Trauma changes how we move through the world. It might come from a sudden loss or a violent event, or it may unfold gradually over the course of years, leaving a person with a persistent and heavy weight. And trauma does not simply disappear with time. It lingers, reshaping how we see ourselves, others, and even God. For many, the journey toward healing means rediscovering a sense of peace, finding ways to feel safe again. Prayer and meditation can play a role in that journey toward healing. However, for those carrying deep wounds, prayer and meditation can sometimes bring up difficult emotions or memories, making the process more challenging.
My interest in the intersection of spirituality, meditation and healing has led me to reflect on what it means to approach prayer in a trauma-informed way. How can practices like centering prayer and Christian meditation, for example, be adapted to meet the needs of those who have experienced deep pain? How can these ancient traditions be practiced in a way that respects each person’s unique journey toward healing? Here is what I’ve learned.
Make room for safety. Trauma can leave us feeling raw, and being alone with our thoughts is not always easy. Silence, which is meant to be a refuge, can sometimes seem to amplify everything we would rather not think about.
Centering prayer is one way to try to rest in God’s presence. It is a modern form of contemplative prayer rooted in ancient Christian practices. Here’s how it works: You choose a simple, sacred word (“peace,” “love” or “Jesus,” for example) and let it serve as your anchor. As you sit quietly, whenever thoughts or emotions come to distract you, gently return to your chosen word, allowing it to guide you back to the awareness of God. It is not about pushing thoughts away or trying to empty your mind. It is more like sitting by a river, letting each thought float by without getting caught up in the current. For those living with trauma, this practice can help create a sense of safety in the stillness, though it may take time to settle in.
It’s OK if the quiet seems too much at first. Maybe it helps to start small, just a few minutes a day. Or maybe it helps to play music to create a softer space for reflection. Sometimes the presence of others—a prayer group, a friend—can make the silence feel less lonely. The goal is not to get it “right.” It’s to find a space where we can breathe a little easier.
Wrestling with these questions is part of the healing. Prayer, especially when we are hurting, can bring up questions we would rather not ask: Why did this happen? Where was God when everything fell apart? These aren’t easy questions, and trauma-informed spirituality knows that. It does not try to sweep them away with quick answers. It makes room for them.
The psalms remind us that it’s OK to bring our grief and anger to God. Psalm 22 begins with the raw cry: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” These words give voice to the moments when God feels far away. They remind us that being honest in prayer, admitting that we don’t understand, that we’re angry or lost, isn’t a lack of faith. It’s a way of trusting that God can handle even our most difficult emotions.
Allow God’s word to sink in. Christian meditation offers another path. It is similar to centering prayer but with a different focus—often involving a short passage from Scripture. You might take a verse, like “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps 46:10), and let it sit with you. Repeat it slowly, allowing the words to unfold in your heart. Christian meditation is not about analyzing the text or finding a deep insight; it’s about allowing God’s word to become a companion in the silence. It can be a way of letting the words wash over you, helping you feel less alone in your struggles. This kind of meditation does not require a perfect setting or a long-time commitment. Sometimes, it’s just about taking a moment in the midst of your day, letting a simple line of Scripture remind you that you are held, even when everything feels uncertain.
Trauma does not happen in isolation. It is shaped by the world around us—by our families, our communities and the bigger forces that affect our lives. Trauma-informed spirituality understands that the wounds we carry may be intertwined with generational or societal pain. It recognizes that trauma can be passed down through families or amplified by experiences like racism, displacement or exclusion.
That is why a compassionate approach matters. When we engage in practices like centering prayer or meditation in our communities, it’s important to listen—to make sure that people feel seen and understood. It is about creating spaces where everyone’s story has a place, where no one feels like they need to fit into a mold.
Trauma-informed spirituality respects the need for boundaries. Some of us find peace in solitude, but many of us need the strength that comes from being with others. Trauma-informed spirituality values the support we can give each other—whether through shared silence, a gentle conversation or just knowing that someone else is walking a similar path. But trust takes time, and it’s OK to take that time. There’s no rush, no pressure. It says that however much or little you want to share, that’s enough.
Healing from trauma is rarely straightforward. It’s a winding road, full of stops and starts. Practices like centering prayer and meditation can be companions on that road, offering small steps toward reconnecting with God, with ourselves, with others. But trauma-informed spirituality knows better than to promise that prayer will take away all the pain. It does not say that meditation will make everything clear. What it does offer is the hope that even in the midst of pain, there can be moments of feeling whole.
If you are carrying something heavy, if the quiet feels too loud, maybe there’s a way to begin. Maybe it’s just a moment in prayer, a moment where you let yourself bring the doubts and the hurt to God. You don’t need to have it all figured out. There’s no perfect way to pray. There’s just the hope that even in silence, God’s love is there—steady, patient, waiting for you.
