Adiba Nelson

Adiba Nelson

Bio

Adiba Nelson currently resides in Tucson, AZ with her fiancee, 6 year old daughter, and 2 teenage stepsons-to-be. When she is not advocating for disability rights, performing burlesque, or writing her monthly style column, she is busy managing social media for her local Easter Seals affiliate. She is also the author of the children's book Meet ClaraBelle Blue, and is currently working on the follow up book, ClaraBelle's Big Discovery. You can find Adiba at http://thefullnelson.net/

Adiba Nelson Articles

Your broken heart will heal.

A Word To The Brokenhearted

The universe always knows, and so what it does in all its lovely knowing, is it clears a path for you. When the universe sees that things have reached the point where they stand to steer you off your path, it will clear a way for you to continue moving onward and upward.

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I'm A Black Woman And I Don’t Want A Black Son

"I will peer relentlessly into every cop car I pass with a young black man in it, stretching my neck to make sure that it’s not my son who’s been arrested for driving while black, walking while black, or breathing while black. I will hold my breath while listening to every news report of another black man that has been arrested, beaten, killed, and made an example of."

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With the exception of Jennifer Hudson winning an Oscar for her amazing turn as the glamorous yet jilted Effie in Dreamgirls, every single Oscar that a minority actress has won has been for portraying a negative or otherwise stereotypical role.

#OscarsSoWhite: When Art Doesn't Imitate Life

If 93% of the Academy is White, but as of 2014, only 62% of Americans were White, and art is supposed to imitate life...

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Postpartum depression is real. Take it from Adiba Nelson.

Postpartum Depression Stole Two Months Of My Life

It was the weirdest thing. I looked at this tiny human and felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. No overwhelming joy at finally meeting this person I’d been so excited for in months prior, no lurking sadness about no longer being pregnant and relishing in those shared “inside mommy’s belly” moments. Just... nothing. My brain said, “You have a baby now,” and that was that.

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I'm a diva. Image: Jade Beall.

I Stand Accused Of Being A Diva

If I had to pinpoint it, I’d say I am a diva because I had a mom who demanded nothing but the very best from me, from how I sat in a chair, to how I entered a room, to what grades I brought home. She demanded the best from me — and now, finally, I am at a point where I demand the very best from myself, and those I surround myself with.

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love.

Dating While Black: I'm No Jezebel

Black women were branded as sexually promiscuous and immoral, which in turn was used as justification for sexual trauma/rape.

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Image: Instagram.

Ify Ufele: The Baby Who Slayed At New York Fashion Week

I’m about to bring you some pint-sized deliciousness, and a whole lot of fierce! Meet Ify Ufele, or just Ify if you’re cool like that.

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She's Sitting Pretty

"I now had my seat of power, my throne, if you will. That’s why I customized my chair to look like a throne. And that’s why I liked it in my act: because I was truly in love with it and all that it represented for me. It was no longer a trap or a cage. It was freedom. It was power. It was sexy. And it was mine."

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Donuts. Tempting.

My Name Is Adiba Nelson, And I Am A Food Addict

This was how my eating disorder began. This is when I first consciously ate my emotions. THIS is when I said, “I don’t need you to love me. I don’t need to love myself. I don’t need to feel or be felt. Hear or be heard. See or be seen. I just need to eat. I just need to eat because food will never judge me. Food will never leave me (unless I make it leave me, which I did. In college. A LOT.).

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I watch, fearfully, sadly, and angrily as evidence of everything she said my father did to her slowly reveals itself to me.

'It's All In Your Head': Intimate Partner Violence And Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy

My father was an abusive man, plain and simple.

That wasn’t all he was, but to my mother, that's who he was. He was a controlling individual who perhaps took the scripture, “Wives, submit to your husbands” a tad bit too literally — and when my mom didn’t submit, she paid the price. Often with a blow to the head.

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