Personal Essays

HerStry publishes one Personal Essay every Wednesday. Weekly Personal Essays are a way for writers to tell the stories they want to tell. There are no rules. No themes. Nothing is off limits. For essay submissions check out our guidelines.

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True Love, Fairy Tales, and George R.R. Martin

True Love, Fairy Tales, and George R.R. Martin

There I was, doing an assignment for a Bootcamp on confidence, writing a vision of what my world would look like if I had unlimited confidence.

I set out to write a vision of myself as a successful author of an inspiring and hilarious memoir. Between that and my editing income, I’d be doing so well that I could afford to buy a space to build a creative retreat. But when I put my pen to paper—I wrote about love. And instead of feeling empowered, I couldn’t decide if I should roll my eyes, puke, or cry.

True StoriesGuest UserJune 1, 2022love story, love, life lessons Comments

Statistics

Statistics

My twelve-year-old son is conducting research, interviewing as many people as he can at the Hugo’s Supermarket downtown. He’s on a mission and there’s no stopping him. His statistical analysis involves the following variables: person, car driven, and favorite soda. I’m not sure which is the dependent variable, but I’m sure he’ll correlate vehicles with soda type soon. Maybe make a discovery he can sell to Pepsi. That’s his favorite one, after all.

True StoriesGuest UserMay 18, 2022mother, Motherhood, children Comments

A Good Guy

A Good Guy

Finn arrives in what is unmistakably his truck, a Toyota pickup smothered in bumper stickers: “Keep Your Laws Off My Body!” “Who Would Jesus Bomb?” “No Coal Exports!” A plastic Buddha rides on the hood, a compass of sorts to guide Finn through hazy adventures. He steps onto the driveway wearing a faded Grateful Dead t-shirt and flashes me a peace sign when I greet him.

True StoriesJulia NusbaumMay 11, 2022Abuse, Fear, Women, Storytelling, PrisonComment

Love Is the Size of an Olive

Love Is the Size of an Olive

I finally got pregnant after four rounds of insemination, three rounds of egg retrieval, and three rounds of embryo transfer. Some people who do IVF take pictures of all the needles it took to get them to baby.

True StoriesJulia NusbaumMay 4, 2022infertility, miscarriage, womenComment

Perils of the Male Gaze: The Power of Social Norming

Perils of the Male Gaze: The Power of Social Norming

At the age of fifteen, during the second semester of my sophomore year in high school, I cut off my hair—as close as I could to the roots—and started wearing my brother’s clothes. I wasn’t trying to be a boy; I was trying to un-girl myself.

True StoriesSelena RaygozaDecember 23, 2021story, women, women storytelling Comments

Oreo

Oreo

We were all dressed in the checked, green gingham, but it was their bodies that moved expertly to the rhythm. They swayed their hips and shook their behinds, to Tony Matterhorn’s “Dutty Wine.” I watched from the sidelines, with a book in hand. All I could do was tap my feet. It was not in my muscle memory to jive to the steelpan beat. Our outer coating was the same—melanin rich, yet like mismatched puzzle pieces, I did not seem to fit.

True StoriesGuest UserDecember 22, 2021racism, black women, women Comment

The Cut

The Cut

“Shorter,” I said. “Take it all.”

January seemed a fitting moment for fresh starts. It wasn't born from some halfhearted resolution or unfounded faith in the promise of a new year. It wasn't shoved in with a promise to swear off chocolate or set the alarm an hour early every Monday through Friday.

True StoriesGuest UserDecember 16, 2021Self Discovery, verbal abuse, abuse, toxic relationship, self love Comment

5 A.M.

5 A.M.

I fumble through the kitchen searching for the button that turns on the light under the microwave. The one that doesn’t shock the darkness out of me. The house is still and quiet.

Start the coffee. Open the laptop. Light the candle that smells of evergreens.

True StoriesGuest UserDecember 15, 2021writer, Writing, insecurities, Motherhood, self love Comments

Hugs to Headlocks and Green Algae Guts

Hugs to Headlocks and Green Algae Guts

Despite my vigorous scrubbing, the damn sixty-four ounce, “self-detect container” (manufacturer jargon) looks like it has a thin coat of pond scum coating the clear pitcher. How are pond scum and spirulina different? I wonder. Each time I enter the kitchen, I’m blind to the clean counters and floors. All I can concentrate on is this disgusting Vitamix.

True StoriesGuest UserDecember 9, 2021addiction, self care, Self Discovery, mental healthComment

The Hard Stuff Is Supposed to Come Later

The Hard Stuff Is Supposed to Come Later

“Have you traveled to China recently?”

No. I’ve been home, sleeping and battling morning sickness, except it’s at its worst in the evening, the way it was when my mom was pregnant with me. She’s sure the baby is a girl.

True StoriesJulia NusbaumDecember 8, 2021Coronavirus, pandemic, women storytellingComment

The Void

The Void

I’m standing at the edge of a small, rocky precipice, deep in the heart of the Washington Cascades. Fear courses through me like a vise, squeezing so tight it takes my breath. Crusted with ice, the yawning gap stares up at me with cold contempt, challenging me to leap.

True StoriesJulia NusbaumDecember 7, 2021women storytelling, women, story Comment

How to Survive Life with a Husband and a Baby During a Pandemic

How to Survive Life with a Husband and a Baby During a Pandemic

1. Make friends with alcohol.

In the past, you disliked that feeling of being slightly out of control and fuzzy around the edges. And having one too many key-lime-pie martinis at that work happy hour was a tad embarrassing, especially when you started talking about wanting a boob job.

True StoriesJulia NusbaumDecember 2, 2021Motherhood, pandemic, COVID-19, marriageComment

My Sister

My Sister

My sister is in and of and around me always.

My sister, who had more soul and love and passion than anyone else I know.

My sister, who visits me in quiet moments, floating into the space behind my closed eyes.

True StoriesSelena RaygozaDecember 1, 2021 Comment

Call Me a Writer

Call Me a Writer

I’ve done a lot of writerly things for money: reporting, editing, and teaching. I managed to write and teach until I had kids, but parenting was the kiss of doom for balance in my life. Something had to go, and since my spouse was on board, I quit teaching. What little extra time I had, I spent writing. It didn’t pay, but it satisfied a creative need, and it didn’t require a wardrobe. Or parking.

True StoriesGuest UserNovember 18, 2021Self Discovery, Writing, writer, mother Comments

Though I Have Seen My Head (Grown Slightly Bald)

Though I Have Seen My Head (Grown Slightly Bald)

I sat in Taylor’s chair in the high-ceilinged hair salon on Madison Avenue, watching all the wealthy Upper East Siders, as they rested their five-figure handbags on velvet stools like beloved pets. My newfound sense of mortality had no place in this land of excess. This was the room T.S. Eliot must have been referring to when he spoke about the “women [who] come and go/ Talking of Michelangelo.”

True StoriesGuest UserNovember 17, 2021cancer, self love, friendship, acceptance, Self Discovery Comment

Not Me

Not Me

Condensation gathers along the windows, giant teardrops sliding down the panes. The air inside sweats heavily, leaving its imprint on our booth seats and table. I have this habit of tucking my hands underneath my thighs when I’m cold. But the seats are sticky, so I interlace my fingers and hold them between my legs. It’s no wonder people get sick easily.

True StoriesGuest UserNovember 16, 2021abortion, Motherhood, mother daughter Comments

Feminist Amnesia

Feminist Amnesia

Writing a memoir is being in the diaristic present. I’m here but writing about then—a then I have not documented, a then that is lost, a then I re-create with each stroke of a word, as if I’m a time traveler denied access to my past.

True StoriesGuest UserNovember 11, 2021love, grief, LGBTQIA, DeathComment

Little Scratches

Little Scratches

I.

The neglected yard of a local abandoned house stands meadow high. Overnight, the grass floods with brown casings and red-eyed spawn. This is how it begins.

Silently, cicadas surface to molt, climb, mate. Our shoes crunch exoskeleton evidence of invasion. My daughters—five and three—stare at the creeping bark of trees, mesmerized by miniature zombie movements.

True StoriesGuest UserNovember 10, 2021writing, mother daughter, traumaComment

Just a Bad Period: How a Lifetime of Being Dismissed Led to Self-Advocacy

Just a Bad Period: How a Lifetime of Being Dismissed Led to Self-Advocacy

“Pain. Today I learned what that word really means...”

My first period is documented in my childhood journal when on July 3, 1998 I became a woman. I was just a month shy of turning fourteen and about to embark on my freshman year of high school.

True StoriesSelena RaygozaNovember 9, 2021women storytelling, women, storyComment

The Jewelers

The Jewelers

I contemplated flinging the ring over the railing into the woods, but then I thought: no, then it will be down there. The diamond will be shining in the dirt like the highlight on an eye in a painting, watching me. It will bother me that it’s still close by.

True StoriesSelena RaygozaNovember 4, 2021women, story, women storytelling Comment