Gemma Hartley

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.

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

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.

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

I spent most of my life assuming I was an introvert, but not a very good one. Then finding out I'm an ambivert totally changed my life!

Welcome to #RavsWriters, an opportunity for you to get to know some of th

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

Your dirty brown garbage water is a scourge upon the human race, and I'm here to say it's time to call it quits. Let's all just admit that coffee is disgusting, and move on with our lives. It has no place beside delicious breakfast foods, and it is high time we banned this foul liquid from sullying the world of brunch.

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

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.