When I read Lucille Clifton’s “forgiving my father” poem, I was struck with deep resonance on how profoundly I related to it.  I realized that it actually ended up setting a framework for how I could track and understand my own (rocky) process of forgiving my own father.  I came to a few realizations about the process of forgiveness – both from the poem and my own struggle with it. So, in honor of this year’s Father’s Day, a day when we can reflect on our perfect, all-providing Heavenly Father, but also a day when we can acknowledge the grief in how perhaps our earthly fathers fell short, I would like to share what I realized here.

At one moment during the party, I thought to myself, “…Was this really so bad? Was this family life really so bad that it was deemed not worth fighting for?” While I do know that my parents’ relationship was not great, I still could not help feeling a little sad.

For adult children of divorce and parental separation, having trusted resources for the healing journey is important. The burdens and wounds caused by parental separation or divorce can have a significant impact and last a lifetime. That is why I think it is good to know about and consider if the Litanies of the Heart and a Catholic approach to Internal Family Systems might be something to add to your healing tool box.

The story of the Presentation of Jesus, as found in the Gospel of Luke Chapter 2, has always been one of my favorites, and has held a special place in my spiritual life as an adult child of divorce. When our parents are divorced, separated, or in a difficult marriage, the struggles in their relationship become the dominant force in the house. … In this beautiful mystery of the Presentation, let us look at the Holy Family, and allow them to teach us and heal us in those places in need of the Lord’s light.

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.

My parents officially divorced when I was about 17 years old.  My father persistently campaigned for a divorce. He confessed that he had been in a relationship with another woman whom he had actually married while on his “vacations” in Egypt. Since I was the eldest of three, my mother would share her pain with me. To this day, being the main witness to her inconsolable weeping is one of the most painful experiences I have had as a 41-year-old man.

This past Christmas, like many others before it, was hard.  My “difficult” father tends to “act-out” during the holidays to get the attention he craves, and this Christmas was no exception.  So, my therapist suggested I do some restorative care to help heal my immediate father wound, and to help me manage my long-term depression: what Rick Springfield calls, “Mr. D.” 

Though I hid, self-protected and continued to wear the masks that I thought gave me some value, Jesus never stopped seeking the real me underneath.  He never abandoned me.  All the while, He was patiently working on me, preparing my very calloused and guarded heart to be broken again through the second loss of my dad.  But this break would be healing and redemptive, because it would finally let Love Himself enter in.  And He came in through another father, His father and now mine – Good St. Joseph.  I truly believe everything started with my simple prayer after that providential homily.  St. Joseph became the guardian of my healing journey and continues to be my strong and faithful pillar along the way, in both explicit and sometimes hidden ways.

Every human soul is of more value than the entire universe put together, and each person is created in the image and likeness of God.  No human being can escape the loving gaze of God, no matter what the circumstances of his or her origin.  No Catholic, and no person, should ever deem oneself of lesser value if he or she comes from an “irregular” situation, for God sees all, knows all, loves all, and desires to save all (1 Timothy 2:3-4).

I desire to make decisions from a place of authentic love and not respond from the wounds of my past and present. Wounds that make me feel trapped—make me feel like I do not have a choice in the matter— with no control. For this reason, when I first heard about St. Josephine Bakhita, I was drawn to her: a woman who was kidnapped as a child, sold into slavery, and ultimately lived in the freedom of the Lord’s love as a religious sister.

Insights from Attachment Theory for Adult Children of Divorce, is a four-part series by Life-Giving Wounds alumna Emily Rochelle which introduces the key concepts of Attachment Theory, explores the relationship between attachment security and mental health, looks at how attachment is rooted in neurobiology, and how attachment impacts one’s relationship with God.

Throughout Scripture, the images and language used to describe God frequently evoke two of the strongest attachment relationships that we can know as human beings—the relationship between a child and a parent, and the relationship between spouses.

If your parents divorced when you were an adult, like mine did, you may have experienced strife over paying for a wedding or a car. For me, my parents fought over who paid for what while I was in law school, including the cost of the postage stamp used to mail my monthly check!  My parents’ contention over petty things affected my image of God the Father, who cannot be outdone in generosity (see Matthew 19:29).  If my parents argued over who paid an extra few pennies to help support me, I certainly could not rely on them to provide anything, including financially.

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. 

Join us on a look-back at the blessings of 2023! Retreats, new chapters, the generosity of so many to help Life-Giving Wounds grow….plus a gallery of images from the year!

Upon entering religious life, I tried to hide in the coping mechanisms that had worked for me growing up, such as people-pleasing and anticipating others’ needs. I desired to please the Lord, could follow community customs and was good at serving others. Not only was I good, but was praised for my attentiveness to the needs of others and my generosity in service. As I continued further in formation, those coping mechanisms started to unravel and the truth of the pain I was in surfaced.

Prior to the divorce, mine was a picture-perfect nuclear family: a dad, a mom, a little boy, and his dog. The dog, a Cockapoo, was named after my kindergarten best friend, Shawn. I don’t remember anything about the young human Shawn, but I do remember the canine one. He was the love of my young life, especially after we moved when I was six. I did not like being “the new kid.”

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.

What if my mom brings her new boyfriend to Thanksgiving when dad is there? What if I start feeling sad and my much younger sister who did not experience the family divorce the way I did, tells me again to knock it off and just enjoy myself? What if my brother, who is not speaking to dad since he left the family, stomps off to his room? Why can’t we just have Christmas together like we used to?