Gemma Hartley

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

Getting pregnant after postpartum depression may have stolen a lot from me, but it gave me a lot more.

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.

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.

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.

When my son was a baby, I used my husband as a second set of hands. He was my co-parent, the other caretaker... I was no longer viewing him as my partner, but rather as an aide to attaining the next level of mothering. Even though my husband never called me out on my behavior, I slowly but surely hung up my need for perfection. Because if being a great mother means being a crappy wife, I don't want any part of it.

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

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

If you were to walk into my house on any given day, you wouldn’t know that I am an efficient and organized person.

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