Paying To Lose My Faith
In 1997, I was an 18-year-old, just beginning to navigate the world and my own identity. I was figuring out who I was and how to reconcile the deep sense of my sexuality with the Christian faith that had always been my compass. The sermons I’d heard painted a stark picture - sin, wrath, and judgment, especially for someone like me. The message I absorbed was that being gay meant being flawed, unworthy of love, and doomed to fail. It left me feeling like I was walking a tightrope between who I was and who I was supposed to be.
Amidst this turmoil, I thought I’d found hope. BodyBuilders, a Soul Survivor course, promised spiritual growth and a deeper faith. For £2,500, it offered community, self-reflection, and guidance - or so I believed. What it really did was push me to suppress my identity to fit a rigid, narrow interpretation of faith. Instead of drawing closer to the God I longed for, I felt pulled into a cold, exclusionary doctrine. By the end, I was further from God, self-acceptance, and the life I’d yearned for.
The bitter irony? That £2,500 could have been spent on something - anything - that helped me understand myself better. Instead, I invested in a course that left me more disconnected, reinforcing the idea that I had to erase parts of myself to belong. Fast forward to 2024, and the cracks in Soul Survivor’s glossy exterior have been laid bare. Allegations against Mike Pilavachi and the organisation he ran have been substantiated. The very group that promised to guide and uplift us did the opposite - leaving many of us scarred.
In light of this, a fellow attendee and I wrote to Soul Survivor in April 2024, demanding a refund. This wasn’t just about the money; it was about accountability. The refund would help provide a small measure of justice, offering the chance to reclaim some of the financial burden from a course that did more harm than good. It would also enable us to seek proper support and healing, which was denied by the very institution that promised to nurture us.
Our letter explained how the course hadn’t just been a poor experience - it had contributed to what we now know as spiritual abuse. As a gay man, I was encouraged to bury my identity, to see myself as broken and flawed. Instead of being given the tools to embrace who I truly was, I was made to feel like I was defective.
The response? A cold, dismissive email from David Mitchell, Chair of the Trustees of Soul Survivor Watford:
“In your email, you mention that you are seeking a refund for a course you undertook more than 25 years ago. As far as I am aware, you have not raised any previous complaint, in particular as you seek a refund of the course fee, that you were not provided with the course which you contracted for. Additionally, Soul Survivor Watford was only incorporated in 2019 and has no records relating to the Bodybuilders’ course from 25 years ago. In such circumstances, on the basis of the information provided in your email, this is not a request we can properly grant.”
Is this a joke? Using a technicality about incorporation dates to deny accountability? This wasn’t just insulting - it was an active attempt to erase my experience and the pain I’ve carried for decades. What angers me most is the arrogance of their response. An organisation that prided itself on “guiding” young people now hides behind bureaucracy to dodge responsibility. Instead of addressing the trauma they caused, they’ve chosen to bury their heads in the sand, hoping the rest of us will go quietly.
But I won’t.
This isn’t just about a refund. It’s about recognising the damage Soul Survivor caused and the enduring impact on people like me. The £2,500 represents more than money - it symbolises what I was denied: support, clarity, and the chance to be myself without fear or shame. Yet Soul Survivor continues to shirk responsibility, as if their 2019 incorporation magically absolves them of past wrongdoing.
Their reply perfectly encapsulates their failure. Rather than facing up to their history and making amends, they’ve chosen to dismiss the truth. But I won’t let them get away with it.
I will not be erased, nor will my story. There are others like me - people who were made to feel small, unworthy, and broken under the guise of faith.
So, Soul Survivor, you can’t erase me. You can’t erase my truth.
And just in case you’ve forgotten—I exist.