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. 

I have heard divorce described as an “ontological wound,” a wound at the very core of our identity. Our parents who created us divide, and so we in turn feel divided. This is certainly strong language, but I think it puts a finger on the intimate and vulnerable wound experienced by adult children of divorce. The pain of the wound can lead us to cry out to God for healing.

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.

From day one it seemed like my parents were divided over my name. Well at least my first name because both of them shared the same last name before marriage. Each parent wanted me to be named after their dad. As a result, one side of the family calls me David and the other Andrew. By the time I was four, this division was complete and definitive by way of their divorce. As most children of divorce, I certainly felt divided and split in two; exemplified by my two different beds, two different sets of clothes, two different sets of toys and two different first names. 

During Covid some people learned to bake bread, some planted gardens, others drank too much wine. My Covid experience was time with Father God, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, fully aware that they were changing me. I became like the unrelenting child who asks too many questions. But my unrelenting was a prayer, “Heal my heart, Lord. Please heal my heart.” He did it when he knew I was ready.

As an interdisciplinary field, Interpersonal Neurobiology draws together insights from Biology and Psychology in the context of human relationships....I thought it could be helpful to choose a few key terms and concepts and explore how they relate to our reflection on attachment.

I define the ‘sexual orphan’ as ‘anyone who has been deprived the protection or advantage of their parents’ formative witness in regards to the physical, moral, psychological, or emotional dimensions of human sexuality because of parental divorce, separation, or neglect.

We are privileged every day to walk alongside men and women seeking healing from the myriad ways their parents’ split has affected them and, keeping all ACODs close to our hearts, we wanted to share a “wish-list” for what we would love to see included both at the Synod and in the Vatican document.

A couple of months ago, I was attending a women’s retreat... where glossy tiles of neutrals and shades of blue formed a gorgeous mosaic of the Blessed Mother. I kept returning my gaze to it, and I heard in prayer: “I see you looking at my mother—her maternal love is so different from what you have seen… My mother is tender, approachable, truly sacrificial, and only able to love fully and purely…”

Last Friday, June 16th, I was blessed to attend the wedding of a dear friend of my husband's. Like me, my husband's friend is an ACoD. When I realized earlier this week that his wedding date coincided with the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart, I decided that I wanted to make a special wedding card for the couple.

As a teenager, I began to experience mere anger, seemingly without any other emotion or feeling that I had no control over, and had no idea where it came from or why it would get so out of control. ... This was a tomb that I suffocated inside of for years throughout much of my adolescence.

I searched my heart for months and I accepted how I felt about this situation and made a decision. I realized that if I did not take care of them my guilt would have been much worse than I had experienced in my life. My father remained at his home with home health care and I oversaw his care. My mother eventually spent the last nine months of her life at home with my husband and me.

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.

About one year ago something very traumatic happened... My precious, amazing mom passed away... My world shattered the day that I lost her. Watching her suffer for months and being powerless to help her made me feel like I could relate in some way to our Blessed Mother, to the agony and helpless that she must have felt in watching her beloved Son die.

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.

Jesus, Jesus, I am scared.

Rescue me.

You awake and calm the storm

around me.

But there is still a storm

inside me.

You look at me and ask:

Will you show me your hurt?

Will you let me embrace you?

Will you accept my healing grace?

So, when we pray to forgive those that have hurt us, whether it’s the first time we are forgiving them or the seventy-seventh time we have forgiven them for the same offense, let us ask the Lord for the forgiveness powerful enough to conquer sin and death in our loved one.

During his homily, a local priest referred to Christmas as “the whisper of a hope that never dies.” This struck me to the point of tears. These peaceful, consoling words I needed to hear this season came at the most unexpected time—and it has been a very, very long time since I have felt that sort of consolation flood my heart.

"The Soul of Shame: Retelling the Stories We Believe About Ourselves," by Curt Thompson, has been an important part of my healing journey. I picked up the book on the recommendation of a friend and a deep desire to dig into the pain of shame that was touching every part of my life. My heart was sore. I was on the path of recovery from habitual sin that had infiltrated my life for half a decade.

Looking for answers, I’ve read many self-help books, listened to speakers, and talked to professionals, friends, and family members, but none have offered solutions. | En mi búsqueda de respuestas, he leído libros de autoayuda, he escuchado a charlistas, también he hablado con profesionales, amistades y familiares, pero ninguna de sus sugerencias me ayudaron.