“Who goes there?! Identify yourself!” This is a cry we might call out if someone is approaching us from a dark place: we don’t know what they look like, we don’t know their name, we don’t know where they are coming from. But identifying someone is not always so dramatic. When we first meet someone at a party, we turn to the same identifiers: face, name, and origin. What is it that we first ask about or tell them? We turn towards them, we share our name, and we ask where they’re from. When getting pulled over for speeding, the officer asks for a driver’s license which provides the same details: my full name, a picture of my face, and my home address. All forms of identification dig at the same question: Who is this person?

My full name, a picture of my face, and my home address can satisfy a police officer for the purpose of writing a ticket, but, as a child of divorce, these very same identifiers can cause me great angst in the deeper search for myself. The existential Who am I? question is complex for any person, but, for children of divorce, the typical identifiers are deeply confusing and even distressing. Let’s reflect on these three identifiers - name, face, and home - for a moment.

First of all, name. When our parents divorce, our last name can become no longer our family name, but just our father’s. The mother often reverts back to her maiden name, and the children are often left with the father’s last name. If the father was the at-fault party, bearing his last name could obviously be distressing for the children. In other cases, the children’s last names are changed so that they’re hyphenated, with both the mother’s and the father’s last names; this can concretize a divided sense of self. Or, even in cases when everyone’s last name remains the same, having mom and dad seem like they belong together - sharing the same last name - but knowing they’re apart, can be painful.

The last name dilemma is a particularly clear expression of the child’s interior struggle. From the child’s perspective, there can be a feeling of not being a member of a family anymore, but rather a feeling of being an individual with very inconvenient ties to two other individuals (a man and a woman, who really don’t like each other anymore). 

The second key identifier is our face. We resemble our parents. If you could see my face right now, what would you see? Most of you don’t know my parents, so you likely see something entirely and uniquely original! A face you’ve never seen before. Nevertheless, if you saw an old family photo of mine, you could see that I clearly resemble both my parents. 

Resemblance of one’s parents ought to be something that brings us great delight. As a child of my mom and dad, I am a unique representation, a unique incarnation, of their one-flesh union. And what’s more, my resemblance of their union should not merely give witness to the fact that they got together, but it should be a celebration of it! For children of divorce, though, it’s a very different experience.

In cases where there was a definite at-fault party in the divorce, resemblance to that parent could obviously be upsetting. But even in “no-fault” situations, such as my own, my resemblance of my parents is confusing because my face expresses their unity, which was deemed to be “not good.” So I certainly don’t feel like a celebration of said union.

Furthermore, even if mom and dad now successfully avoid each other, they still have to see each other’s resemblance in us, the children. I don’t want to trigger my parents by reminding them of their ex… but I do want to go visit them from time to time… so I guess I’ve got no other option but to present each of them with a vestige of their ex on occasion. There’s literally nothing I can do about that; I can’t get a face transplant! Not that I would - I think I have a good face. A good face for radio, as they say...

We have reflected on the problem of identity under two aspects so far: name and face. Now we turn to the third aspect of the identity crisis: “Where is home?” 

The term “home” definitely connotes the place where we’re from, but I think it also carries more than that. When we speak of our divorced parents, we speak of “mom’s house” and “dad’s house”. Right? We don’t generally use the terms “mom’s home” and “dad’s home.” That would seem a bit forced. Why?

I want to stake the claim here that home doesn’t merely mean “the place where we’re from,” or “the location where my family member lives,” but also something living and sacred in that place. As the saying goes, Home is where the heart is. Home is a where, yes, but it’s also where a heart is beating. One child of divorce has written that going to their childhood home to see a parent after the divorce is like walking into a chapel and realizing that the tabernacle is empty. Isn’t that interesting? The place is still there, yes, but the living presence is missing. The bond of which I am the fruit is now gone. 

Children of divorce often self-report as feeling “homeless.” I can say the same, myself. I’ve never lived on the streets – I’ve never been houseless – but there is this sense in which “home” has disappeared. My family was all together in western Pennsylvania. After the divorce, both my parents moved to the Midwest, and my siblings have since moved all over the country. If I go to PA now, I’m back to where I am from, but I won’t see my family members; if I see various family members of mine elsewhere, we’re obviously not in the place where we’re from; and even on those scarce occasions where the original “Wolfe pack” is all together in PA, it’s just not the same as it once was. I live in D.C. currently, but, so long as I am single, it’s hard to consider this my home, and so this sense of homelessness continues even still.

Let me just say before I move on, that I’ve learned that children of divorce who get married and have children sometimes say that they find great healing in getting married. They regain an idea of where they belong: they build a home with someone; they know what their family name is; their children resemble a unity that is good, and so on. However, even for married children of divorce, I hear that there can still be lingering struggles if the family-of-origin issues are not sorted out.

So, what is to be done about these issues?

It seems to me that the answer is found in how we identify ourselves. If we think of ourselves merely on a natural plane, we will continue to have trouble figuring out who we are. On the other hand, if we identify ourselves foremost and fundamentally as children of God, we can begin to find resolution to these deep problems. We might bear a passing resemblance to our parents, but we are made in the image and likeness of God. I may be from western Pennsylvania, but more importantly I consider the kingdom of heaven to be my eternal homeland. My name is Alexander Wolfe, yes, but I find myself in being called a beloved son of the Father. The faith offers us real answers.

I know I’m not the only one who considers the term “adult children of divorce” to be somewhat missing the mark. It might perhaps be better, more accurate, to say, “beloved children of God who have experienced the divorce of their earthly parents,” but that’s not as catchy! I digress.

In conclusion, I think we have to realize that we are not merely passive with regard to the question of who we are. Yes, we receive ourselves, and Jesus shows us who we are, but my intention here has been to emphasize the active role that we have here. How do you identify yourself? There is so much talk in the culture these days about identity. Just interview for a new job, and the HR representative will ask you, “What ____ do you identify as?” at least a few times. Let’s radicalize that very question: Who are you, really? Identify yourself! Do you consider yourself a confusing mess, or a beautiful gift to the world, made by the hand of God?

Alex grew up in western Pennsylvania and studied Theology at DeSales University. Through the experience of seeing his parents get divorced while he was in college, Alex decided to study at the John Paul II Institute for Studies on Marriage and the Family in Washington, D.C. He completed the Master of Theological Studies degree and coursework for the Ph.D. 

Alex is now employed by the Office of Marriage, Family, and Respect Life at the Diocese of Arlington, where he focuses on marriage preparation and healing for children of divorce. He serves as the Content and Support Group Advisor for Life-Giving Wounds and is a member of the Life-Giving Wounds traveling team.