Gemma Hartley

When my son was little, I used to let him win board games a lot.

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.

“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.

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! 

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

I wonder because I think I'm making the same mistakes with my daughter. She hardly eats. She's very picky. I feel like food is a constant struggle between us. I also feel like it's all my fault.

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.

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

My husband and I have been together for 12 years, eight of them married, four of them teenaged.

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