Gemma Hartley

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

I went on to drink a small glass of wine or two per week throughout my pregnancy once I got over the initial shock of it being unplanned. Once I had adjusted to the fact that I was going to bring another baby into the world, I was still overwhelmed by the stress it brought on. I had suffered from postpartum depression after the birth of my son and we had decided not to have any more children. I didn't want the risks or the horrible anxiety that came with pregnancy. Yet here I was, facing all that uncertainty again. Damn right I needed a drink.

...[M]en get a lot of praise for the “extra-credit work” they do in regards to domestic labor (the actual house cleaning and keeping work) and emotional labor (the invisible work that ensures the rest gets done) no matter what day of the year.

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

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

Travelling solo for the first time allowed me to regain my sense of self outside of motherhood. It showed me that I could still be a whole and interesting person without using my kids as my stand-in.

My mother called me the morning after the

My first child’s milestones were elaborately marked, photographed, and celebrated with much fanfare... My third child however? Not so much. His first birthday was a much quieter affair — if it could be called an affair at all.

She is the type of woman I hope my daughter looks up to, a successful feminist role model if there ever was any. She is strong in the face of adversity. She does not cower when criticized. She knows that her words and actions are powerful, and is not afraid of those who would call her bossy, grating, shrill, yelling — when all she is really doing is being a leader. It is powerful for a growing girl to watch a woman like that thrive.

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