Gemma Hartley

But how do I go about actually practicing mindfulness with my kids when I still can’t seem to get them to find their shoes in 30 minutes or less? To be honest, it’s not always easy. However, there are a few key things that I have found really helpful in getting my kids started on the path to a more mindful life.

I could very easily slip through the next four years with blinders on and feel largely unaffected by the political climate. Which is why it’s so important for me to remind myself every day to stay in the fight. Even when it doesn't affect me personally, I owe it to my allies to remain vigilant all (four) year(s) long.

The insecurities about my age pushed me over the edge, making me work myself to the bone trying to be what I thought society would deem as a “good mom.” So I wish people understood that it’s never OK to comment on a mother’s age — young or old. Because the judgmental connotation is always there, no matter how innocent the intent.

Making friends as a grown woman is hard. I figured out a few tips on how to set up successful one-on-one friend dates, as well as how to handle the territory of a budding platonic relationship with another woman.

She is the type of woman I hope my daughter looks up to, a successful feminist role model if there ever was any. She is strong in the face of adversity. She does not cower when criticized. She knows that her words and actions are powerful, and is not afraid of those who would call her bossy, grating, shrill, yelling — when all she is really doing is being a leader. It is powerful for a growing girl to watch a woman like that thrive.

I felt unique in my passion for martial arts, my affinity for Call of Duty, my go-with-the-flow attitude toward boyish adventures. I wanted to be “one of the guys,” while still retaining the distinction of my sexuality. I longed to be the quintessential cool girl — desirable yet approachable. But in retrospect, all that really amounted to internalized misogyny.

...[M]en get a lot of praise for the “extra-credit work” they do in regards to domestic labor (the actual house cleaning and keeping work) and emotional labor (the invisible work that ensures the rest gets done) no matter what day of the year.

When I was a teenager, I felt very certain that I was not a feminist. I didn’t exactly understand the textbook definition of feminism, but I had a pretty good sense from the negative connotation I had gleaned while growing up in a narrowly Christian setting.

Again and again I refuse to prioritize, refuse to let anything slide, at the expense of my physical and mental health.