Guest post by Heather
No one gets married thinking that it’s going to be anything but forever. No one expects perfection, but no one expects that their marriage will end in divorce on the day that they wed. I didn’t. I’m a good Catholic girl from a devout Catholic family where divorce is rare. My parents fell in love at 17 and have never looked back. Both sets of grandparents were “parted by death.” The guilt and shame of a failed marriage was compounded by the fact that I was a Catholic school principal, a mother to two little girls, and, I hoped, still a good Catholic girl. I was 40 and suspected that while it was a distant, strange thought at the time, I might want to date and marry again one day. That meant I had to have an annulment if I wanted to remain in full communion with the Church, and of course I did.
I didn’t really understand what an annulment is. I heard it explained as a “Catholic divorce,” nothing but a money grab by the Church, and an example of “Why can’t I just go to Jesus with this?” What I found is, that in the wisdom of Mother Church, was a path to understanding, forgiveness, self-forgiveness, and peace. And I felt closer than ever to Jesus and His Church.
So if an annulment isn’t those things that I had heard it was, what is it? First, it’s actually called a Declaration of Nullity, and the Catholic Church, through its representatives, called the tribunal, will grant one if they believe that no valid marriage existed in the first place due to either a lack of freedom, a defect of consent, or a lack of form according to a process outlined in Canon Law. It is not truly an “annulment” since nothing is being annulled, but rather declared null from the beginning. In short, one or both parties were, for whatever physical or psychological reason, unable or unwilling to enter into a valid, sacramental marriage on the day of their wedding.
The most taxing part of the process was writing the testimony of why I believed I was not able to give myself in marriage freely and without reservation. I had to reflect more deeply about myself than I’d ever been willing to; to admit to my shortcomings and failure to be honest with myself when choosing to marry. I had to dig into very real psychological wounds that had never really healed, but, in doing so, I felt the weight of my guilt and shame lift; a feeling very similar to what I have after making a good confession (a topic for another post, if you’ll have me!)
The most humbling part of the process was asking friends and family to give an account of my courtship and wedding and then reading their accounts. Honestly, I got angry reading over and over that some of the people closest to me knew that I was not in a place to marry but didn’t speak up. But in another confrontation with my own pride and lack of self-reflection, I knew that I would not have listened to them any more than I heeded the gentle whispers of the Holy Spirit in the weeks and days leading up to my wedding. I should have trusted myself and Him who loves me perfectly. I have found, through the annulment process, the ability to believe that I am worthy of the Holy Spirit’s guidance, because through the reflective process, I identified exactly when He has tried!
For practical matters, it wasn’t as expensive as I had been led to believe it would be. I paid for the administrative expenses of the process on a sliding scale commensurate with my resources, which were pretty meager. The good news is that, in 2015, Pope Francis made the process free, so that finances are never the reason for a Catholic not to petition the local tribunal to investigate whether their marriage was valid.
And, contrary to popular belief, my kids aren’t considered illegitimate because my marriage to their dad was annulled. My girls were conceived within what we believed to be the sacramental bond of marriage at the time, and just because that was eventually proven to not be the case, their legitimacy was never in question because Mom and Dad were not in a place to make a valid bond when they got married.
The Declaration of Nullity doesn’t erase what happened. It doesn’t pretend the years didn’t count or the love wasn’t real. What it does is lift the weight — the quiet fear that you’re somehow outside of God’s grace because of a decision you made or a marriage that didn’t survive. A friend’s grandmother carried that weight her whole life, all the way to the end. She didn’t have to. And neither do you. The Church didn’t build this process to punish anyone. It was built so that no one has to be afraid to die, like my friend’s grandmother; it’s built so that we can remain in full communion with the Church and receive the Blessed Sacrament — Jesus Himself: Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity — with our loved ones in peace and confidence in God’s unfathomable mercy and goodness.
“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”
— Romans 8:1
My Prayer
Lord, You know the weight I’ve carried — the shame I thought I deserved, the guilt I wore like a second skin. I tried to be enough, and when I wasn’t, I believed that meant I was outside of Your grace. Forgive me for believing that lie. Thank You for a Church that didn’t leave me in my pain but walked me through it. Thank You for the courage to look honestly at myself and for the peace that came when I finally did. Help me trust that Your love is bigger than my worst chapter. And for anyone reading this who is still carrying that weight — afraid to start the process, afraid of what they’ll find, afraid they’ve gone too far — let them hear what I wish I’d heard sooner: You are not condemned. You are loved. Amen.
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