How Did Anneliese Michel'S Family Respond To Her Illness?

I was in my twenties when I first stumbled upon the case while watching a documentary about exorcisms; it felt like a story that refused to let me go. From what I gathered, Anneliese’s family responded in stages: panic and practical care, then prayer, then full-on spiritual intervention. They tried hospitals and psychiatrists at first—there are notes about anticonvulsants and psychiatric evaluations—but when those routes didn’t stop the terrifying episodes, the family leaned hard on their Catholic faith. That shift wasn’t sudden so much as cumulative: nights of crying, hope drained away, and a yearning for any explanation that could bring peace.

What struck me emotionally was how collaborative the family was with the priests. They invited them in, kept vigil, and participated in exorcism rites that became almost routine. It’s easy to judge from a distance, but at the time they believed they were protecting Anneliese’s soul. After she died, the legal fallout was severe — the parents and the priests were tried and found guilty of negligent homicide. The community split between sympathy and outrage, and the whole affair prompted questions about how priests, doctors, and families should work together when faith and mental illness intersect. I still think about those parents: exhausted, faithful, and confronted with a tragedy none of them could contain.

I was poring over an old news clipping in a dusty bookstore when I first dug into Anneliese Michel’s case, and the way her family reacted has stuck with me ever since. Her parents, Josef and Anna, were devout Catholics from a rural town in Bavaria, and at first their response followed what many families would do: they sought medical help. Records show Anneliese was seen by neurologists and psychiatrists, treated for epilepsy and what doctors later described as psychosis, and prescribed medications. From my reading, the family wasn't dismissive of science at the outset — they took her to hospitals and specialists, trying to make sense of seizures and behavioral changes that terrified them.

As things progressed and treatments didn’t seem to help, their faith took a more central role. They became convinced she was possessed and brought priests to their home. Two priests—Father Arnold Renz and Father Ernst Alt—conducted a series of intensive exorcism rites, reported to be around 67 sessions over about ten months. The family allowed the rituals and followed the priests’ guidance; friends and neighbors described them as exhausted, desperate, and absolutely certain they were doing the right thing spiritually. When Anneliese died of malnutrition and dehydration in 1976, Josef and Anna, along with the priests, were prosecuted and later convicted of negligent homicide. That trial exposed deep tensions between medical practice, religion, and personal conviction in 1970s Germany — and in the quiet hours I spent tracing those events, I kept thinking about how fear, love, and belief can push people down paths they never imagined taking.

Growing up near a small Catholic parish, this case always comes back to me as a cautionary tale. The Michels responded first like worried parents: they sought medical help for Anneliese’s seizures and strange behavior, arranging hospital visits and psychiatric care. When medicines and treatments didn’t fix things, they turned increasingly to their church. They invited priests into their home; two priests carried out numerous exorcism sessions over many months, and the family supported those rituals wholeheartedly, convinced they were dealing with demonic possession rather than only illness.

I’ve read about neighbors describing the house as a place of constant prayer and tension. The family’s devotion didn’t shield them from legal consequences—after Anneliese’s death from malnutrition and dehydration, her parents and the priests were prosecuted and ultimately convicted for negligent homicide. For me, the hardest part is imagining the desperation that led them to prioritize spiritual remedies, and how the boundaries between faith and medicine can blur when people are grieving and afraid.