

While her response was painful, I was not completely dispirited. You see, because my forgiveness wasn’t just for her, it was for me, too. While my exchange with mom was difficult, it came from my heart, not to condemn her, but to restore her—to restore us. To move the offense out of the way between mother and son. So that I could love her again. I didn’t need her permission to forgive her, as it was me letting go of all her hurtful acts.

Another twelve years would pass before my mother confessed and agreed to her abusive behavior. Her awakening happened just a few short days before she passed on Mother’s Day, May 11, 2008. It was just my mom and me again, but this time we met in her home. Unquestionably, God was there with mother and son. Both our hearts were tenderized by her battle with pancreatic cancer and softened by God’s mercy and grace. I again forgave my mother, and she humbly accepted my forgiveness as I accepted hers.

How do you know you have forgiven? When you can love them again.

It’s humanly impossible for us to forgive those who have treacherously abused or wronged us. Forgiveness is only possible through God’s grace and empowerment from Jesus Christ. And through Him, we can love again those who have wounded us with broken bones and shattered hearts. It’s called Agape Love — the love of God working in and through us.

My mother didn’t deserve my forgiveness, God required it of me. He knew it would bless me with a good and long life on earth. It was my opportunity to honor my mother. Grace, mercy, forgiveness, and God’s love are what triumphed here. It is what empowered me to do the impossible, which was to forgive my abuser—my own mother.

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!” – Isaiah 49:15

Just a few days before my mom’s death, God rembeberd me, and my mom, too. He rescued us both!

Here’s another helpful verse of Scripture written in the last Old Testament book and in the last two verses of the last chapter of Malachi:

“See, I will send the prophet Elijah to you before that great and dreadful day of the Lord comes. He will turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the hearts of the children to their parents; or else I will come and strike the land with a curse.” – Malachi 4:5-6

God softened my heart, and in turn, he softened my mother’s heart. Because of heartfelt forgiveness, my land is no longer cursed. My life is free from bitterness, resentment, and hate. I can honestly say that I miss my mom. She would be 92 years this past February, 25, 2025. Without a doubt, she’s basking in the presence of God, fully forgiven!

What about you? I encourage you, too, to forgive. Even if your parents and abusers are dead. Even more so, forgive them. You see, if they have died, then they’ve met the judge, and justice was measured upon them. All that is left for you is to forgive them and let them go so that you, too, can live well in the land.

Unforgiveness harms no one but yourself. It rots away your present life and eats away at your future. That’s the definition of a cursed life. Kick pride out of your life. It’s killing you! Humble yourself, and God himself will lift you up!

Now you know what to do when parents abuse.

Have courage, my dear friend, trust in God’s Word, and hold tightly to His promises. Though mom or dad may have forgotten you, God never forgets!

Forgiveness is your pathway to living a long and healthy life in the land!

My Name Is Shame

The Loss of Identity & Worth

By Thomas J. Koester

Hello, my name is Shame.

Well, this is what I thought my name was—not because my mom and dad called me Shame, but somehow, in their inflection—when they used my real name—shame is what I had felt. Shame is my earliest memory—which, believe it or not, I was only eighteen months old!

In the spring of 1961, I was a toddler, sitting on my highchair in Paramus, New Jersey, about to eat my very first peanut butter sandwich. My mom had skillfully cut the crust away and segmented my sandwich into four small squares. I remember staring at the plate mom placed on my stainless steel highchair tray. I guess I’m supposed to eat it, so I curiously picked up a square, oozing with peanut butter, and touched it to my lips and tongue. My immediate reaction was to curl my mouth and retract my tongue in disgust while drooling the pasty peanut butter from my mouth to my chin.

Without provocation, my mom grabbed the sandwich square, mauled it into a ball, grabbing my chubby cheeks so hard it forced my mouth to open. She then, with an angry face, tightly gritted teeth, she began shoving the sandwich into my little and nearly toothless mouth, pushing so hard it caused me to choke, gasping for air! Suddenly, my gag reflex kicked in, and I threw up milk and whatever else made it to my stomach all over the highchair tray!

Suddenly, and shockingly, my mom slapped me so hard, me and the highchair nearly tipped over! For what seemed like minutes, or at least until my breath came back into my tiny lungs, I let out a blood curdling scream! While being confused and terrified, my mother slapped me again for crying. To this day, I still hate peanut butter sandwiches.

As an eighteen-month old toddler, I couldn’t process that event in any other way than to conclude something is terribly wrong with me. And this is what shame does; It robs you of your identity and lessens your self-worth. You don’t even know it’s happening, especially if you’re raised in a house of shame.

I have so many of these kinds of memories that it could easily fill an entire book! I will, however, share one more childhood memory of shame for context.

Don’t Pee Outside!

One summer day when I was a normal seven year old boy, one of my siblings tattled on me, reporting to mom:

“Tommy peed outside!”

My mom quickly called me inside to the kitchen, where she did most of her interrogations;

“Did you pee outside?”

—Sitting across the table was my mom’s best friend, Gloria Martin—

With fear and trepidation, I cautiously nodded my head, yes. My mom’s angry face was enough for me to repent, but by seven, I had learned that this was the precursor to shame and abuse.

My mother reached towards the left side of our kitchen table and grabbed a small pair of curved pedicure scissors. Simultaneously, she commanded me to pull down my pants. She then yanked down my underwear, exposing my penis in front of Mrs. Martin.

Mother grabs my penis, stretching it out, and with the scissors in her left-hand proceeds, or at least convinced me she was going to cut it off! I was brutally shamed and abused. Although, as a seven year old little boy, my faculty of reason was undeveloped. I could only interpret the abuse and shame that something is incurably wrong with me. That, and hundreds of days like it, might be the reason my name, Tommy, Tom, or Thomas, was replaced with the name, Shame.

I think chronically shaming a person is similar to murder. I’m not a forensic pathologist nor a psychologist, but isn’t murder when you premeditatedly end the life of a human being? Shame kills identity and destroys self-worth. Shame replaces the spark of life and light with darkness and a desire to cease living.

Several years ago, I was investigating a burned out office building in Berkeley, California. Everything was darkly sooted and smelled heavily of smoke and ash. I was there to measure the fire and smoke damage for an insurance company. As I was photographing each room, I entered one office that had several floor to ceiling shelves filled with books. All the books were heavily sooted and many soaked with water by the fire department. Except, one book, which stuck out a bit. Puzzled as to why this book was so clean, I pulled the book from the shelf. On the cover was a mother sitting on a chair with two small murdered children under one arm and a knife in her other hand. The title of the book:

“Soul Murder – Child Abuse and Deprivation” By LL Shengold – 1989

Needles to say, I had to read it!

To summarize the book a bit:

“Soul murder involves the deliberate traumatization or deprivation by an authority (parent) of his charge (child). The victim is robbed of his identity and of the ability to maintain authentic feelings. Soul murder remains effective if the capacity to think and to know has been sufficiently interfered with—by way of brainwashing – Paradoxically, in order to survive and adjust, some of these people so traumatized as children develop unusual strengths and gifts.”

While this book is highly clinical, I began to unravel and understand what eighteen years living in a house of shame and abuse did to me. Tommy, Tom, or Thomas was soul murdered and the imposter, named Shame had taken his place.

This is not a hopeless story. Yes, it had been a story of physical and psychological abuse and years of despair and deprivation. But my story is actually very much hope-filled. I hope the telling of my story may be the catalyst for you, too, to find hope and healing.

My Safe House

Almost every spy thriller or story of espionage has a safe house. Well, at ten years old, I had my safe house, too. Only, it’s not the safe house of spy movies, filled with firearms, passports, and bags of currency. Nope, my safe house was church!

Church was the only place my mother couldn’t hurt me—even if she was within a swift and accurate backhand to my face, she wouldn’t dare strike me. I learned that Church was not only a safe place for an abused little boy but also a safe place for fake and phony people, like my mommy dearest. Churches rarely will preach, if at all, against child abuse within the home. I think partly because far too many pastors abuse their own families for the sake of “ministry.”

One thing you learn in a shamed-based family is that sometimes moms or both parents will use their children as props. For some children, like me, being a “prop” can destroy your sense of “me” to where you are nothing more than an image or an appendage of your mother. If it sounds incestuous, then you’re correct because it is. It doesn’t have to be sexual in nature to be incestuous. For me, it meant that I, along with my siblings, were used for our mother’s psychological and physical pleasure. We were all adornments that added to our mother’s glittering image. We were less than human. We were little shame-bots who obeyed our mother’s abusive shaming tactics.

There was no greater day of the week for my mother to excel in her fakery than on Sunday. Sunday was my mother’s morning masquerade! She would dress us five boys with button-down shirts, ties, sports coats, spit-polished wingtip shoes, and our hair plastered perfectly with Dippity-doo hair gel of the Sixties and Seventies! My little and only sister was dressed like Shirley Temple! Boy, but we were a real hit in Church! We looked, and, albeit forcibly so, played our parts as the “perfect Christian family” like trained little monkeys!

The fake “perfect Christian family” persona only hid the shame and abuse of all six of us siblings. While Church was my safe house, just like safe houses in spy thrillers, sooner or later, the bad guys crash it. Somehow, my mommy dearest found a way of shaming me in Church with a look that said, “wait till I get you home!”

My New Name

With the name, Shame, so indelibly written into my psyche, a name and identity change were impossible for me. Even though I became a Christian at my safe house, Bethany Baptist Church in Martinez, California, nothing changed in the Koester House of Shame.

I want you to understand that it’s not the house of shame in a family or church that needs to change. We do. Yes, some churches can become a house of shame also. After all, churches are made up of families, too, and ideally, are to become one healthy family. However, like dysfunctional and shamed-based families, sadly, some churches and religious organizations can also be shame-based. You should remove yourself from a shamed-based family and church in order to get healthy.

When you get healthy and free from a shame-based culture, family, or church, you will make healthier decisions, and you’ll see more clearly. Clearly enough to walk with God and maybe a godly counselor and begin the healing process.

My New Life

As I began to grow in my faith and reading of Scripture, I learned that my real worth and identity come from my Creator, God. In spite of what many people believe, God is not the “great shamer” in the sky. He’s not abusive or unjust. When Jesus of Nazareth began his public ministry, he walked into a synagogue, opened up a scroll handed to him, and read the following from the Prophet Isaiah:

“The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me because the LORD has anointed me; he has sent me to preach good tidings unto those who are cast down; to bind up the wounds of the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those that are bound; to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn; to order in Zion those that mourn, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of despair.”

When I first read this, light came bursting into my darkened prison cell of shame! You see, Church is not an end to a means, but the means to an end of shame and abuse. Church is where I met the God of my Salvation and the Healer of my murdered soul! A good and healthy Church not only preaches the Gospel (“Gospel” is a Greek word used in the Bible, which means “Good News”). But a healthy church is a fellowship and family of broken people becoming whole together. It’s not a recovery group, per se; it’s a group of humble people living a restored and recovered life! Jesus himself promised that if we believe him, we will have life:

“The thief’s purpose is to steal, kill, and destroy. My purpose is to give life in all its fullness.” –John 10:10

“Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.” –John 11:25

Do you see how this is such good news to a broken, abused, and shamed little boy, as me?

God took away the imposter’s name of Shame and bestowed a new name upon me; I am God’s restored and Beloved Son! He healed my broken heart, set me free from captivity, opened my prison doors of shame and despair, and resurrected my murdered soul! My identity and worth is better than restored—I’m a new creation—fully pardoned for all my sins and clothed in Jesus’s righteousness. I’m no longer dressed to impress my mother, her peers, or her friends.

I AM FREE!

My name is Thomas James Koester

Shame no longer lives here!