By: Rev. Dr. Tyler Schwaller
Feb. 19, 2026
The first time I stayed the night with a friend who had a cat, I discovered that I am “very allergic” to pet dander. That’s how I described my allergy for a long time, with “very” covering the severity of my body’s reaction. It was not only irritation, but it also took great effort simply to breathe, a struggle to pull in enough air with each breath. Even more, relief did not come quickly once I was free from the dander, but the heaviness in my chest could hold on for days.
Now, I know that I have asthma. Now, I know that what “very allergic” means for me is the inflammation of my lungs, that there is a systemic cause for my respiratory distress.
I might never have known this except that my husband wanted a pet during a period of our lives when we lived apart for stretches of the year for work. I eventually relented, convinced by a friend to be open to the breed of her dog, which I could be around without trouble. And so, it came to be that we now have an adorable Bichon Frisé named Alison (pictured). But it turns out that living with a dog, even one whose allergens I better tolerate, is different from spending a few hours at a time with one. Ultimately, I found myself at the allergist’s office, prepared to try allergy shots, and learned more importantly that I have asthma.
The course of treatment has been quite successful, but this is not a medical advertisement. The reason I share this story is because of what happened at my first appointment. My allergist said something powerful that I have thought about regularly ever since.
In addition to the immunology plan, she recommended a daily medicated inhaler. I was prepared for shots, not daily medication, and so I expressed some skepticism, inquiring if it was truly necessary. I told her that I run every day and don’t really have troubles apart from the dog, so I thought I could breathe fine in general and didn’t need something extra.
She could have explained to me how one of the tests I had done showed that my lungs were highly inflamed. I later looked up that number, and the surprise would have been enough for me to let her prescribe anything.
But she didn’t resort to technical language and explanations. Instead, she did two very important things.
First, she affirmed my experience. She honored my own sense of my body and responded that she had no doubt that I felt as okay as I said, and that I’d probably learned to cope well.
Then, she helped me imagine that another way is possible. “But you might not know how good you should feel,” she continued, giving me immediate, profound pause.
If she had told me the bare facts, that would have been enough for me. But she did something deeper and helped me take seriously that there could be conditions better than I had considered for myself. I think about the power of that expression all the time.
You might not know how good you should feel.
We adapt to our circumstances, learning to keep breathing however we are able, literally and metaphorically. And that matters. It is important to affirm the strategies and adaptations we make to survive, to recognize our resilience, skills, capacities, and capabilities to do what we need to do.
But/and, knowing that our circumstances can—and should—enable our well-being is transformative. Possibility engenders hope, the kind of hope that is not mere fantasy but that holds together the complexity of recognizing that the way things are is not sufficient and that we are worthy of flourishing.
Church should be a place where people experience how good they can and should feel. The good news of the gospel is that Jesus prioritizes the vulnerable, insisting that he came so that those in need of protection might not only have life but have it abundantly (John 10:10). And Jesus calls his disciples to do likewise.
Yet still, churches too often become sites for abuse. Yet still, there are clergy who exploit their role as caregivers to cross boundaries, to groom, to gaslight, to prop up their own egos, and to take far more than they give. Yet still, there are church leaders who won’t act in any ways that might make favorite sons uncomfortable (and they usually are sons), let alone hold them accountable, while those who have been harmed bear both the weight of their experience and the added burden of deciding whether it’s even worth it to speak up.
To all who have been hurt within and by the church, you might not know how good you should feel. But it’s true: you are meant to be well and to be treated well.
If you’ve experienced things that feel off, let’s talk. You are not alone. You are not crazy. You deserve to be regarded with dignity and respect, and you deserve to feel empowered by the gospel, to be nourished in faithfulness, and to experience the love of God in this life, here and now.
If you’re clergy, or if you’re in any position of leadership by which you hold people within your care, consider: do you know if people feel good around you? I’m not asking whether people are never frustrated. “Feeling good” doesn’t mean no one ever experiences the challenges and friction that come with living in community and encountering different perspectives and ways of being. I mean: do you know if people feel like they can be themselves around you, that they can bring out the best of themselves in your presence and under your leadership?
This isn’t a question you can simply ask. In an unhealthy power dynamic, people may say whatever appeases the person in authority to avoid further harm. Or they may have grown so accustomed to the dynamic they do not know that things can and should be otherwise. So, check in with yourself. How do you want people to feel about themselves? How do you want people to feel about each other, about their community? And then, how do you make that known? How do you make sure your impact aligns with your values and your intentions?
We can’t know except through attention and practice. The more we foster genuine well-being, the clearer the standard becomes.
Now that my asthma is well managed, I notice more about my breathing than ever before. I am far more aware of minor irritants, which, quite frankly, can be unpleasant. But that’s because I know how it feels to breathe freely. Each moment of recognition becomes an opportunity to be grateful that what I notice is evident precisely because I know how good I should feel. And now, I expect it. I take care to sustain the conditions of my wellness.
Likewise, when we live together in ways that enable mutual flourishing, people notice when things aren’t going well, and they feel free to say so. Either take that as a sign that you’re doing something right, that you’re cultivating relationships where people expect what is good and life-giving and hold enough trust to convey where and how extra care is warranted. Or take that as a sign that things are seriously not okay and that there is work to do to ensure that each person can be safe and well, which requires first developing the trust that well-being is indeed the priority.
Church should be a place where people are nurtured with integrity, but this necessitates intentional effort. An excellent therapist once taught me, “The only things that should happen, scientifically speaking, are those for which the conditions for them to occur actually happen.” If church is a place where people should feel good, then we must do what it takes to make it so. We must do no harm. We must care for the most vulnerable. We must love our neighbors. And we must resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves. In short, we must live out the gospel.
May we each know that God’s vision for us is to have life and have it abundantly. And may we work assiduously to create the conditions by which abundant living can be the reality for each and every one of us.
If things are not okay for you in your experience of the church, or if you're not quite sure, and you would like support, please contact us at 1-800-523-8390 ext. 700, and my email is [email protected]. The General Commission on the Status and Role of Women works specifically to address gender-based inequities, including sexual harassment and sexual misconduct, but we can also try to help connect you with other resources as appropriate.
Schwaller is the director of sexual ethics for the General Commission on the Status and Role of Women.