When Motherhood Comes Full Circle: Finding Healing in the Most Unexpected Places

Mother's Day is upon us once again, and I swear every year it hits a little different. This year, as I hold my grandbaby A'Rayla in one arm and my grandson Syer in the other, I can't help but marvel at how God has brought my life full circle in ways I never imagined.

Listen, the relationship between my birth mom and I has always been like a twisted love story. Despite the pain and rejection that I endured because of her actions, somewhere along the way I fell in love with the little girl within her that no one saw enough value in to save. She has been my biggest enemy, my greatest ally, and the strongest kryptonite all in one lifetime.

That mother/daughter relationship can be a doozy, but the antidote to overcome the heartache was found in forgiveness.

The Generational Curse That Met Its Match

I have heard the term "generational curses" for as long as I could remember. While I knew they probably existed in my family, I couldn't pinpoint the exact curse. Chilllleeee, in my mind there were about 100 of em.

As an adopted child, most of us grow up in an identity crisis...who do I look like...act like...talk like...think like? Simply because we didn't know who we were. I had this same struggle for years. I even tried to hide what I did know about who I was because of the shame, embarrassment, and stigma it carried.

My generational curse is an ugly one. When the truth came full circle, I struggled with falling into a depression. My grandmother was an addict and she sold my mother for drugs. My mother was an addict, and at the age of 4, she began selling me for drugs. But man oh man, when that curse ran into me, it STOPPED.

I remember sitting in that crack house in Bridgeport, Connecticut, at four years old when the police kicked down the door. Everyone on the floor! My twin brother and I watched as they dragged our mother away in handcuffs, her eyes glazed over and blank. I wasn't scared or sad. I was simply... aware. Aware of what had become normal for me.

Both my grandmother and my mother have passed away. In fact, other than my daughter and I, there are no more females on my mother's maternal side of the family. I get the privilege and honor to rewrite a family history, to end an ugly generational curse. My daughter and granddaughter will not know the shame of being sold for drugs by a drug-addicted mother.

Who wouldn't serve a God that has the power to rewrite a story in the blink of an eye, one who can bring you through the fire and you not smell like smoke?

Four Mothers, One Daughter

In order to allow breath in my body, God needed a woman with extraordinary strength and resilience - one who could not only bring me into this world but my twin brother as well. He blessed me with my birth mother, Alexis Choice, who despite her battles with addiction, passed down to me her fierce spirit and determination. Short in stature but mighty in presence, she gave me the fire that would later fuel my purpose. I honor her journey, complicated as it was, for without her there would be no me.

When Alexis completed her divine assignment, God knew I needed a spiritual foundation to weather the storms ahead. So He orchestrated my path to cross with Francis Mackey, my first foster mother. Under her careful guidance, I experienced my first genuine encounter with Christ and learned the sacred responsibilities of ministry. She planted seeds of faith that would later blossom in ways neither of us could have imagined. I honor her dedication to showing me a different way of living.

When that season of preparation was complete, my heavenly Father knew I needed stability and structure to thrive. So Francis passed the baton to Alberta Mayfield-Hardy, the woman who chose me as her daughter through adoption. She modeled unwavering commitment, teaching me the value of working diligently for your family, honoring your husband, maintaining your home with excellence, and carrying yourself with dignity through life's challenges. I honor her choice to love a child not born of her body but destined for her heart.

As I approached adulthood, when God felt I was ready to glimpse His greater vision for my life, He divinely connected me to CoPastor Kim Cotten, who would become my mother-in-law. Through her example, I witnessed what it truly means to lead as a woman in ministry with both grace and authority. She taught me how to pray with purpose and labor before the Lord with persistence. I honor her for embracing me as not just a daughter-in-law but as a spiritual daughter worthy of investment.

But God's mothering provision in my life didn't stop there. He sent Ms. Murdis Gay, my social worker during those turbulent foster care years. Today I honor you, Ms. Gay. I don't know how large your caseload was or what all of your responsibilities were, but I do know that when you were with us, we were the only children that mattered because that is how you made me feel.

You were our mother when the state had not yet appointed us one. You were my therapist when I was banned from my actual therapist because I threw a chair through her office glass door. You were our protector and our one and only social worker.

Some may say you just did the job that the state appointed you to do, but I know better. I know that every significant person who has come into my life served a specific purpose and you were the starting point. You treated us like your own, took very good care of us, and always had our best interest in mind. I don't know how many tears you wiped from my eyes, or how many times you encouraged me to stay positive. You will forever be my hero.

Ms. Gay, I know that you have since passed on, but know that you will always live in a very special part of my heart.

We must learn to appreciate those who show up as mother figures in our lives, filling critical gaps and meeting needs we often don't even recognize at the time. Sometimes motherhood comes through unexpected vessels - a teacher who sees potential when no one else does, a neighbor who provides meals when your own table is empty, or even an older friend who offers wisdom when you're lost. These mother-hearted women deserve our recognition and gratitude, especially on Mother's Day.

God will always send you WHAT you need, WHEN you need it. I'm grateful for these remarkable women who each contributed something essential to my development. It is because of their collective influence that I am who I am today.

The saying goes that "you only get one mother." I thank God that didn't apply to me.

When God Says No

When my mother passed away while I was six months pregnant with Jamir, part of me passed away too. I had been praying, groaning, crying, and begging for a chance to have a real relationship with her. God heard every one of those groans. He saw every tear. He listened to every prayer. But that wasn't God's plan for our lives.

My mother's purpose was to bring me into this world. Outside of giving birth to my brother and me, she had a different path to walk and a battle of her own to overcome. I had to come to terms with the fact that her life path didn't include a relationship with me, even though I wanted it badly.

Grief is that part of life that you can't outsmart. You just have to succumb. Give yourself permission to have emotions and give yourself grace as you recalibrate.

The Daughter Who Became Me

Y'all, this is where things get real messy and real beautiful all at once.

A year ago, I was minding my business and not drinking water because I hate water. The end of the school year was coming quickly, and I was beyond ready because it had been a tough year with my daughter as a high school sophomore.

I wanted her to be everything I never had the opportunity to be, and she wanted me to accept her being who she is. I wanted her to listen to my wisdom, and she wanted to challenge my perceived wisdom. I wanted her to be grateful for everything I sacrificed for her, and she wanted me to stop making sacrifices for things she didn't ask of me. Y'all, I felt like I was on a seesaw that could never find balance.

So when I was awakened out of my sleep at 6:40am one day to my phone ringing and her school's number on the screen, I knew there wasn't going to be anything good coming through the speaker of my phone.

Twenty minutes later, my husband and I found ourselves sitting in the nurse's office with our daughter in tears, finding out that she, our 16-year-old daughter, was pregnant.

Devastated. Crushed.

I looked across the room at my husband standing behind the door of the office in complete silence and then down to my lap where my daughter was weeping and felt like things were moving in slow motion.

I slowly snapped out of what felt like a complete pause in my reality and immediately jumped into action. I got my daughter together, wiped her eyes, told her that I would not allow her to walk out of that office in shame, so pick your head up and let's go home.

We walked out of that office, and I walked into the exact plot of the enemy that I told my daughter to fight: shame.

This was NOT happening. This was absolutely NOT my reality. I thought I was the generational curse breaker in my family; how in the world is my daughter 16 and pregnant?

How?

Josh and I walked into what has become our war room (our bedroom) looked at each other and said, "She is definitely getting an abortion ASAP." Because ain't no way we were about to allow our 16-year-old to have a baby.

This decision to create our will for her life became a nightmare. When we told her what was about to happen, Sana, I mean Janai, looked us in our face and told us that she was not getting an abortion. We looked right back at her and told her, then you will need to find somewhere else to live, because our home is not an option.

We watched our daughter cry for the next few weeks. We watched her not eat for days and quickly dwindle down to the smallest we had ever seen her.

Finally, in week three, after quite a few family conversations that had blown up, I got on my face. Because when you finally come to the end of yourself, you get desperate for God to be who He has always been to you. A Father. A protector. A provider. A friend. A miracle worker.

I asked Him, in the most desperate way, "Lord, what do you want us to do?" His response was simple: "You don't get to determine how I bring my children back to me."He then proceeded to whoop my behind, and then told me exactly what He wanted us to do, step by step, and the first step began with love.

When Josh came home from work that morning, I began to share with him what the instructions of God were concerning this new chapter of our lives. Josh looked at me, and a tear fell from his eyes. What I didn't know was that while I was at home on my face, he had also gone to God the night before while at work, and God told him that we are to let go of the fight and love her.

So we called our daughter into the war room, and we shared with her what God told us. She laid her head in my lap and burst into tears. When she looked up, she looked like a new person, immediately.

Breaking the Real Curse

One of my friends said to me, "Sana, if your daughter is becoming a teen mom and you were a teen mom, then how did you break the generational curse?"

Holy Spirit began to speak to me in that moment, and when I opened my mouth, His response came forth: My daughter becoming a teen mother was not the curse or cycle I was meant to break. The trauma, the lack of support, the shame, the unhealthy parenting, those are the cycles that I was meant to break.

When I became a teen mother, I had no support. None. I had to figure it out on my own, while facing some major medical issues due to my pregnancy and my bio mother dying when I was 6 months pregnant before I had a chance to see her. There was no baby shower. I was living house to house. I was alone, and I was scared.

What God is allowing Joshua and me to create for Janai is the exact opposite of my experience, and through it, I am experiencing another level of healing.

The relationship between my daughter and I has gone through a complete 360, and we have become best friends. Why? Because she feels supported, loved, and free to be herself.

It is now May, and our granddaughter is 4 months old and an absolute joy. I am seeing my daughter become the most amazing mom, growing and maturing more and more each day. This is her first Mother's Day.

A Word For The Wounded

If you're reading this and Mother's Day brings more pain than celebration, I see you. If you're a mother who feels like you're failing, I feel you. If you're without the mother you needed, I understand you.

Maybe you're a former foster kid trying to figure out how to mother without having had that example. Maybe you're like me, having to find the strength to forgive a mother who hurt you deeply—with no apology coming because she's no longer here.

Let me tell you something: Forgiveness isn't always about the other person. Sometimes, it's the key that unlocks your own prison cell.

When I learned that my birth mother had also been sold by her mother, it didn't excuse what happened to me, but it helped me understand. It helped me love her, even after her death. It helped me see that sometimes people can only give what they've received.

But here's the beautiful part: You can give what you never received. You can be what you never had.

Your story isn't over, sis. Whatever curse you think has defined your family doesn't have to define you. You can be the period at the end of that sentence.

As we approach this Mother's Day, give yourself grace. Celebrate the mothers who showed up for you, whether they share your DNA or not. Honor yourself for breaking cycles and creating new patterns of love. And remember that motherhood, in all its messy, complicated glory, is a journey, not a destination.

This day looks different for all of us. Maybe you're a new mom still trying to figure out which end is up, or a seasoned mama with grown children who rarely call. Perhaps you're a bonus mom navigating the delicate dance of loving children not born to you. You might be a grandmother now, watching your own child parent, reliving your journey through their eyes. Or maybe you're a spiritual mother, pouring into the next generation without having biological children of your own.

Wherever you find yourself on this journey of motherhood, know that your story matters. The love you give matters. The boundaries you set matter. The tears you cry in the bathroom when no one is looking? Those matter too.

What I've learned through it all is that God specializes in redemption stories. He delights in taking what the enemy meant for destruction and transforming it into something beautiful. I've witnessed this in my own life, and I'm watching it unfold in my daughter's life now.

If there is any mother living in shame because of the decisions your child has made or embarrassed by the consequences of their actions, you don't have to be. Come out from the shadows of shame and lift your head up. God is still in control, and it ain't over yet.

Be encouraged in these unashamed streets. Happy Mother's Day! 🩵 ~ Sana