Gemma Hartley

My six-year-old son got into the car after school and declared he only wanted to have one kid when he grew up.

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

You know that annoying friend who loves to vaguebook about the woes in her life or is always complaining on social media about how her kids are destroying her home and mental health? Super annoying, right? Well, that was me — every damn day, for years.

Did you read “gymnastics for grown-ass adults” and get real excited? Like, where can I find this? How can I do this? This sounds awesome! 

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

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.

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.

How was I supposed to tell my son, who was already preoccupied and frightened by the idea of death, that his new little brother or sister was gone, that I'd had a miscarriage? I didn't know. So I lied.

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

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