Gemma Hartley

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

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.

Welcome to #RavsWriters, an opportunity for you to get to know some of th

“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.

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

I want and need to save some room for myself, to know that I am worthy of a place in the world without the label of mother.

You are a professional. You want to handle your business with a certain air of sophistication. You want to tell them "f*ck no," but want to do so graciously, tactfully — you are, after all, a wordsmith.

When I made the decision to become a stay-at-home mother, the choice was an easy one.

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

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!