Why healing streams triggered me

Full story

On the 6th of January 2024, or somewhere around that date, I left Christ Embassy. I was depressed, suicidal, and even struggling with homicidal thoughts. I was in a very dark place mentally. By October of that year, I had lost 20kg, and my hair was falling out.

Fortunately, around that time, I had managed to get a job as an assistant teacher in the Kensington area of London. I was living in Hayes, which meant I had quite a journey to work every morning.

There is a particular stretch of Uxbridge Road, towards Adelaide Grove, just before Ealing Hospital in Hanwell. Right next to the bridge, there was a huge Healing Streams poster on the wall underneath it.

I remember that poster very well… In fact, I would go as far as saying that it was one of the reasons I eventually decided to leave the UK.

Every morning, at around 7, I would pass that same poster on my way to work. And every morning, for at least three months, I would have almost the same reaction. I would close my eyes, concentrate on my breathing, and try to calm myself down.

It sounds like such a small thing. Just a poster on a wall… I know.But my body remembers those mornings so well. I remember the sickness in my stomach, the anger, the anxiety, and the feeling of having my entire day ruined before it had even begun.

And the reason was quite simple….How could an organisation that had caused me so much trauma present itself as an organisation that heals people?And not only claim to heal, but do so proudly, publicly, and on such a massive scale.I struggled to make sense of it.

Imagine being sexually assaulted by someone, only to wake up every morning and find their face plastered outside your house, advertising themselves as an advocate for victims of sexual assault.That is perhaps the closest comparison I can make to explain what that poster felt like to me.

The irony was sickening. I could feel my blood boiling every time I passed it. And what made it even worse was knowing that thousands of people probably looked at that same poster and felt hope, excitement, and perhaps even gratitude.Meanwhile, I was standing there trying not to throw up.

It took me a long time to come to terms with that contradiction. To accept that something which represents healing to one person can represent trauma to another. That the same place someone calls home can be the very place another person spent years trying to escape.

I remember once speaking to someone about my experiences in Christ Embassy. What surprised me was not their reaction to the things I told them, but what they said afterwards.

They were not particularly shocked by the events themselves. Instead, they were surprised that someone like me had ended up in a church like that in the first place.

I remember their exact words:

«You were never as intense as people who attend such churches.»

I have thought about that statement many times since. And I suppose the question I have been asking myself ever since is:

«How far are you willing to go to fit in before you realise that not everything is for you?»