Silence and submission in church spaces
“Let the woman learn in silence.”
“Wives, submit to your husbands.”
“Do not permit a woman to teach.”
“God is a God of order.”
I heard those words before I even understood them.
And I learned quickly what they meant —
Be quiet. Stay small. Know your place.
Church was supposed to be a safe space.
A place to encounter God, to be known, to be free.
But for many of us — especially those of us raised as good Christian girls —
church became the first place we learned to silence ourselves in the name of holiness.
I watched as men preached, led, decided, declared.
And women served in the background.
Faithful. Invisible. Applauded for how well they stayed behind the scenes.
I learned that to be a woman in church meant knowing when to speak and when to stay silent.
Mostly silent.
That submission wasn’t just a personal posture — it was the spiritual ceiling above my head.
And even when I felt the Spirit stir in me,
even when I had something to say — something burning in my bones —
I hesitated.
Because somewhere deep inside, I had been taught:
A woman’s voice can be disruptive.
A woman’s authority can be dangerous.
A woman out of order can dishonor God.
✧ Have you ever swallowed your truth to keep the peace in a spiritual space?
✧ What did it cost you?
We were taught to be careful with our callings.
To filter our gifts through someone else’s permission.
To be supportive, not central.
To be passionate — but not too bold.
Smart — but never too assertive.
Visible — but not too visible.
And we were told it was godly.
But when silence is demanded instead of chosen,
when submission is used to sideline and suppress,
that’s not spiritual order —
that’s spiritual control.
I think of all the women I know with fire in their bellies,
words unspoken, songs unsung, callings unopened —
because someone told them their voice was too much for God.
And I think of how many of us learned to make ourselves smaller,
not because God asked us to,
but because the church couldn’t handle us whole.
✧ What would your faith look like if you were allowed to bring your full voice to the table?
✧ Who told you your presence had to come with conditions?
Now, I’m unlearning the idea that silence equals submission,
that submission equals holiness,
that holiness equals disappearing.
And so I’m learning to raise my voice again.
Not in defiance, but in faith.
Not to tear down — but to rebuild something true.
Because I no longer believe that silence is my offering.
My voice is.
✧ Where are you being called to speak — even if it shakes the room?
✧ What if your voice is not rebellion, but worship?
