Gemma Hartley

I want and need to save some room for myself, to know that I am worthy of a place in the world without the label of mother.

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.

Sometimes, I think back to all the ridiculous things I did for boys when I was younger and cringe.

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.

Despite endless exhortations to "enjoy every second," the reality of three toddlers is not always a Disney postcard. And it's okay for some moms to admit that they look forward to having a little less mess, a little more serenity.

I was constantly on the defense, prepared to fight for my young love against those who thought I wasn’t ready for marriage. It pains me to say it, but in a way, they were right after all. There were things I was missing out on by marrying young, things I didn’t even realize I was missing until it was too late.

Travelling solo for the first time allowed me to regain my sense of self outside of motherhood. It showed me that I could still be a whole and interesting person without using my kids as my stand-in.

I was lucky enough to avoid a great deal of body negativity growing up.

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.

Mom friends were the ones to whom you were supposed to spill all those dark parenting thoughts. I wanted that mom-magic. I knew it was out there somewhere.