Gemma Hartley

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

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

I know it won't be long until he can read the headlines before I can bury the truth. He will learn to read, and then to suffer. Words will haunt him.

There is a time to be prudent and fair to “many sides” of an issue, but dealing with Nazis is not that time.

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

Sometimes, I think back to all the ridiculous things I did for boys when I was younger and cringe.

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 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.

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

Feminism should empower all girls — not just those who buck the system. Do I have my preference for what I would like her to do? Yes, but what I envision for her isn’t as important as what brings her joy and helps her find fulfillment.