Truth-Telling in the Church Shouldn’t Cost You Everything — But It Often Does
“Why Can’t You Just Move On?” — The Question That Dangerously Misses the Mark
Over the last few years, something has been happening—slowly, painfully, yet undeniably. There’s been a reckoning.
Across social media, across church pews, across dinner tables, men and women are quietly, and sometimes loudly, walking away from ministries, organizations, and individuals who are not living what they preach. Not just for sinful things they've done, but also for the sins they've refused to acknowledge. Not just for sins of commission, but for sins of omission.
The shift has exposed a problem far deeper than failed leaders or broken systems. It’s exposing a culture. A culture within Christianity that often upholds image over integrity, authority over accountability, and marriage over safety.
Speaking the Truth Comes at a Cost
I want to take a moment to share an example of this that I’ve seen playing out recently. Naghmeh Panahi is a woman who has been through unimaginable pain—and yet she continues to speak up with honesty and strength. I read her book years ago, and have stayed connected to her story since then.
Her story isn’t mine, but parts of it echo my own — from serving on the mission field while enduring abuse behind closed doors, to learning what it means to speak up after years of being silenced. And I know I’m not alone. Her story reflects what so many women have lived but felt unable to name.
If you’re not familiar with her story, years ago, Naghmeh became known across evangelical spaces for her tireless efforts to free her husband, Saeed, from imprisonment. Names as prominent as Franklin Graham stood with her. The Church rallied.
Until she disclosed the abuse in her marriage.
And like a light switch being flipped, many of those same supporters vanished. Why? Because she had dared to tell the truth. She had dared to expose that sometimes the person we are praying for in our Christian circles is the very one inflicting the pain. And that, in much of Christian culture, is unacceptable—not for the abuser, but for the truth-teller.
When the Church Condones Abuse
Fast forward to today—Naghmeh continues to advocate for women. And recently called out her own church for sharing messages from the pulpit that suggest women should endure abuse in their marriage to honor God. She didn’t do it flippantly. She did it in grief, and in love. She did it because someone had to.
And then the pushback came.
Not from outsiders. Not from atheists. But from Christians.
I watched as comment after comment began to appear under Naghmeh’s videos.
“Why can’t you just move on?”
“Why can’t you give this to God quietly?”
“Why do you have to talk about another ministry?”
Let’s pause here. Because these aren't just casual questions — they’re loaded. They imply that telling the truth is more damaging than what actually happened. They suggest that silence is somehow the holier option. But it’s not.
Silence Doesn’t Heal — It Harms
Silence kills.
It kills voices.
It kills spirits.
And sometimes — it kills bodies.
I know. Because that was a part of my story, too.
For years, I stayed silent. I believed that honoring God meant staying in an environment of intimidation and fear. I believed that exposing the truth was somehow more destructive than the abuse itself. Until one woman showed up at a random church we were visiting one day. Though I don’t believe it was random at all, I believe it was providence.
She was a survivor herself. She named what I was going through. And suddenly, I could breathe again, and I began to feel like I had hope again. Her voice was a part of my freedom. That’s why I do the work I do today.
What Happens After a Woman Escapes
But I want to talk about what happens after a woman finally leaves. After she begins to find her voice. Because this is where another level of trauma can emerge—secondary victimization or secondary abuse.
“Can’t You Just Move On?” — The Message Behind the Message
I remember an old acquaintance reaching out to me, years after we’d lost touch. She’d been watching from afar as my own marriage was ending due to abuse. She knew what had happened. She saw the pain. But when she finally wrote to me, her message wasn’t one of support. It was a passive aggressive suggestion: “Can’t you just move on?”
Not: “Are you safe?”
Not: “How can I support you?”
But: “Stop talking.”
That was not an isolated moment. Many women have lost friends, followers, even church family for speaking up. Not because they are yelling, or raging, or attacking. But simply because they are telling the truth.
Before You Ask Her to Move On…
Let’s get honest for a moment. If you're reading this and feeling a little uncomfortable, I want to ask you to stay with me.
Because if you're a Christian who has ever found yourself wondering why a woman keeps talking about the abuse she lived through… if you’ve thought, “Isn’t it time to move on?” —
I want to invite you to pause. And this isn’t to shame you.
But to ask some honest, necessary questions.
Why do we cheer when a cancer survivor runs marathons and launches awareness campaigns, but criticize a domestic violence survivor for doing the same?
Why do we support mothers who’ve lost children to drunk driving as they fight for legislation, but tell women who’ve lost their sense of safety and dignity in their own homes to just "let it go"?
Why is abuse (sexual, emotional, or marital) the one trauma we expect people to heal from in silence?
What These Women Are Really Doing
Let me be very clear: just because a woman speaks up does not mean she is unhealed or bitter. She is brave. Sometimes speaking up is actually the last thing she would ever want to do—but she just can’t unsee what she has seen, or unlearn what she has learned. She is choosing to turn the worst chapter of her life into a lifeline for someone else. And she is trying to keep another woman from living the same nightmare.
Something I’ve learned throughout my years of working in abuse advocacy and recovery is that once a woman is able to regain her voice after abuse, this is a huge part of the healing process. We shouldn’t deny them this.
Yet how is she treated?
She’s ghosted on social media.
Her invitations dry up.
Her church pulls away.
She’s branded as “divisive.”
She's told she’s dangerous to the community—not the abuser, but her.
This is a deep and devastating betrayal. And it’s happening in the name of Christ.
Who Are We Really Following?
We have to ask ourselves, “Who are we following if our systems protect abusers more than survivors?” I would venture to say not Jesus, because He sat with the hurting women of the Bible, not ostracized them.
Do we honestly believe that God values marriage more than He values the people in it?
Until we wrestle with these questions, we will continue to re-traumatize those we should be protecting.
And maybe most tragically of all—we will lose the ability to reflect Christ to the very people who need Him most.
This Isn’t Bitterness. It’s Truth.
This isn’t about bitterness. It’s about truth.
It’s not about dragging ministries through the mud. It’s about refusing to let messages of silence and suffering go unchallenged.
It’s not about living in the past. It’s about using the hard things from the past to protect someone else’s future.
Ask the Better Question
So the next time you’re tempted to ask, “Why can’t she just move on?” Ask instead, “Why am I so uncomfortable with her voice?”
It might just be the Holy Spirit trying to wake something up in you, too.
Darah Ashlie
Darah Ashlie is the President of Restored for Good Ministries, a Trauma and Abuse Recovery Coach, and an avid writer with a heart to share the wisdom God has given her through years of walking alongside women in life’s messiest places. She writes with compassion and clarity from her own healing journey and comes alongside women ready to reclaim their voice, rebuild their lives, and live in the freedom God intended. Connect with her at https://www.youtube.com/@darahashlie or on social media @DarahAshlie.