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.

But my mom was human. Both my parents were human. And the very fact that in spite of the deep pain and abuse that my mom went through for most of her life, she still tried…SHE TRIED. That is the difference.

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.

Trevor Jimenez’s animated short "Weekends" is a striking narrative that conveys the trauma of parental divorce in such imagery. The autobiographical film tells the story of a young boy spending weekdays with his mother and weekends with his father. Although the boy seems fine on the outside, his inner turmoil is exposed through a series of dreams and struggles.

As we continue this series on Attachment Theory, building upon the key concepts we explored in Part One, we now turn our attention to how attachment facilitates human development and the ways secure and insecure attachment impact mental health.

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…”

I have to be honest, I never thought that my world as a Catholic and my world as a professor at a public institution of higher education could ever meet together, yet coincide beautifully into one. But with God, anything is possible, so I continue to remain in thankful awe as to how He brings about good works.

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.

Attachment—I used to think of it as a bad word, something we must avoid at all costs. I believed that attachment and feelings of dependency were signs of weakness, and I wanted to be strong. I thought Catholics needed to be detached from all things in order to serve God. I was mistaken.

Five branches from the trunk of the split tree

Four girls and a fella, that’s my siblings and me

In Three years we went from complete to shut down

Two people once in love

No one left to be found

A few weeks back, Life-Giving Wounds social media coordinator Jen made a short reel for our Instagram page. The reel, a mere five seconds long, featured this audio clip: “This might be an unpopular opinion, but I’m going to share it anyways” with this text on the screen: “Divorce impacts the children involved and causes a deep wound.” ... But what happened next surprised all of us.

If you come from a background of family brokenness, I would like to offer encouragement as you look ahead to your wedding day. Brides and grooms—choose wedding customs and traditions that are meaningful to you. You have the freedom to make the choices that express who you are and what you hope for your future marriage and how you want to remember or to celebrate your past.

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.

Unlike the innocent childhood rites of passage that bring about a sense of pride and accomplishment, children who live through their parents’ divorce often experience an abrupt passage from childhood to premature adulthood. The hard and jagged rock of a parents’ divorce deeply and profoundly impacts a child even beyond what others see or notice.

I was inspired to re-read The Lord of the Rings specifically through the lens of this experience, especially since Frodo is also the “Ring-bearer.” I finished this project recently and I wanted to share my reflections with you here.

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?