Gemma Hartley

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

I could very easily slip through the next four years with blinders on and feel largely unaffected by the political climate. Which is why it’s so important for me to remind myself every day to stay in the fight. Even when it doesn't affect me personally, I owe it to my allies to remain vigilant all (four) year(s) long.

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

I had a lot of well-meaning friends and family searching for the right words to say after my back-to-back miscarriages. So many offered solace by guessing at where my lost babies resided in the ether: taken away to Heaven, perhaps forever, perhaps waiting for a better moment— an unknown, destined time these small souls were meant to break into the world. I accepted these comments silently, because they did nothing to comfort me.

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

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.

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

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.

If you were to walk into my house on any given day, you wouldn’t know that I am an efficient and organized person.

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