When I first began my journey to come closer to God, I didn’t want to rely on any of the information I had learned about Him from my family or the world. I wanted to learn who God was on my own terms. Coming from a Catholic background, God was about punishment and sin. My family had all different beliefs about God—from Catholicism to Santería to New Age philosophy—and who can forget my grandma with her horoscopes. It caused so much confusion, and I didn’t want to lean on the knowledge I had been given by my upbringing or culture.
So, I prayed. I asked God to erase all the false information I had learned and to help me know Him. As I meditated on this prayer, something unexpected happened—the Ten Commandments came to mind. I had to look them up because I didn’t know them offhand. As I went down the list, one commandment stopped me in my tracks:
Honor your father and mother.
Honor my what?! I was flabbergasted. I looked up at the sky and thought, Why, God? Why would You make me do this?
A Broken Family
Up until that moment, my relationship with my parents was contentious at best. I barely had a relationship with either of them.
When I was twelve, my parents went through a nasty divorce filled with hate, betrayal, and bitterness. According to my dad, my mom was unfaithful and chose “the streets” over her family. My dad won full custody of my younger sister and me. I can only assume it was because my mom didn’t have the means to care for us—or maybe it was my dad’s way of spiting her. Either way, after my mom left, we weren’t allowed to speak with her. And when we did, it was for awkward, brief visits to Baskin-Robbins before heading straight back to my dad’s house.
I had to be careful what I said to my mom for fear of my dad’s reaction. Looking back, I don’t remember much about my relationship with her in my younger years. I was a daddy’s girl, and my memories of my mom were distant—her beauty, her stylish outfits, her dancing, her smoking. But love? Affection? I couldn’t recall many moments of that.
Between the ages of 12 to 18, my mom and I barely had a relationship. I felt abandoned and bitter that I wasn’t allowed to miss her or want her in my life. Angry because I thought she didn’t want me in hers.
The Burden of My Father’s Love
At the beginning of my parents’ divorce, my dad was wrecked by the breakdown of our family. Worse, he was enraged by my mom’s betrayal, and it felt like he used my sister and me as pawns to hurt her. He brainwashed us into believing she was the enemy.
I remember asking him once, Where’s Mom? His response? He almost threw me out because he thought my question meant I was choosing her over him. Mind you I was twelve.
That’s when my codependency was born. I felt like I had to keep my dad happy, to be the “good girl”, to think the way he wanted me to think—so he wouldn’t turn on me like he had on my mom.
At 16, my younger sister got pregnant. My dad was so angry that she had to emancipate herself just to have control over her life. In his rage, he completely ignored her.
At 17, my dad caught me with a boy in my room. He was so furious that he stopped speaking to me and refused to attend my high school graduation. That crushed me. I had done everything I could to make him happy, but the one time I disappointed him, he shut me out completely. I didn’t even walk in my cap and gown because I thought, What’s the point?
At 18, I moved out. I couldn’t live my life obeying my dad’s controlling rules. It was his way or the highway—so I chose the highway.
Wrestling with God’s Command
Honoring my parents seemed impossible. I was angry. I was bitter.
Why couldn’t I have normal parents?
Why did God give me parents who I couldn’t trust to love me and not leave me?
As I wrestled with these questions, I looked at my own children. I realized that one day, they might be angry with me. They might not understand the decisions I made. They might struggle to love me, too.
That thought softened my heart.
The Healing Begins
Step 5 We admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being, the exact nature of our hurts, hang-ups and habits.
Step 5 gave me the chance to confess my burdens—the ones I had carried for years. It forced me to open my heart to feelings I had buried and denied.
Through prayer, I learned to pray for my parents. In time, I learned to forgive them. Jesus’ words became my mantra:
“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” – Luke 23:34
This helped me see my parents through a different lens—not as villains, but as broken people who made mistakes, just like me.
A Work in Progress
I can’t say that my relationship with my parents is fully healed. I still struggle to trust their words and actions. But I no longer hold resentment in my heart.
Now, I actively work on showing them compassion and building a relationship with them.
More importantly, this journey has helped me build a solid relationship with my own children—one based on honesty, respect, and unconditional love.
If you’ve ever struggled with forgiving your parents, I want you to know you’re not alone. Healing takes time, but with God, nothing is impossible.
Next week, I’ll share more about how Celebrate Recovery helped me work through my anger and embrace true freedom. Stay tuned! 💜
With love & grace,
Your Sista Ritza ✨
🙏 Thank you in advance for liking and sharing this blog post. The more people that get to read, the more people we can help. My intention is to help others through sharing my experiences. 🙌
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