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.

Last week, the internet went into an understandable uproar when a Christian woman decided to take to Facebook to talk about how she is

As a freelancer who works from home, I get the best of both worlds as a parent.

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

I spent the better part of two years a frazzled mess over things that ultimately didn’t matter. My child was still growing up perfectly normal, even when he didn’t follow the straight and narrow path set forth by his pediatrician. I was driving myself over the edge for nothing.

A breakup, Mom, a cheerleading competition, and Valentine's Day...

I had a lot of well-meaning friends and family searching for the right words to say after my back-to-back miscarriages. So many offered solace by guessing at where my lost babies resided in the ether: taken away to Heaven, perhaps forever, perhaps waiting for a better moment— an unknown, destined time these small souls were meant to break into the world. I accepted these comments silently, because they did nothing to comfort me.

At Santa Rosa Christian School, dancing was a gateway drug. The gyrating, the slow romantic swaying...

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.

Minimalism is great in concept, especially when you’re looking at someone else’s well-curated life. Declutter, simplify, own only things that bring you joy. This is all well and good for the twenty-something living in a one bedroom apartment, beholden to no one. When you’re a parent, however, minimalism gets a lot more complicated.