PASTORS IN PAIN: Why Pastors Must Acknowledge Their Own Woundedness.

Dr. E. Ken Harmon
Jul 15
4 min read

Updated: Jul 22

By Dr. E. Ken Harmon

My Calling into Ministry meant Going into My Past

My calling into ministry was both incredible and frightening. It was incredible for a couple of reasons: first, I had only been saved for a few months when Pastor Addis Moore later expressed that he saw something in me that compelled him to accelerate my development. Secondly, I felt as though I was now part of an structured plan that would guide me on the road to success. I hadn't felt this way since I left active duty in the U.S. Army.

However, the terrifying aspect that I didn't expect was in order to achieve any ministerial success, I would need to confront all the pain and trauma I had suppressed for years. In order to be used by God, the shame of being raped leading to sexual addiction needed to be addressed. The embarrassment of being a pastor who has gone through two divorces had to be faced. God made it abundantly clear that if I didn't let Him heal my trauma, it would return to bite me at an in-opportune time.

Ministry Doesn’t Make You Immune

Most pastors are quick to care for the pain of others. We preach healing, offer counsel, and pray over broken hearts. But what happens when the shepherd is limping too? Far too often, we pastors ignore our own pain. We spiritualize it, minimize it, or file it away under “I’ll deal with that after Easter.” Spoiler alert: you won’t. But here’s the truth: You cannot lead people to wholeness while denying your own brokenness—no matter how anointed your sermons are.

Let’s clear this up: ministry is not a force field against suffering. If anything, ministry will amplifiy any unattended or lingering wound. Why? Ministry means you have a front-row seat to human pain—with a backstage pass to your own.

Add in long hours, impossible expectations, and 47 opinions on what a “real sermon” sounds like—and, well… you might need more than just coffee to keep going. Ministry frequently involves praying for another person's healing while (1) silently questioning who is praying for your own, because (2) you are aware that you are also dealing with the same issue you are praying about.

When pastors don’t deal with their own wounds, here’s what tends to happen:

Emotional Numbness – You can preach fire from the pulpit, but feel nothing when someone hugs you and says, “That changed my life.”
Compassion Fatigue – You start thinking things like, “Did they really need to call me at 10:45 p.m. about their cat’s spiritual anxiety?”
Unhealthy Coping – Let’s be honest: binge-watching is pain avoidnace and might not be the best replacement for rest or reflection.
Unintended Harm – Hurting pastors can unintentionally lead from a place of defense instead of love. We become porcupines in a petting zoo—sharp when we were meant to be soft.
The Illusion of Strength – This is where the halo effect kicks in. Because you’re “the pastor,” people often assume you’re cognitively and spiritually invincible. They see your pulpit presence that projects perfection; but behind the scenes, you’re wrestling just like everyone else. And if you start believing the illusion too, you may avoid the very healing you preach to others.

Jesus—The Wounded Healer

Henri Nouwen introduced the powerful concept of the “wounded healer”—a leader who ministers not in spite of their wounds, but through them. The impact of this book changed my disposition in ministry. It meant that I didn't have to be embarrased or shamed becuase of my past, but encouraged me to serve through it. Even Jesus didn’t hide His scars after the resurrection. He showed them. And through those visible wounds, Thomas found his faith.

So no—your story doesn’t disqualify you. It might be someone else’s path to hope. However, my warning to you is this, it's best to put out a private smolder before it becomes a public fire.

While I may be preaching to the choir, self-awareness of ones struggles isn’t self-pity. It’s spiritual maturity. King David didn’t say, “Lord, help me be strong and impressive.” He said, “Search me, O God, and know my heart.” (Psalm 139:23)

A few ways to check in with your soul (and not just your sermon slides):

Create margin for stillness – Not every spiritual breakthrough happens at a conference. Sometimes it happens on your back porch… in sweatpants.
Talk to someone with no church keys – Pastoral Counselors, Clinicians, mentors, and spiritual directors don’t care if your attendance dropped last quarter. They care about you.
Share through writing – Journaling allows you to release "it" (whatever "it" may be). Crafting sincere, psalm-like prayers is therapeutic.
Be honest with God – God doesn’t need your curated pastoral voice. He’s okay with your confused, tired, unfiltered self. Stop being pastoral, and just be broken in His presence.

You’re Allowed to Be Human

Contrary to what your inner critic (or that one overly enthusiastic deacon) might say—you don’t have to be perfect to be a pastor. You’re allowed to be in a healing process. You’re allowed to be tired. Now this may be wierd, but you’re allowed to love Jesus deeply… and still need a nap, a snack, and a counselor.

People aren’t looking for superpastors—they’re looking for real ones. The kind who bleed, who hope, who get frustrated… and who still show up with grace.

Final Thought

If you’re weary, hurting, or just wondering if you’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling—yes. Yes, you are. You’re not just a ministry machine. You are a beloved child of God. And your healing matters not just for your church—but for your soul. So pause. Breathe. Laugh when you can. Cry when you must. Let God minister to you—not just through you because the Shepherd of your soul knows your name. And unlike everyone else… He’s not expecting you to fix anything.

He expects you to follow this straightforward truth: faith without works is dead - Get help!

GOT QUESTIONS? Connect w/Stop Living Wounded via: