Gemma Hartley

There is a chasm separating "bad behavior" from "being bad." Our kids have to learn from us that their one-time actions do not permanently define them.

My husband and I have been together for 12 years, eight of them married, four of them teenaged.

To be honest, I consider myself pretty damn good at adulting. I’m a great cook, as long as I have a recipe. I’m a self-taught professional baker.

When my son was little, I used to let him win board games a lot.

The real reason I’m worried about sending my kids to school is that I’m going to be alone. For the first time in nearly a decade. And that’s scary.

Starting a new year makes me look toward the future, looking at all the choices that lay ahead of me. But it also nudges me to examine my past in a very certain way. It's the time of year I always find myself thinking about the choices I didn’t make — about the life I didn't live.

The money is great, but it is not the best part of becoming a working mom. Having my own career has shifted the power balance of my relationship.

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

I hate some of the things I see my friends and family post on Facebook.

My resolutions regularly remind me that I don’t think I am enough, just as I am. So this year, instead of focusing on habit changes, I'm more concerned with changing my perspective.