Psalms and the Healing Arc of Our Stories

From Abandonment to Belonging: A Journey Through Attachment and the Psalms

Where Healing and Scripture Meet

As a therapist, the counseling room is my sacred space—where wounds speak, truth emerges, and healing begins to take shape. It’s where therapeutic insight meets the deep longing of the soul—the spiritual hunger for connection, meaning, and belonging.

When these dynamics converge, healing becomes not just clinical but sacred. Therapy helps us hold pain with care; faith invites us to hold it with hope. Together, they make space for deep truth to be met by something greater.

In my work as a counselor, I draw from attachment theory and Emotionally Focused Therapy, approaches that help me listen beneath the surface. I pay attention not just to words, but to gentle signals — a shift in breath, a pause, the emotion carried in a voice. These patterns speak to our deep longing to feel safe, connected, and understood.

And when we enter Scripture with those same instincts, especially the Psalms, we hear echoes of our own stories — cries for comfort, pleas for belonging, hopes for steady love. These ancient prayers don’t simply instruct us; they accompany us, tracing the sacred movement from disconnection to homecoming.

The Psalms invite us to bring our full selves — our longings, our wounds, our truths. They show us that our need for connection is not weakness; it's sacred. And that same need shows up in the counseling room, in our relationships, and deep in our emotional core. Attachment theory helps us name this longing clearly: the ache to feel safe, seen, and soothed. Not just once—but reliably. It’s what we hope for in a therapist, a friend, a partner. And, even, in God.

A Secure Base—Psychologically and Spiritually

And if the Psalms are honest about anything, it’s this: we all need somewhere to go and someone to return to. That is the heart of attachment—a place where rupture is met with repair, and silence gives way to sacred presence.

The psychologist and psychoanalyst, John Bowlby, who is often called the father of Attachment theory, called this safe space, a secure base. 

The developmental psychologist Mary Ainsworth showed us how we flourish when someone, as this secure base, responds consistently and tenderly — as someone who sees, soothes, and stays.

Whether we’re 8 or 80, we yearn for grounded presence. A partner who doesn’t fix but listens. A friend who remembers your grief anniversary and says, “I’m thinking of you.” A therapist who stays steady through your storm. And yes—a God who is not abstract, but attuned. Who meets our internal cries with external faithfulness.

This longing for secure connection, a secure base, is more than psychological. It’s spiritual. It is the deep cry of “be with me.” The hope of Immanuel—God with us, not as a doctrine, but as embodied presence.

The Emotional and Spiritual Arc: Psalm 22 to Psalm 23

Before we explore the emotional movement between these two Psalms, I’d like to share for you the raw lament of Psalm 22:1–15. The psalm is long and long layered, rich with anguish and honest pleading. But we won’t read it all today — just the moments that help us chart the movement from rupture to repair. These selected verses let us hear the psalmist’s emotional disorientation, embodied lament, and the faint but persistent memory of connection. I invite you to listen, as if these words might give voice to something hidden in your own story…

Verses 1–2 My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer; and by night, but find no rest.

Verses 6–8 But I am a worm, and not human; scorned by others, and despised by the people. All who see me mock at me; they make mouths at me, they shake their heads: “Commit your cause to the Lord; let God deliver — let God rescue the one in whom God delights!”

Verses 9–11 Yet it was you who took me from the womb; you kept me safe on my mother’s breast. On you I was cast from my birth, and since my mother bore me, you have been my God. Do not be far from me, for trouble is near and there is no one to help.

Verses 14–15 I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax; it is melted within my breast. My mouth is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to my jaws; you lay me in the dust of death.

Now, let’s explore how this lamenting psalm reflects the emotional arc of attachment rupture—and how Psalm 23 offers a vision of repair and belonging.

Psalm 22: The Ache of Abandonment

It opens with a piercing cry: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” This isn’t mild disappointment. 

This is attachment protest — the soul’s rhythm flooded with despair, a heart longing for responsiveness and finding silence.

“I am a worm, not human” echoes internalized shame. The psalmist collapses inward. Relational rupture distorts not only mood, but identity.

Yet even in their anguish, The psalmist experiences a flicker of remembered attunement: “You brought me out of the womb… made me trust in you.” That memory offers some emotional regulation — It’s a tether to past connection. A reminder that trust once lived in the body.

But the spiral continues. The psalmist cries: “I am poured out like water… my heart is like wax.”

This is emotional trauma embodied. A somatic, bodily collapse. And scripture doesn’t rush to correct it—it listens. It holds space. Beneath the protest lies longing. Beneath silence lies the hope of repair.

Then, Psalm 23 enters — not as contradiction, but as comfort. 

Psalm 23: The Return to Belonging 

1 God is my shepherd; I shall not want. 2 You make me lie down in green pastures; You lead me beside still waters. 3 You restore my soul. You lead me in paths of righteousness for the sake of Your name.

4 Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff— they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of God my whole life long.

It’s like a reassuring whisper. A sudden awareness. A realization that pierces through the darkness: “God is my shepherd; I shall not want.” Now, we see that God is not far, but near. A steady guide. A secure base. The psalmist expands on this awareness and recognizes God’s presence, “You make me lie down… lead me beside still waters.” “You restore my soul.” This is attunement. This is Love that steadies us when we cannot steady ourselves. It’s emotional presence. And the body is finally able to find peace again. 

And as we go on, you can see that the valley still remains, but the fear shifts: “Even though I walk through the darkest valley… you are with me.” Fear now becomes bearable in the presence of a trusted other. “You prepare a table… anoint my head… my cup overflows.” The feeling of exclusion becomes invitation. Shame becomes honor. This is secure attachment, connection, and acceptance that is spiritually embodied.

Embodied Presence: Living the Arc

And in all of this, we begin to recognize: God is not just a distant observer of our healing journey — God is the steady presence. The one who listens, attunes, and stays. Who meets our emotional protest with compassion. Who holds our fragmentation with tenderness, and patiently companions us toward integration.

Healing has occurred — not just through techniques or insight, but through the sacred presence of a Love that sees and stays. Psalm 22 and 23 embody this movement: from protest to presence, from rupture to repair. The soul’s rhythm settles. The heart remembers. And these ancient words become a living experience.

And here is the mystery: that same Spirit dwells in us. The Divine Presence we meet in scripture is not confined to the page—it animates us. It moves through attuned presence, sacred listening, and gentle repair. We become secure bases for one another. Not perfect ones, but real ones. Embodied love is the invitation. God-with-us becomes God-in-us, extending belonging outward through us.

Four Invitations for Enacting Attachment Repair

This journey isn’t just poetic—it’s practical. The path from abandonment to belonging shows up in how we relate to others. I’d like to share with you four invitations to enact God’s steady love:

Be Steady In anxious relationships, consistency heals. Show up again and again, and that steadiness whispers: “You’re worth coming back for.”

Be Curious When someone withdraws or lashes out, pause. Ask: “What story speaks beneath this?” Curiosity is sacred—it leads to attunement, not judgment.

Be With You don’t have to fix the problem. You don’t have to fix the valley. Just walk through it. Your presence is often the most healing intervention.

Be Kind A soft word. A gentle touch. A small mercy. These become lifelines. They say: “You matter. You are seen.”

A Benediction of Belonging

Together, these four invitations—steadiness, curiosity, presence, and kindness—quiet the chaos of disconnection and speak healing into our relationships. They remind the weary soul that: your presence matters, your story matters, and you are worthy of love. 

So, from the ache of Psalm 22 to the comfort of Psalm 23, we’ve walked a tender path of repair—where the soul relearns what it means to be held. You are not too far gone, not too much, not alone. Because God walks beside you. The Spirit holds space within you. 

Love arrives in those who offer presence. 



So go with courage. 

Offer the refuge you’ve been given. 

And, let Love lead you forward.

As a counselor at the CTS Counseling Center in Indianapolis, David Bolander specializes in trauma and PTSD, anxiety and depression, attachment issues, relational dynamics, and concerns related to gender and sexuality. He holds Masters degrees in Clinical Mental Health Counseling and Divinity. He believes healing happens through authentic connection and provides a safe, collaborative space for individuals of all identities and backgrounds, respecting each person’s worldview and spiritual framework. He values diverse perspectives including insights from metaphysics, neuroscience, quantum theory, and near-death experiences.