Be Blogalicious November 2014 - Be Blogalicious

November 2014 Archive

$49 bStore #ShopSmall Small Business Saturday Special!

It’s #ShopSmall Saturday! 

Be Blogalicious has a sweet swag bundle deal while supplies last. We’re proud to have collaborated with entrepreneurs Effie’s PaperTees in the Trap, and Liquid Courage Cosmetics on the products in our bStore!


SmallBizSaturdaySwag

I’m A Business…Man :: Blogalicious Community Small Business Guide Roundup

 

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1. Black and Married with Kids video bundle package

2. Crafty Chica line of inspired art and project kits

3. Tees in the Trap {No explanation required}

4. Effie’s Paper: Eye-catching stationary

 

We tapped into our community and rounded up a few more small business companies you can patronize during Small Business Weekend. 

Picasso In Your Casa… 

Inspired art work by Beatrice Clay 

Inspired art work by A’Driane 

Coily and Cute Brown Girl Watercolor Art

 

Because Reading is Fundamental… 

Whose Shoes bundle package by MomsnCharge

Sister Speak: An … Introduction into the Creative Minds of Baby Boomers by Patricia Patton and Friends

Discover your potential with Power of Peace in a Pause by Tierra Destiny Reid

Refresh with Ekene and create the life you deserve to live

Become a Better Version of You and Own the Gamechanger Within by Vernetta Freeney

Sign up and take advantage of 40% off iBlog Magazine subscription

 

Stylin’ On ‘Em…. 

Nubian Skin Tone Hosiery & Lingerie

Shootie Girl Bling Apparel

Inspirational T-shirt line by The Cassie Brown Project

Funky Handcrafted Jewelry and Accessories by JewelryRockstar

Bracelets for a Cause: RLT Collection created by Emmy Award Winning Activist: Rae Lewis-Thornton

 

Primping and Grooming 

Natural Hair products, jewelry and gift bundles by Koils by Nature 

Flor Bella Boutique handmade night time grooming accessories

Lipsticks and Lacquer in bold hues, including the Blogalicious color created  Liquid Courage Cosmetics 

We debuted the “Blogalicious” shade during #BeGreatB6 conference. There’s still a few tubes left.

If you need a break from your natural hair, check out pieces from Nubian Hair Oasis 

 

Come Here, Let Me Coach You! 

Services by BeFree Project 

Boni Candelario’s Coaching and Resume Services

 

 

 

 

 

 

Announcing the #CourageToWrite Movement + Contest Winner: A’driane Nieves

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You deserve to live your courage.

Blogs were born out of the need to spark courageous conversations, and to create communities of people with similar passions, experiences, challenges, and triumphs. One virtue connected  all of these realities: courage. cour·age -mental or moral strength to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty

Your Voice Matters.

The courage to speak your piece and boldly live your truth is the most fundamental human right. And, with this courage, blogs were born, revolutions were ignited, and Blogalicious came to be.  

Wear Your Courage.

The mission of Blogalicious is to be known as the go-to destination and resource for influential multi-cultural women social media enthusiasts from all over the world to collaborate, connect and uplift one another. To further this commitment, Blogalicious is teaming up with Liquid Courage Cosmetics to help you wear your courage with the #couragetowrite movement. The #couragetowrite movement is designed to encourage bloggers that have stopped blogging or considered the thought of muting their voice. Now is your moment to wear your courage well.

Knowing that studies have shown women wearing make-up feel it gives an advantage at work and made them feel more in control, Liquid Courage Cosmetics debuted “Blogalicious”, a lipstick at the #BeGreatB6 Blogalicious conference

 

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GET YOURS TODAY.

We also awarded the first #CourageToWrite winner while in San Antonio.  Thanks to all who had the courage to share their words and to submit to the contest!

{Congratulations to A’Driane Nieves!}

Submission from: A’Driane Nieves of Butterfly Confessions Dancing in the Light During the Seasons When Darkness Abounds Confession: My greatest fear is that I will lose my life to suicide. I don’t say that to be melodramatic, I simply state it as a fact. As a person living with bipolar disorder, it is a fear that silently stalks me, always watching for a misstep to expose a weakness it can take advantage of, a crack it can slide itself into. Once inside it starts searching for the gaps serotonin has been unable to fill, settling into each one, and methodically goes to work on eroding my mind’s defenses. Sometimes the process is slow, my mental erosion, building up to a collapse. Others it is swift and jarring, flinging me from the light of life into a plunging darkness that swallows my soul instantly. And then there are times when it’s an excavation of my insides, a scooping and hollowing out of my personhood designed to leave me as nothing more than an outward shell of a woman. When I was 13, years of abuse at the hands of my father gave birth to a despair that swiftly engulfed me one Saturday afternoon while my belly was empty from hunger and my father was out on a golf outing. That time it was pills. It was an amateurish and desperate attempt at escaping the hell I lived in that lead me to a drugged sleep but not death. At 20 it found me after a series of rapid changes over a short amount of time and the hormonal shift that comes with miscarriage. Becoming an airman, being stationed at my first base, the dissolving of a tech school relationship that had left me pregnant and then suddenly not, surrounded by people I did not know, working a job that wasn’t what I had envisioned or hoped for when I swore an oath to protect and serve my country, being estranged from my family…it found me in my dorm room and I went to work at my next shift, telling my supervisor I couldn’t arm up and that instead, I needed to be taken to the mental health clinic on base to be seen. It started feverishly raking its claws on the walls of my mind daily just shy of Alex’s first birthday. I was constantly triggered by anxiety and depression, guilt over not being the mother I thought my kids deserved, feelings of overwhelm when he would scream inconsolably, and my thoughts dancing with sudden desires to just leave and never come back. I started seeing a therapist who specialized in treated women with postpartum mood disorders like PPD and its grasp on my mind unclenched just enough for light to enter in again. In July 2011 I woke up on a Monday, found it staring me steadfastly in the eyes and just knew: I wouldn’t make it past the next two weeks alive if I didn’t get help. Even with the help I had been getting, my symptoms had been getting worse. I was dancing with what I know now was hypomania and plummeting into gravity wells of depression hourly. It was constant and unrelenting, its devouring and feasting on my mind. It’s appetite was insatiable and if I wasn’t crying from the burn depression’s cold grip had around my heart, I was screaming from the rage flashing through me…if I wasn’t bounding off the Earth from the energy vibrating through my body and bursting out of my fingertips, I was pressing my sweating, anxious body into the coolness of my bathroom floor, praying each inhalation would quell the panic trying to claw it’s way out of my skin. My mind was too loud, full of thoughts that spun and splintered into chaos at a pace that often left me nauseated. Two days later, I found a sitter for Brennan, put myself on a bus with Alex wrapped to my chest in the Moby, and walked into the VA Behavioral Health Clinic in Philadelphia, with whispers of death roaring in my ears. The intake psych diagnosed me with rapid cycling bipolar disorder type 2 & OCD and put me on a mood stabilizer. Within a week it kicked in and I embarked on a new treatment journey for an illness that I could more accurately name. Treatment has helped, and while other times it just shows up to flirt, every Fall has become hunting season. Suicide is the predator, my life and sanity the prey. No matter how well I’ve been taking care of myself and compliant in treatment, it hunts me down, licking its chops as it circles me, watching…waiting. Two years ago I had to go inpatient to stay safe from its advances. I slowly paced the halls of the VA Mental Health psychiatric ward in Waco in my green, floppy, foam sock shoes desperately wanting to go home to my boys and my life but at the same time stay hidden, monitored by those who whose job it was to not let Death have me. “Do you really want to die?” the doctor had asked me. No. I didn’t. I just wanted relief and couldn’t find it in living with a mind designed to self-destruct…fray at the edges…unravel…erode…become my enemy. It’s found me again as I’m nearing one year postpartum. It’s been a year that’s come with it’s difficulties as I’ve adjusted to mothering three while living with this illness, but joy has found me at various points throughout, grabbing my hand and saying, “dance with me, Addye. Be free.” This is the freest I’ve ever felt in my almost 32 years of living and yet here I am again staring at the whites of Suicide’s eyes and searching desperately for a gun to shoot it with… I want to keep dancing in the light. But my marriage is barely breathing as my husband and I scour the landscape for a path that brings us back to each other. Each of my sons has An Issue that demands every ounce of my mental capacity daily that leaves me exhausted and specialized attention that is straining our finances. Writing here has brought some success this year, but exposure saw my inboxes become inundated with vitriol from those who’d rather the Other stay silent. I look at my baby as he screams and cries like babies do and brace myself against the panic that floods my system. Images I’d rather not see flash through my mind, unwarranted and unwanted. Overwhelm asks me repeatedly throughout the day if I’m done and my breath is labored when I whisper “No.” Worry fills me. Depression courts me. Anxiety ravages my insides, ripping me open, exposing where my heart and resolve are weak. I want to keep dancing in the light. So I tighten my grip as my mind cycles from one extreme to the next. I expand my ribs out as far as my bones and skin will allow and I drink in the morning air as I take Alex to school. I concentrate on the laughs bubbling up and spilling out of my infant son and use it to anchor me to the present. I respond when Brennan asks me if I know that lions are the only big cats that live in packs, and beg him to tell me more so I can marvel at how much information his brain clamors to hold. I take their pictures on my phone and use them to dig in and root deeper when the darkness pulls at me. I paint my lips with my favorite shade of purple lipstick because it makes my heart beat a little faster and my hips sway with power and allure when I walk. I text my friends. I use the internet to distract. I read the words of others, press my hands in paint, go away for a weekend retreat to hold onto myself. I call my psychiatrist and resolve to hold on until December 9th when I can sit in her office and say “help me.” And I come here. Today. To find my way back after struggling to see Why My Words Matter in the hopes that it will help me remember why my life does. For them. For me. I’m here to dance in the light even in the seasons when it can’t be found. Selah.

We thank A’Driane for her beautiful submission and hope that it inspires you to have the #CourageToWrite.

Join the Thunderclap! Details HERE.

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