The ‘Secret Club’ No One Wants: Growing Up as a Child of Divorce
A Club by Elias Martin - Nationalmuseum Sweden, Sweden - Public Domain.
[Editor’s Note: An original version of this article was published in the Denver Catholic on May 26, 2026. A portion of it is republished here with their permission and the permission of the author. We have made minor edits with the addition of hyperlinks. The author has also made a few changes from the original. The full original article can be found online in English here and Spanish here.]
I’d like to tell you a story. It isn’t simply a fairy tale, a comedy, or a tragedy. It’s a true story; it’s my story. My story of belonging to a secret club I never wanted to be in — the “secret club” for adult children of divorce.
Let’s start somewhat near the beginning. My parents, who loved each other, were married in the spring of 1984. It was neither of their first marriage (indeed, it was my mom’s third). History repeated itself, and thus occurred the first major tragedy in my young life. My parents, who always loved me, who always told me they loved me, divorced when I was 3, less than 4 years after they’d tied the knot. I don’t have any memories of them being together, and I spent much of my adolescent life assuming their divorce didn’t affect me because I was so young. Turns out I was another passing victim of the vicious cultural norming of divorce and the wounds it causes, especially to children.
Divorce Affects Children
You see, divorce is so much more than the sundering of a bond between two people who have children together. What was once one household is now two: two addresses, two phone numbers, two different states. What was once financial stability is now under siege as each parent separately tries to support themselves and the child. What once was a home becomes a place the child stays occasionally, or is completely lost.
The child can no longer be hugged by both parents simultaneously. She can’t go into the other room to ask Mom if Dad said no. She can’t give the drawing from school to both parents to put on the fridge. She has to choose.
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So, the child’s journey continues through later childhood and into adolescence, learning negative coping and self-protection habits.
Anxiety, Worry and Bad Habits
What did that look like? Growing up, everyone called me “the worrier.” I believed my anxiety was something I was born with, not something that had a traumatic cause. My mom would often say she didn’t have to worry about anything because Amanda worried about everything. I assumed it was simply part of my personality to worry. All the time. About everything.
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My constant state of worriedness took the part of me that liked to dream and plan and turned it into a controller. I had so little agency; I wanted to control what I could. If I were in control, then I could avoid being disappointed or upset with someone else, because it was all up to me. I began to internalize that when things went wrong, it was my fault. It had to be, if I was in control of everything, right?
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Further tragedies marked my adolescence, and by the time I was 18, I was anxious all the time about not being good enough, about being a burden, about the imperfections in my past and in my personality. So much of this is a result of what I learned from my parents and their relationships: their relationships with one another, with my step- and half-siblings, and with their multiple marriages. I had never seen marriage as sacramental, as sacred or as joyful.
Healing and Wholeness are Possible
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So why am I sharing this story? I no longer want to live in the silence of my wounded childhood. I want to live free of the shame that I thought I deserved and couldn’t escape for so long.
Most importantly, if you’re also in this “secret club” of adult children of divorce, I’m sharing my story for you. In November 2024, I attended Life-Giving Wounds, a retreat meant for adult children of divorce and separation co-sponsored by the Archdiocese of Denver. At that retreat, for the first time, I heard stories like mine. Like ours. I cried to know that someone understood me in a way I hadn’t even understood myself. I learned that the loss of your parents’ love for you as a unit is a wound, no matter what age you were. Woundedness breeds shame, and as humans, we bury shame; at least, I did. Some days I still want to.
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The retreat changed my life. It changed my relationship with Jesus, my Savior. It changed my marriage and my relationship with my beautiful children. It changed how I look at myself and taught me to truly believe that my core identity is as a daughter of God. It opened my heart to working with a Catholic therapist to continue healing. The retreat showed me my everlasting parents — Mary, our loving mother, and God the Father, who loves us always and perfectly.
If you are an adult child of divorce, know of my prayers for your heart, and for you to receive the grace and holy courage you need to begin — or continue — your own healing journey.
A Litany of Healing and Consolation
Lord, have mercy – Christ, have mercy
Lord have mercy on us.
Christ, see us – Christ, deeply see us
Consoler of our troubled hearts – be close to us
Grieved with us – be close to us
Curious listener – be close to us
Attuned confidant – be close to us
Kind mirror of truth – be close to us
Seer of our deepest selves and all our parts – be close to us
Keeper of secrets – be close to us
Healer of wounds – be close to us
Balm for our deepest wounds – be close to us
Repairer of ruptures – be close to us
Best friend of our family – be close to us
Seer of long-ago truth – be close to us
Path forward today – be my strength
Stream of cool water in a desert land – fulfill my noble desires
Tree of Life – never let me go
Let us pray,
Jesus, look at us, with tears streaming down our cheeks and our shattered hearts falling apart in our hands. Take all of their pieces, with their many wounds, and heal them. O divine physician, you are more than our doctor, and call us your friends. Welcome us into your family-home in Nazareth, where we can bask in the unity, devotion, and unbroken fidelity of Mother Mary and her husband Joseph.
We know we can run to you, Virgin Mother, climb up into your lap, and you will whisper sweet words in our ears. And Joseph, our father, we feel your protective embrace. You give us strength, and encourage us to step forward a little lighter.
We thank and praise you, heavenly Father. You look down on us so tenderly, and we believe, in faith, that in your care, you make all our tragedies work for our good.
Holy Spirit, now we fly with you under your wings. And we bask in the warm light of your love and communion.
Jesus, we pray this in your sacred name. Amen.
(The above prayer was written by Geoffrey Woollard.)
About the Author:
Amanda is a Catholic convert, wife, mother of two boys, theatre maker, and teacher. She attended the LGW retreat in Denver in 2024 and 2025, and on her healing journey she is becoming a fierce advocate for adult children of divorce and supporting ministries. Amanda loves to cook, garden, read, and hike, especially with her family, and is a joyful and active member of the Spirit of Christ Catholic Community in Arvada, Colorado.
Reflection Questions for Small Groups or Individuals:
As an adult child of divorce, do you also have experiences with blended families? What did that look like in your life? What joys did it bring you? What hurts or hardships?
Have you already attended a Life-Giving Wounds retreat for ACOD’s? If so, take a moment to reflect on the graces God gave you through that retreat. If not, take a moment to reflect on what might be getting in your way (shame, fear, anxiety, financial concerns, etc.).
In this article, Amanda talks about anxiety, shame, and perfectionism as three wounds from her parents’ divorce. Are any of these difficulties part of your story? How do they show up? What prayer(s) do you turn to in moments of duress from anxiety?
Healing happens when we journey together.
If Amanda’s story resonated with you, and you would feel comfortable doing so, consider sharing your story with our blog readers. You do not have to carry the darkness alone.
Together, we can walk into the light.