Contributed By: Qualatrice of iJourni

4. Write and Read Everyday
​I pushed myself to write everyday to get my creative juices flowing even if I only wrote about the things I did throughout the day. When it comes to reading, I am a firm believer that reading helps to stimulate the mind. I use to be an avid reader but during college somewhere between studying for exams and writing 2-3 papers a week reading for fun was nowhere in my thought process. In order to increase the amount of books I read I signed up for a library card in my new area of residence. I even search for relatable articles online through LinkedIn and several other platforms.

5. Stimulate My Desires
I work a lot and sometimes I forget to play so, I started to make the attempt to do things I enjoy. One of the main things that really fuels and stimulates my life is travel. Traveling is rejuvenating  and opens the mind to new things. Every since the decision was made to travel more I have traveled to several places to my own surprise: Montego Bay, Jamaica, Cancun,Mexico, Los Angeles, CA, Asheville, NC, New Orleans, LA, and the list goes on. I want to share my experiences  with my audience so I began to plan more adventures locally and internationally.

6. Networking
I have been working with people for years however, I still find it hard to network at times. In order to make connections with other bloggers, influencers and entrepreneurs I joined several networking groups and attended a few conferences which allowed me to unleash my skills. Most of the networking groups are online but a few of them meet up once a month. Making connections with go-getters and bouncing ideas off of like minded creators is such an amazing feeling. Two of the first online networking platforms is Muses and Black Bloggers United which really helped me to communicate and collaborate.

Restarting and re-branding is not easy. There are so many things to add into the equation such as figuring out who you want your audience to be, marketing, content development, ROI and etc. However, I personally found out when it comes to restarting and really revamping anything putting in the work and having consistency is the key. You have to be dedicated and really want whatever you’re going after. ​
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Qualatrice is a travel and lifestyle blogger. She is originally from South Carolina but resides in North Carolina where she works full time in retail management. She spends majority of her free time traveling, blogging and hanging out with her friends & family.
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Her favorite place is the beach and she dances when no one is looking!

​Facebook: I Journi 
Instagram: @qualatrice
Website: I journi Blog

By: Nidja Muldrow, a SHE Team ExKlusive

As I was taking my first celebratory walk across the auditorium stage as a newly crowned queen of one of the most prestigious Greek Lettered Fraternities at my university, I was confident in my future. Ironically enough, my platform was entitled “Getcha Mind Right” and was focused on spreading awareness on mental health in the millennial African-American. Little did I know, I would soon be a walking example for why spreading awareness and developing resources that promote mental wellness was so necessary.

Since I entered college, I was alone. Yes, I had friends and was fairly well-known and liked on campus. I even embarked on what would become a long-term relationship. I was almost over-involved on my campus and often found myself mentoring other students. Even though, I was shy, I purposely put myself in the spotlight on to push myself out of my comfort zone, and I soon became known for participating in pageants and performing spoken word. I even joined a sorority. From the outside looking in, I was thriving. Still, I was alone.

Though the fruit which would eventually rot into my depression took a long while to appear, the seeds were being planted and taking root even before I was preparing for my pageant, so diligently planning out exactly how I would bring attention to my chosen cause. I didn’t have my mom a step away anymore to talk about my fears and pains or to calm me when my hypersensitivity reared her head, and I felt weak being vulnerable with my friends. So I wasn’t. I took it all alone; every bad grade, harsh word from a teacher, challenge with a mentee, issue in my relationship, problem with friends. All normal things every student goes through, right? Except I wasn’t dealing with any of it. I simply added another activity; busied myself with something “more important”. I didn’t have time to take care of MYSELF! I could wait, I thought.

​I never did fulfill my queenly duties. I had to ask my fellow queen to step up and attend a follow-up pageant in my place. I missed events first. Soon, I was missing class, missing assignments. I was fired from my job after continuously showing up late. Everything was catching up to me, but I still “didn’t have time” because now I was focused on proving that I was okay; on getting back to the “old Nidja”. “As soon as I fix this problem, I will be okay,” I thought. I wasn’t okay though. On the first night of my university’s homecoming, I got all dolled up for the concert being held. I rode to the gym with my friends seemingly happy, until we got there. I was putting on my shoes while my friends, excited to see the rapper performing, went ahead leaving me alone. In that moment, right then, I broke. I stayed in the car all night wallowing. Listening to my own mind telling me that I didn’t matter, that no one cared. I never went inside. When the concert had ended and my friends came back, I told them that I had fallen asleep and was ready to go home. That night, alone in my bathroom, I suffered my first of what would be many panic attacks and cut myself for the first time. This routine continued and worsened for a full year as everything around me suffered. 

The light that FINALLY woke me up was a conversation. After an especially destructive episode, I found myself speaking to my friend’s mother. I expressed myself to her. I told how I wanted to die but that I was terrified of dying. I told her of my pains and fears and she asked simply “What are you doing to feed your soul? What are you doing to take care of you?” I had no answer. I realized that my fearful obsession with death came because I wasn’t living. I wasn’t feeding the parts of me that will never die. I was making earthly duties more important than my soul/spirit duties. I was making time for everything temporary and no time for me! From then on, I resolved to try. To try to do something to care for myself and feed the parts of me that were most necessary. Though it’s been a very slow process with many black slides, I’m proud to say that every day is more fulfilling and joyful than the last. 

​A few months before my pageant, I was shocked with the knowledge that a close friend had been secretly battling Bipolar Depression. Selfishly, the first thing I thought to do was instigate an argument about why they hadn’t told me sooner; first, even. After them educating me, and encouraging me to do independent research into their condition, I wondered why on my college campus this knowledge wasn’t made readily available. I wondered how many like my friend had suffered silently before getting help or worse, never got the chance to. Thinking of that now leaves me both relieved that I wasn’t a part of the “never got a chance to”, yet terrified that I almost was.

​ While I am not still in the thick of my battle with Depression, I sometimes still feel shame about it. It hurts to know that this thing almost ruined my life; that it almost ended my life. It hurts me to tell my story (especially when I talk about self-harm) and see my family and friends’ hearts break as they blame and question themselves. Even still, with all the pain that my story may bring, I know that it also brings freedom and displays triumph. My most painful scar, the deepest cuts I ever inflicted on myself, serve as a stinging reminder to take care of the best parts of me first before trying to save the world. (Sorry in advance to everyone who reads this who I told that the scars on my thigh was the result of a burn.) I just hope that my story encourages everyone ,especially the person who feels constant pressure to be “happy” and “good”, to take care of themselves.

By: Audreyonna Sequale of AuthenticallyASB

As I write this letter to myself reflecting on my days growing up, I’m sorry I doubted myself. I made up in my mind that I was, indeed, ugly. . . Dear Middle School Me:​​

Letter to the Ball-Head Dark Skin Girl,

Don’t turn the lights out. They might lose you. No one is going to see you. But when the lights are on, they still don’t see you. Chin up. It’s only words. It doesn’t matter what others say about you because you are beautiful in your skin.    

“Ball-head, skally wag, ain’t got no hair in the back.”

Kids are going to be kids. Let them say whatever, as long as they not putting their hands on you, it’s fine. I’m serious, you’re going to be okay. You’ll be going to high school soon and no one will care if you’re dark skinned or not. Middle school kids have nothing else better to do but to talk about people.

“You still ball-head under those micro braids.”
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I guess I was wrong. High school was no different. He said he only liked light skin girls. Forget him! There’s somebody else out there for you. Oh, I forgot that he doesn’t date dark skin girls either. Maybe if you start wearing bright colors, they’ll start to notice you. Even your friends will begin to think that you’re beautiful and they’ll stop drawing attention to your dark skin.
           
“We can have sex but, I couldn’t make you my girl or anything. You not my type.”

You can’t get rid of your skin, girl. Taking extra hot and extra long showers won’t make some of your color come off. Be smarter than that. Okay, this is the last night you’re going to cry about it.
 
I know it’s hard to get out of bed, but you must go to school. Just don’t look in the mirror while you’re getting ready. You don’t wanna keep looking at yourself. You see the darkness that others see. You feel the darkness inside. But you must get up and go to school. No need to tell anyone how you feel, they don’t care. They’ll just tell you again that what people say doesn’t matter. It does matter, though. You didn’t ask for this skin. You didn’t choose to be dark. You question why God made you this way. That’s when you stopped smiling.
            “Nah, she too black"

​As I write this letter to myself reflecting on my days growing up, I’m sorry I doubted myself. I made up in my mind that I was, indeed, ugly. I decided that I wasn’t good enough for anyone because I was dark skin and didn’t have much else to show for myself. I’m not sure where I lost my sense of self-worth in the process, but I found it.
 
I often hear people say that talking about colorism as Black people (especially as Black women) is adding more divide in the Black community. In actuality, continuing to sit in the shadows and insist that it isn’t an issue is the thing that keeps us divided. Rooted in white supremacy, the color complex is no is secret in our culture. From the time we were brought to this country, our oppressor separated us by light and dark and it has followed us through centuries.
 
Many of the images we see of Black women in leading roles often exclude those who are dark skinned. We live in a society where Zoe Saldana gets to play Nina Simone in a movie and the show grown-ish doesn’t have one leading dark skinned woman. We, as black women, come in many shades and that’s what makes us unique, but let’s not forget that representation matters. It mattered to me when I was growing up trying to stay out of the sun in the summer time with fear that I would get darker. It matters to my 13-year-old niece who is now going through the same emotions about her skin. It matters to the young girls who look up to the Lupidas and the Violas and the Beyoncés.
 
I remember the girl. I was the girl…and I want that girl to know, she is beautiful in her own skin. - I love you
Sincerely,
Yourself