Healing from environments that punished failure instead of nurturing growth.

It’s something we all understand on a basic level: we learn by making mistakes. From our earliest years, we stumble through new experiences—literally and figuratively. A toddler falls dozens of times before learning to walk. A student fumbles over piano keys or math problems before developing fluency. A young athlete gets back up again after missing the shot.

In every one of these cases, it’s the mistake that triggers growth. Not the perfection. Not the performance. The mistake.

This isn’t just a nice idea—it’s backed by research. Psychologist Janet Metcalfe has found that errors paired with corrective feedback often lead to better memory retention than getting the answer right the first time. The neuroscience behind learning supports this too: when we make mistakes, our brains generate an error signal—called “error-related negativity”—that helps us adjust and improve future decisions. Psychologists Robert and Elizabeth Bjork describe this as a “desirable difficulty”—the very struggle that deepens long-term learning.

Even mindset matters. Carol Dweck’s groundbreaking work on growth mindset (Mindset: The New Psychology of Success) shows that people who believe they can grow through effort are more resilient and more likely to embrace mistakes as stepping stones rather than signs of failure.

In healthy environments, we are allowed—even encouraged—to learn this way. Teachers, mentors, therapists, and spiritual leaders are ideally people who create space for failure because they understand that real learning takes time. It takes repetition, guidance, and patience. A student can’t be expected to perform perfectly while still learning. A child can’t be punished for not knowing what they haven’t yet been taught. And a seeker can’t grow spiritually if growth is contingent on flawless behavior.

But what happens when the people you’ve turned to for guidance don’t believe that?

What happens when you enter a community—one that promises transformation, healing, or spiritual maturity—and the very act of learning becomes a liability?

I lived in a place like that. A community whose public goal was “to learn to live to the glory of God.” The Mothers—the matriarchal spiritual leaders—distributed hours of teachings on cassette tapes. We were taught that we were there to grow. To learn. To become more like Christ.

And yet—mistakes were not allowed.

It was routine to be punished for “not being in the spirit.” For not performing well enough in the choir or the band in practice sessions. For choosing clothing that didn’t meet unwritten expectations. For not keeping up in the boys’ bootcamps. These weren’t moments of compassionate correction. These were moments of control. Public shame. Reprimand disguised as love.

The contradiction was sharp: we were there to learn, but punished for needing to.

Over time, I internalized the fear of being wrong—not just of making mistakes, but of being mistaken. I feared being singled out as less spiritual, less obedient, less worthy. I worried about how I looked, how I sounded, what I said—constantly scanning for signs that I wasn’t “in the spirit.”

And the punishments, I was told, were justified. Even healing. Pain, we were told, was proof of transformation. But what I’ve since learned—what many of us have—is that punishment is not the same as discipline, and that control is not the same as care.

In coercive environments, as scholars like Janja Lalich and Alexandra Stein have written, learning is replaced by performance. “Bounded choice” becomes the rule—you feel like you’re choosing, but your options are shaped by fear and enforced by shame. The group becomes your entire world, and any error—any deviation—feels life-threatening. Because in many ways, it is. Belonging is conditional. Acceptance is earned through compliance. There is no room for growth, only submission.

The long-term impact of this is profound. Many of us leave these groups and feel paralyzed by self-doubt. We question every decision. We fear failure. We don’t know how to trust ourselves—because we were never taught how.

But learning doesn’t work this way. Growth doesn’t work this way. And neither does healing.

We learn by doing, and sometimes doing it wrong.

We grow by failing, and getting up again.

We heal by reclaiming what was denied: the right to be wrong.

Because here’s the truth no coercive system can afford to admit: you cannot seek guidance from teachers who do not tolerate your humanity.

Real teachers walk with you. They make space for your questions, your uncertainty, your falling and rising again.

Real learning requires freedom. Real transformation welcomes process.

And real love? It never punishes you for not being perfect.

References:

• Metcalfe, J. (2017). Learning from Errors. Columbia University.
• Dweck, C. (2006). Mindset: The New Psychology of Success.
• Bjork, R. A., & Bjork, E. L. (1992). Desirable difficulties in learning.
• Lalich, J. (2004). Bounded Choice: True Believers and Charismatic Cults.
• Stein, A. (2017). Terror, Love and Brainwashing.