This article is my life-saving text to you; it is my personal invitation to any adult child of divorce or separation to start (or continue) your own healing journey with Life-Giving Wounds.

I thought that if I just sat down and listed all the things I ‘should’ be grateful for in my life that I would then become a person filled with gratitude. I saw this exercise as the ‘fix’ for my pain and struggles. All the people I read about who had done this seemed so happy and peaceful. I wanted that for myself! My experience in life, largely shaped by my parents divorce, had taught me (incorrectly) that if I wanted something I had to get it for myself. So I went for it, only to be disappointed again and again. 

The only thing I can really control is my own internal, spiritual life (although I admit even that seems out of control at times!).  Right now, I want to do that by spending more time with the most perfect of families! The best part is that I know I am called to be a part of this perfect, intact family! I think that spending time with the Holy Family will keep me focused and restful.

It was a few months into my freshman year of college; I was at daily Mass with my friends. At this time, I was really beginning to become aware of how much pain my parents’ divorce had caused and continued to cause me. I remember sitting in Mass, attempting to calm myself, but feeling rising panic each time the priest said the word...

As I travel into the deeper places in my heart, in prayer and in therapy, I have found a deep craving for silence, right alongside a deep fear of silence. At the core of my fear, is the fear that God will not ‘show up’ in the silence. Growing up, and to this day, my relationship with my dad has been marked by an empty silence.

Day after day, You remain,

And slowly I begin to trust again.

I grow impatient,

You are steady and sure.

You are not afraid

Of my anger and accusations.

You do not run when it is hard.

You stay, You listen, You hear me.

You open my eyes,

And I see what I have always wanted.

Feel the courage to claim it and desire it.

You walk towards me.

And You hold my heart in pieces in Your hands.

Prayer, true prayer, is the time of greatest intimacy in our day. Prayer is about relationship and the basis of any relationship is trust and vulnerability. 

As an adult child of divorce, I know my experience with all of these words- trust, peace, stillness, vulnerability- has been warped and twisted by my life experiences.

For the first time, Philothea looked at the tapestry he was creating. To her surprise, she saw it was a portrait of their family! There was Father on the left, tall and strong, with his arm around Mother on the right. In the middle in front of them both stood Philothea herself. She was surrounded by the arms of her Father and Mother, right where she belonged.

I am here to tell you some amazingly good news! Jesus said in the Gospel of John, “I will not leave you orphans. I will come to you” (Jn 14:18). God, in His infinite wisdom, knows fully the hearts and minds of all His children. He would never write a desire into our hearts without also providing for its fulfillment!

In my previous post “Believe His Voice,” I told in detail about my struggle with the different voices in my head, all vying for power and control. Once I came to realize and recognize the voices I was hearing, so many things became clearer in my life. Simply knowing what was going on in my mind and heart was (and is) empowering.

Sometimes I feel like I walk around in life on the verge of insanity. If someone could see into my mind, they might consider me a tad unstable. There seem to be so many voices in my head! I wonder, especially in times of crisis, how I am to move forward with all the noise. Of course, I want to believe His voice alone, but in moments of pain and agony, that seems like a near impossible task.

This poem came out of a recent time of prayer. When I was two years old, my father left my mother, my sister (3 months old), and myself. We saw him every other weekend for a few years, and then he remarried and moved around the country from job to job for most of my childhood. This poem expresses my struggle to call God “Abba” and to trust in His loving, faithful presence.

But listening to Fr. Mike’s podcast over the past year, my perspective on what it means to come from a ‘good’ family has been completely changed. I have been immersed in a story about a family that is immensely broken and immensely beautiful: the family of God. 

Rebuilding my trust in God’s goodness has been quite the disaster relief project. Some days it feels like only pebbles are being added to my rebuild; and other times it feels like the whole building collapses down upon me again and it’s time to start all over.

Music became a way for me not only to relive and dwell on my brokenness, but a place of healing where the melody of God’s Word filled the emptiness of my heart. My soul was like a dry, parched land, and music became the rain that soaked me to my core. Music became an oasis and a refuge. Even to this day, in my moments of deepest darkness and despair, when nothing else seems to be able to bring me peace, if I turn to music, the Truth soaks me through and soothes my wounds. When I cannot see the Truth on my own, I allow God to sing His Truth over me, again and again.

When I try to think back to my earliest memory, the images that come to mind are not usually something I am excited to remember or share. I see myself as a very little girl (maybe 2? The age at which my dad left?), sitting on the loveseat in our living room, looking out the window….waiting…watching…hoping he shows up…but utterly expectant of the coming disappointment.