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

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.

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.

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

I know it’s a lie when I tell myself that I’m “simply off” or “maybe I’m just having a few bad days” or “I’m in a funk” or “I must be upset about something, but I don’t know what.”

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.

My mother called me the morning after the

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

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

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