A Devotional Bracelet & High Control Catholicism
A Whiplash Podcast Recap Essay
Welcome to the Whiplash Podcast Recap essay for our episode on “What is high control Catholicism?” Our podcast comes out on Monday, with these recaps appearing on Wednesdays, and our essays for the High Control series will be out on Fridays (with Church Militant to be the topic this upcoming Friday).
Finding Language & Naming Control in Catholicism
We kick off this episode of the podcast by talking about how, in some Catholic spaces, faith has shifted from being about love and community to being about control and exclusion — and how much harm that causes, especially to queer and marginalized people. We share examples like firing gay teachers, promoting conversion therapy, and using Catholic symbols to prop up far-right politics. Emma explains how this mindset has deep roots in Catholic history, with cloistered and separatist communities — like St. Marys, Kansas — isolating themselves to avoid the “secular world,” but in the process erasing people’s identities, cutting them off from their families, and enforcing rigid ideas about gender and race. We also talk about secretive organizations like Opus Dei and how these groups have been tied to abuse, racism, and even human trafficking.
That’s why it’s so important to name what’s really happening — and to give people the language to understand and confront it. Too many Catholics are still trapped in these high-control environments. We know better now, and we believe you deserve better too. Being LGBTQ people forced both of us to see through the cracks earlier, but no one should have to suffer in silence to realize something is wrong. Other faith communities, like the exvangelical and ex-Mormon movements, or even the #MeToo and #ChurchToo social media movements have already shown how powerful it is to name abuse and stand with survivors. It’s time Catholics call out High Control Catholicism for what it is. With this series, we’re building a space for you — a space where your story matters, where your pain is seen, and where you can finally start to put words to what you’ve lived through. You’re not imagining it, and you’re not alone.
At the heart of this series is our belief that solidarity and connection are powerful. We talk about how these high-control Catholic movements have become more visible in American politics lately, with far-right groups bringing them out of the shadows. Our goal is to make this project a place where people can come together, speak up, and imagine something better. We invite you to share your own stories through comments or here on Substack — because this is a collective effort, and together we can shine a light on hidden harm and help each other move toward a faith rooted in love, not control.
The Cost of Isolation and Identity Erasure
High-control Catholic communities often draw on ancient religious traditions to justify their strict rules and isolation. One example is the concept of an anchorite — someone who withdraws from society to live a life of intense prayer and penance. This tradition dates back to medieval Christianity and often involved public displays of devotion and self-denial, such as fasting, manual labor treated as worship, or even self-flagellation. In modern contexts, some cloistered Catholic communities adopt similar practices but with harmful twists: cutting off members from family, censoring outside communication, and stripping away individual identity under the guise of holiness. These communities conflate “shedding identity” with spiritual purity and see engagement with secular society — especially around gender, sexuality, and inclusion — as a threat.
We want to be clear: not all religious life or Catholic community is like this. Many religious communities live out their vows with integrity, care, and authentic witness to the Gospel. Our critique here is not of religious life itself, but of specific patterns of control, manipulation, and harm that some groups perpetuate in the name of faith.
To read a lived experience story about a family member isolating from society through religious life, check out Grace’s story here.
When someone enters a high-control environment like this, you often see dramatic changes in their behavior and relationships. Young people may become consumed by rigid gender roles and traditionalist practices, spending all their time serving at church and withdrawing from family life. These communities often police women’s roles and appearances, promote far-right political ideologies, and expressed open hostility toward Pope Francis, rejecting his more inclusive tone in favor of their own self-appointed authorities. The culture becomes deeply insular — letters and outside communication are monitored, criticism is silenced, and conformity is demanded. Over time, the person may cut ties with loved ones entirely, believing family connections distract from their “path to God.”
These patterns aren’t unique to one monastery or parish — they reflect broader dynamics at work in certain Catholic subcultures. High-control groups isolate themselves, create echo chambers, and refuse to take accountability for harm, instead deflecting criticism or dismissing it as attacks. This behavior can be seen in groups like Opus Dei, which has faced serious allegations of abuse and exploitation but routinely denies wrongdoing. Historically, these movements gained traction as a backlash to the social changes of the Second Vatican Council, mirroring earlier sectarian and exclusionary impulses in American religion. Today, they’re often intertwined with Catholic nationalism, as public figures and influencers co-opt Catholic imagery — rosaries, veils, Marian symbols — to push far-right and patriarchal agendas.
It’s important to recognize these patterns so they can be challenged. Faith rooted in love and inclusion cannot coexist with ideologies that demand silence, isolation, and rigid control. By naming these dynamics and understanding their history, we can work to reclaim Catholic traditions that honor dignity, diversity, and community — and reject the narratives that use faith as a tool of exclusion and power.
To understand how these devotional practices reflect deeper tensions in Catholic theology, material culture, and gender, it’s worth turning to the important research of my friend and podcast co-host, Emma Cieslik. Her research examines how a seemingly simple Rad Trad accessory—a Marian consecration bracelet—reveals troubling connections to the Church’s historical justifications of slavery and its modern embrace of traditional femininity. What follows draws on her findings, which trace how this practice arose, how it is experienced today, and why its symbolism demands closer scrutiny.
A Popular Rad Trad Bracelet has Roots in “Holy Slavery”
by Emma Cieslik
“That’s why I wear this chain, it’s my Marian consecration chain, it never comes off,” 22-year-old college student Megan explained as she raised up her wrist, the iron chain glistening in the light streaming in from the college church rectory windows. The tradition of wearing a metal chain bracelet around her wrist after completing a 33-day ritual consecrating herself to Jesus through Mary is relatively common among radical traditionalists, or Rad Trad, Catholics, and co-occurs frequently among those who have chosen to re-adopt chapel veils. A closer exploration of this bracelet reveals its connections to the material culture of slavery and Marian femininity.
Every time the metal would scratch her wrist, Megan explained, she believed it was Mary calling her to model her life after the mother of the Church, specifically to turn away from sexual impurity and worldly desire. The women wear small iron chain bracelets that scratch and abrade their wrists, a daily devotional, or tool of spiritual intentionality, to remember a Marian Consecration, a 33-day ritual of prayer and meditation focused on entrusting one’s body and soul to Mary, the mother of Jesus. Each ritual ends with a consecration prayer in conjunction with two sacraments: reconciliation and communion, on a Marian feast day.
Among the 30 women interviewed, many described Marian Consecration as a way to deepen their relationship with Mary and embrace ideals of sexual purity and traditional femininity. The most popular guide they used was Michael Gaitley’s 33 Days to Morning Glory (2011), though some preferred St. Louis de Montfort’s 17th-century Total Consecration to Jesus Christ through His Mother or St. Maximillian Kolbe’s shorter nine-day version. For many, veiling and other physical devotions—like scapulars, rosaries, holy medals, and Holy Hours—naturally complemented the ritual of consecration, reinforcing what one college senior called “Marian femininity.” Nineteen women said their veiling practice was initially inspired by Mary, and 16 had already completed or planned to complete a Marian Consecration within the year. Several described it as “a good and holy thing” encouraged by priests or prayer groups, though none explicitly connected it to St. Louis de Montfort’s original framing of the devotion as a form of “holy slavery” to Mary—an aspect I only uncovered during research.
At first, I believed the object was connected to a less aggressive form of self-flagellation, as Nicholas Cirillo described as a form of sanctification--Megan reinforced the idea of the bracelet being intentionally uncomfortable, but as I began to dig into this tradition more readily adopted by Rad Trad Catholics, I learned that St. Louis de Montfort identifies individuals who complete this Marian Consecration as “Slaves of the Immaculate Heart of Mary.” Marian Consecration are framed within the Catholic Church as the total consecration of a person’s body and soul to Jesus through Mary, and the use of the term “slave,” de Montfort notes, is intentional, as “a servant does not give all he is, all he has and all he can acquire, but the slave gives himself whole and entire to his master without exception.”
Whether or not these women are familiar with its roots, these Marian Consecration bracelets come from the idea of “holy slavery” first developed by St. Louis de Montfort in his book True Devotion to Mary in a section titled, “The Wearing of Little Chains:”
“It is perfectly true, these external tokens are not essential and may very well be dispensed with by those who have made this consecration. Nevertheless, I cannot help but give the warmest approval to those who wear them. They show they have shaken off the shameful chains of the slavery of the devil, in which original sin and perhaps actual sin had bound them, and have willingly taken upon themselves the glorious slavery of Jesus Christ. Like St. Paul, they glory in the chains they wear for Christ. For though these chains are made only of iron they are far more glorious and precious than all the gold ornaments worn by monarchs.”
Academic scholars have long shown how biblical references, like the Curse of Ham, were used to justify African enslavement during the height of the transatlantic slave trade, and Louis de Montfort’s 1712 treatise emerged from that same theological context. Though not published until 1843, his framing of Marian consecration as a voluntary “slavery of love” was written while slavery remained legal in France, a major colonial power exploiting enslaved labor in places like Saint-Domingue. De Montfort claimed this spiritual slavery was freely chosen and loving rather than cruel, yet it relied on the same paternalistic Christian frameworks that rationalized real-world atrocities. The practice remains troubling today, as Rad Trad Catholics—many of whom align with far-right politics, resist LGBTQIA+ inclusion, and oppose critical race theory—wear chains modeled after shackles as a devotional symbol of Marian femininity. This material culture, endorsed historically by popes such as Pius IX and Leo XIII, transformed the reality of slavery into a palatable religious metaphor, embedding it further into Catholic theology. In doing so, it reflects a clash of theology, material religion, and race that remains deeply problematic when resurrected by twenty-first-century American Catholics as a sign of purity and submission.
Rad Trad Catholics continue to wear Marian Consecration bracelets—devotional chains that appropriate the materiality of slavery as a metaphor for devotion to Mary—while simultaneously uplifting traditional femininity. As 27-year-old Miriam explains, the consecration affirms “my femininity as it is my identity as a beloved daughter of God.” Yet it is deeply problematic to equate the historical commodification and suffering of enslaved human beings with spiritual submission to God’s will, especially when this form of “holy slavery” becomes a vehicle for expressing Marian femininity. While most women interviewed did not consciously connect their practices to the oppressive history behind the symbolism or view their submission as one to men rather than God, the fusion of this fraught tradition with twenty-first-century Catholic femininity raises difficult questions about how gender, devotion, and power intersect in these communities.
The popularity of this material culture among Rad Trad Catholics is unlikely to be accidental. Whether or not the women who wear these chain bracelets understand their historical and theological roots, these bracelets stand as a living testament to Catholicism’s historical justification of enslavement, transformed into a ritualized, physical symbol of faith. This cultural appropriation complicates the meaning of Marian femininity, embedding a painful legacy of control and submission into the devotional lives of those who embrace it, and demanding a critical reckoning with how such traditions resonate—or conflict—with contemporary understandings of identity, freedom, and faith.
Conclusion
High control Catholicism, as explored in this episode and essay, reveals how faith can be distorted into a tool of power, exclusion, and control—particularly harming queer and marginalized people. When rigid structures replace love and community, individuals are cut off from their own identities, families, and broader society. Understanding the historical and theological roots of these high-control practices, from cloistered separatism to modern far-right alliances, is crucial to recognizing the harm they cause and breaking free from their grip. Naming these realities gives voice to those who have suffered in silence and opens space for healing and solidarity.
Emma’s research on Marian Consecration bracelets exemplifies how seemingly simple devotional practices can carry deep, troubling histories—rooted in Catholic justifications of slavery and reinforced through material culture. The appropriation of “holy slavery” as a spiritual ideal, especially when linked to traditional femininity, forces us to confront how faith traditions can mask systems of control and submission. While many who wear these chains may not be aware of their origins, the symbolism cannot be separated from a legacy of oppression, raising urgent questions about power, gender, and devotion in contemporary Catholicism.
This conversation is not just about exposing harm but imagining a way forward. The growing visibility of high-control movements within the Church and broader culture calls for collective action: to support survivors, to challenge exclusionary doctrines, and to reclaim a faith rooted in love, justice, and inclusion. By sharing stories, naming abuses, and critically engaging with our traditions, we can build communities that affirm dignity rather than demand conformity. Together, we move toward a Church—and a world—that truly welcomes all, honors difference, and breaks the chains of control for good.
Thank you for reading this recap essay. Stay tuned for our Friday entry in the High Control Catholicism essay series on Church Militant.
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