Gemma Hartley

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

The real reason I’m worried about sending my kids to school is that I’m going to be alone. For the first time in nearly a decade. And that’s scary.

Like many progressives, the early days of Trump's presidency have left me angry, exhausted, and fighting with strangers on Facebook.

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 am sometimes painfully envious of other (usually childless) writers who are doing the very thing I swore I would have done by now — publishing a novel.

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.

“Feminism” wasn’t a word I heard much growing up. When I did hear it, I equated it with a historical event, not a work in progress. I thought first-wave feminism was a one-and-done deal, and that all the work necessary for women’s equality had already been accomplished.

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.

Raise a glass to Friendsgiving - feasting without any sides of controversy or conspiracy theorizing. Friendsgiving is the best of all feasts.

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