Tactics of Manipulative Church Members, Part 4

The Survivor—or the Afflicted

Another tactic you’ll run into from manipulative church members is what I call the Survivor—or the Afflicted. This is the person who’s either gone through something awful (or says they have) and uses that suffering as leverage to control the room, avoid correction, or push their own agenda.

Now, this is tricky territory. Because real trauma exists. Real affliction exists. Some people have survived sexual abuse. Some have buried children, fought through cancer, or walked away from car wrecks where others didn’t. And that kind of pain marks you. It reshapes how you see the world. I’ve buried loved ones too early. I’ve seen enough grief to know how easily it creeps in and turns the soul heavy. So this isn’t armchair theorizing.

That said, let’s be honest—there’s a cottage industry around victimhood these days. Trauma is currency. And while some people limp through life with genuine wounds, others figure out that being “the hurting one” gets them attention, pity, influence, or a pass on responsibility. And so they play it up. Or, in some cases, they just make it up.

The same dynamic plays out with the afflicted. We all know someone who’s perpetually sick or allergic to everything under the sun. Now, I’m not dismissing that out of hand—some of that stuff is real. I’ve got my own list of foods I avoid unless I want my throat to close up. But there’s a line between living with limitations and constantly dragging everyone else into your personal health saga. When your condition becomes a conversation anchor, that’s not just bad manners—it’s spiritual immaturity.

And that’s the real issue: making your suffering the center of gravity. Some folks do it intentionally, others don’t even realize it. Pain turns them inward. Every baby reminds them of the one they lost. Every wedding reminds them they’re still single. Even a casual dinner invite feels like it needs a 20-minute disclaimer about their dietary restrictions. Eventually, their suffering becomes the lens they see everything through. And without realizing it, they make everything about them.

They might even think they’re being helpful—relating to others, sharing their story, “raising awareness.” But what’s really happening is a quiet redirection: back to their pain, their story, their control. It’s subtle. It’s slippery. And in their mind, it’s justified. But the outcome is the same: self-focus that drowns out everything else.

How do you spot it? It’s usually not hard. They bring it up—constantly. And not just in a vulnerable, open-handed way, but in a way that subtly says, “Don’t challenge me. Don’t correct me. Don’t expect too much from me.” Their affliction becomes a shield. Their trauma becomes a trump card.

But don’t swing too far the other way, either. Not everyone who talks about their pain is playing a game. Some people really are in the middle of something awful, and they’re trying to stay afloat. My grandmother, for example, couldn’t handle fireworks. They reminded her of the bombing of Dresden—which she lived through as a girl. She wasn’t trying to control anyone. She just couldn’t unhear the bombs. Sometimes people talk about the hard stuff because they need to. Let’s not become so suspicious we shame the hurting into silence.

So what do you do when you suspect someone’s veering into manipulative territory?

First, preach on this stuff. Call people to see themselves in light of Christ, not just their wounds. Show them that their pain may explain them, but it doesn’t get to define them. Help them see how easy it is to turn inward and how dangerous that path can be.

Second, when it becomes a pattern—when every conversation circles back to their suffering—talk to them. Not with a hammer, but with clarity. Say something like:

“I’ve noticed a habit of steering conversations back to that same pain or condition. I know you’ve been through a lot. I just don’t think it’s healthy for you—or for others.”

How they respond will tell you a lot.

If they lash out—accusing you of being cold, unkind, or insensitive—that’s a red flag. That kind of response reveals the power their pain has, not just over them, but over you. They’re using it as a tool.

But if they respond with surprise, sorrow, or even a little embarrassment—good. That’s someone who’s struggling, not scheming. They need grace. They need a gentle hand and long-term shepherding. Stay near them. Remind them who they are in Christ, over and over again. Walk with them until they start to believe it again.

But don’t coddle manipulation. Pain is real. But so is sin. And using your wounds to wield control is both.