Gemma Hartley

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

Becoming an adult didn’t magically open me up to their world and their psyche as I thought it would. Even having children of my own did little to unravel the mystery of my parents, because I wasn’t really interested in exploring honestly. I have always been concerned with who my parents were in relation to me, not who they were on their own.

While the trials of caring for three small kids make it easy for jealousy to bloom, what makes stay-at-home life even harder is the lack of empathy and understanding I get for this 24/7 job. I have spent a frustrating amount of time trying to “prove my worth” to my husband.

It wasn’t the name I would have picked — not originally, at least — but as days turned into weeks, it grew on me.

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

When I was a teenager, I felt very certain that I was not a feminist. I didn’t exactly understand the textbook definition of feminism, but I had a pretty good sense from the negative connotation I had gleaned while growing up in a narrowly Christian setting.

Mom friends were the ones to whom you were supposed to spill all those dark parenting thoughts. I wanted that mom-magic. I knew it was out there somewhere.

The money is great, but it is not the best part of becoming a working mom. Having my own career has shifted the power balance of my relationship.

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

Fortunately, when I look back at my childhood, it was mostly happy. I had parents who loved me. I had plenty of friends. I had access to food and shelter and education and more. Yet even with all my privilege, I don't want my daughter to have the same adolescence as me.