The Legacy Holder

October has always been complicated for me.

It's my birthday month, October 4th, to be exact, and if you know anything about birthdays, you know they're supposed to be these magical days filled with cake, candles, and people singing off-key while you pretend not to be uncomfortable with all the attention. But for most of my adult life, my birthday has felt more like a reminder of absence than a celebration of presence.

You see, I'm a twin. And my twin brother has been in prison, on and off, since we were fifteen years old. Do the math with me real quick, I'm turning 43 this year. That's 28 years of birthdays where the person who literally shared a womb with me, who came into this world on the same day, has been separated from me by bars and bad decisions and a system that seems to have a revolving door with his name on it. In all those years, I can count on one hand, maybe three fingers, the number of birthdays we've actually celebrated together with him not incarcerated. And even in the rare years he's been out, our relationship has been so fractured that the separation still feels just as real.

So yeah, birthdays have been hard.

Add to that my lifelong struggle with actually receiving love and celebration. I can throw you a party that'll make you feel like royalty. I can celebrate you until you're blushing and telling me to stop. But when it comes to being on the receiving end? When people want to love on me and make me feel special? I get all weird and uncomfortable, like someone's trying to give me a compliment while I'm trapped in an elevator with no escape route. It's so much easier to deflect, to make it about someone else, to downplay my own worth.

But this year? This year is different.

I'm actually excited about my birthday this year, and that sentence feels strange even as I write it. My husband has some surprises planned (and no, he didn't tell me what they are, and I actually didn't even ask him not one time). But more than the surprises, more than any specific plans, I'm just genuinely excited about being with my family. I'm excited about stepping into my 43rd year and all that God has planned for me.

Something has shifted in me. Maybe it's my forties. Maybe it's continuing to do the work of healing. Maybe it's just that I'm tired of living a story that was written FOR me instead of BY me. Whatever it is, I'm here for it.

For those of you who know me, like really know me, you know I am a certified professional when it comes to loving greasy food. Soul food is my love language. Soda is basically a food group in my world. And don't even get me started on strawberry shortcake and cheesecake, because I will write you a whole dissertation on why they're gifts from heaven itself. But even I, the queen of "give me all the fried things," am starting to be more intentional about my health and wellness.

And before you start thinking I've turned into one of those people who only eats kale and talks about their morning smoothie routine, relax. I'm not there yet, and I may never be. But I am learning. I'm trying new things. I'm being more aware of what my body needs, not just what my taste buds want. I'm exploring what wellness looks like in all its variations, physical, mental, emotional, spiritual.

And honestly? It feels really, really good.

Here's something the Lord revealed to me over the summer, and I'll be honest, it took me a while to accept it. He showed me that He has me in a season of preservation right now. It's almost like being in a cave, tucked away, hidden from the chaos and noise. And at first, I didn't like it. At all.

Because here's the thing about me, I've spent the last 43 years running and doing and moving and serving and fixing and managing and never, and I mean never, just sitting down. If I'm being completely honest with you (and why stop being honest now?), I was headed straight for burnout. Actually, scratch that. I was probably already there and just refusing to admit it because admitting it would mean I'd have to stop, and stopping felt impossible.

But God, in His infinite wisdom and His really inconvenient timing (I'm kidding, His timing is perfect, but you know what I mean), put me in this space of preservation. Not quite rest, even though there's rest involved. Not quite hiding, even though there's definitely some withdrawal from things that were draining me. It's preservation. Like He's putting me in spiritual hibernation, keeping me tucked away and protected for a reason.

And ya'll, it was hard for me to accept this. When the Lord started pulling me back from social media in June, I fought it. I had all the reasons why I needed to stay visible, stay connected, stay "on." But He kept gently (and sometimes not so gently) showing me that this withdrawal wasn't punishment, it was preparation. It wasn't isolation, it was preservation.

Because here's what He showed me, there's a lot coming in the next season. In the next year or two, maybe even the next five years, there's going to be a lot He needs from me. A lot He's calling me to. And in order for me to fulfill that calling, I can't show up depleted. I can't show up exhausted. I can't show up running on empty and hoping sheer willpower will carry me through.

I have to be at my best. I have to be at my quickest. I have to be at my most focused. I have to be ready. And you can't be ready if you're burned out.

So God, being the good Father that He is, essentially said, "Come here, beloved. Let Me hide you for a while. Let Me preserve you. Let Me prepare you for what's coming." And honestly? Once I stopped fighting it, this season of preservation has been one of the most beautiful, frustrating, peaceful, uncomfortable, necessary seasons of my life.

I've been exercising boundaries. I've been saying "no" to things that used to get an automatic "yes" from me. I've been loving on myself in ways that feel both foreign and familiar at the same time. I've been discovering what wellness actually means for me, not what Instagram says it should mean, not what some wellness guru with perfect lighting says it should mean, but what it actually means for my body, my mind, my spirit.

I've kept my circle really small, really tight. And before you come for me about that, let me tell you, it's not about being exclusive or thinking I'm too good for people. It's about protecting my peace. It's about not having space for drama or foolishness or chaos right now because I'm in hibernation mode, and bears don't entertain nonsense while they're hibernating. (Okay, I don't actually know if that's true about bears, but it sounds right, so we're going with it.)

And here's the wild part, this season of preservation has actually helped with my control issues. You know, those "I need to manage everything and everyone and fix all the problems and make sure everything goes according to my plan" issues. (Don't act like I'm the only one who struggles with this.) Being in this cave season has forced me to let go of control. I've had to just kind of... hang out. Trust God. Not micromanage every situation. Not jump in to fix or save or manage.

Even when the enemy has sent attacks my way, and babbbyyyyy, he has definitely still tried it, the Lord has given me a peace that surpasses all understanding. And I just don't respond the way I used to. I don't spiral. I don't panic. I don't immediately jump into fix-it mode or defense mode or "let me handle this" mode.

Because my body and my mind and my soul and my spirit are in hibernation. They're being preserved. They're being protected. They're being prepared. And that, my friends, has been really, really good.

A few days ago, I received a message from a friend that I admire deeply, someone who is so full of wisdom and the Holy Spirit. And honestly, her words felt like a direct confirmation from God about everything He's been showing me. She said.....

"Continue to refuel. Your passion and your frustration are both palpable. You and your family only have one Sana. Remember you are called to be a matriarch, so preserve yourself so you can speak life into and over your legacy...your childrens' childrens' children."

Man, that message hit me so hard and also gave me so much peace.

Because sometimes you need someone else to speak truth over you when you're struggling to see it clearly yourself. Sometimes you need someone who's further along in their journey to remind you that what you're doing, this intentional pulling back, this boundary setting, this choosing yourself, isn't selfish. It's necessary. It's wise. It's exactly what a good matriarch does.

"You and your family only have one Sana." Let that sink in for a minute. My family doesn't get a backup version of me. There's no replacement waiting in the wings if I burn myself out. There's no substitute matriarch who can step in and carry the legacy forward if I run myself into the ground trying to be everything to everyone.

There's just me. One me. And if I don't preserve myself, if I don't refuel, if I don't take this season seriously, then I won't be able to speak life into and over my legacy. I won't be able to pour into my children's children's children because I'll be too depleted, too burned out, too broken to pour anything into anyone.

This message was the confirmation I needed that I'm on the right path. That this season of preservation isn't me being lazy or selfish or disconnected. It's me being obedient. It's me being wise. It's me recognizing that I can't give what I don't have, and right now, God is refilling me so I can give from overflow instead of from an empty, depleted place.

I'm not gonna lie and tell you it's been easy. Some days I feel like I should be doing more, being more visible, making more noise. Some days I wonder if people think I've disappeared or given up or stopped caring. Some days I miss the hustle, even though the hustle was killing me.

But then I remember, this isn't forever. This is for now. This is for a purpose. God is preserving me in this cave season so that when it's time to come out, I'll be ready. Not just ready, I'll be prepared. There's a difference.

David was in a cave before he became king. Elijah was in a cave when God spoke to him in a still, small voice. Jesus withdrew to solitary places to pray and be renewed. Sometimes the cave isn't a punishment, it's a preparation. Sometimes the withdrawal isn't rejection, it's protection. Sometimes the quiet season isn't God forgetting about you, it's God preserving you for what He's already planned ahead.

So if you're in a cave season right now, if you're in preservation mode, if you feel like God has tucked you away and you're not quite sure why, I see you. And I want you to know, you're not being punished. You're being prepared. You're not being sidelined. You're being preserved. You're not forgotten. You're being protected.

And remember, your family only has one you. Preserve yourself so you can speak life into and over your legacy.

Stay in the cave. Let God do His work. Trust the process of preservation. And when it's time to come out, and you'll know when it's time, you'll be ready for everything He's prepared for you.

Here's something I've been sitting with lately, something that's both heavy and beautiful at the same time, I am the legacy holder of my family.

Let me explain. On my biological mother's maternal side, the family tree is pretty sparse. My grandmother had two children, my mom and my uncle. My mom had me and my twin brother. That's it. That's the whole lineup. And here's the thing that'll really get you: everyone on that side of my family is gone now. My grandmother, my uncle, my mother, all of them have passed away.

It's just me. And my brother (when he's not incarcerated), his daughter, my two kids, and my two grandkids.

I am literally the person who holds the story of our family. I am the keeper of memories, the bridge between what was and what will be. And when I really let that sink in, when I really sit with the magnitude of what that means, it's overwhelming. But it's also incredibly empowering.

Because here's what I've realized, I don't have to accept the old story anymore.

The story of trauma and pain and survival, that doesn't have to be our narrative going forward. The cycles of incarceration, abuse, drugs, AIDS, alcoholism, poverty, I can break them. Actually, scratch that. I am breaking them. We are no longer bound to that legacy. We are writing a new one.

I am the matriarch now, whether I signed up for the role or not, and as the matriarch, I get to decide what our family story will be moving forward. I get to shape what my children will tell their children. I get to influence what my grandchildren will tell my great-grandchildren.

That's not a burden. That's a privilege. That's an honor. That's a responsibility I take seriously and hold tenderly.

Can we talk about this for a second? Because I think this is where so many of us matriarchs get it twisted. We think that because we've been through so much, because we're carrying so much, because we're responsible for so much, that joy isn't really for us anymore. Joy is for other people. Joy is frivolous. Joy is something we'll get to later, maybe, if there's time, after everyone else is taken care of.

But that's not what God says. Nehemiah 8:10 declares, "The joy of the Lord is your strength." Not your burden. Not your guilt. Not your hypervigilance or your people-pleasing or your inability to rest. Your joy is your strength.

You are allowed to be happy. You are allowed to celebrate yourself. You are allowed to receive love without immediately deflecting it. You are allowed to take up space and be seen and let people make a fuss over you. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to laugh until your stomach hurts. You are allowed to do things just because they bring you joy, not because they're productive or beneficial to anyone else.

There will still be hard days. There will still be pain. As long as we're alive and breathing, we're going to experience struggle.

But it'll be different pain. Not the pain of repeating old patterns and staying stuck in old wounds. It'll be the pain of growth. The pain of stretching beyond what's comfortable. The pain of becoming who we were always meant to be.

And honestly? I'm excited about it. I'm excited to take you along on this journey with me. We've walked through so much together already, so much pain and sadness and heavy, hard things. And I'm grateful for that, truly. But now I'm excited to bring you along for the joyful parts too. The healing parts. The "figuring it out as we go" parts. The "I tried a new wellness thing and it was actually kind of amazing" parts. And yes, the "I tried a new wellness thing and it was terrible and I'm going back to my greasy food" parts too, because balance, people.

So here's my prayer for myself as I celebrate this October birthday, and for you, fellow matriarch, fellow cycle breaker, fellow legacy holder....

May you know, deep in your bones, that you are seen by God. May you feel His delight over you. May you give yourself permission to celebrate yourself without guilt or shame. May you embrace joy as your birthright and your strength. May you walk confidently in your role as the story writer, knowing that the old narratives no longer have power over your family's future. May you be gentle with yourself on the hard days and fully present on the good ones. May you surround yourself with people who celebrate you well. May you learn what wellness looks like for you, in all its beautiful variations. May you laugh more than you worry. May you rest without guilt. May you know that your story, every chapter, even the painful ones, matters deeply and has the power to transform lives.

And if God has you in a season of preservation right now, may you trust the cave. May you embrace the hibernation. May you allow yourself to be tucked away and prepared for what's coming next. May you know that your withdrawal isn't weakness, it's wisdom. Your quiet season isn't irrelevance, it's preparation. Your boundaries aren't selfishness, they're self-preservation. And when it's time to emerge from the cave, you'll do so ready, renewed, and prepared for everything God has called you to.

May you remember that your family only has one you. May you preserve yourself so you can speak life into and over your legacy, your children's children's children.

Here's to October. Here's to birthdays celebrated with joy instead of depression. Here's to being 43 and finally feeling excited about what's ahead. Here's to broken cycles and new legacies. Here's to matriarchs who are doing the hard, holy work of rewriting the story. Here's to cave seasons that preserve us for greater purposes.

And here's to you, dear reader (I have wanted to say that soooo bad, lol). Thank you for being on this journey with me. Thank you for witnessing my pain and now getting to witness my joy. Thank you for being part of my story, which is really all of our stories woven together.

Let's keep going. Let's keep growing. Let's keep choosing joy. And let's trust God when He calls us into seasons of preservation, knowing that He's preparing us for something beautiful.

The best chapters are still ahead.

"He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end." - Ecclesiastes 3:11