Gemma Hartley

Gemma Hartley

Bio

Gemma Hartley is a freelance writer with a BA in writing from The University of Nevada, Reno. She is author of FED UP: Emotional Labor, Women and The Way Forward. She lives in Reno with her husband, three young kids, an awesome dog, and a terrible cat.

Gemma Hartley Articles

image credit: Gemma Hartley

"Leave Room For Jesus:" Does Purity Culture Devalue Girls?

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

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Echo chambers of agreement aren't the real world.

The Danger Of Unfriending Your Racist Aunt

I hate some of the things I see my friends and family post on Facebook.

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Keep your pony power, baby. Don’t ever let it go.

Why I Won't Make My Daughter 'Play Nice'

It probably isn’t the sort of parenting moment that is supposed to make a mother proud — the hitting, growling, and otherwise uncivilized decorum... But I couldn’t help feeling a deep satisfaction with my daughter.

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I had no belief that my babies were in heaven, nor that they would ever be born into this world.

I Don't Believe My Babies Are In Heaven

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.

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It was a thrilling feeling to wake up in the morning without a child inches from my face asking for a bowl of cereal at 6:00 a.m., to eat breakfast I hadn’t prepared, to have only my own needs to meet.

I'm Not A Mother When I Travel Alone

Travelling solo for the first time allowed me to regain my sense of self outside of motherhood. It showed me that I could still be a whole and interesting person without using my kids as my stand-in.

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I want them to remember love and feeling wanted, always — all of them.

My Son Wants An Only Child; His Reason Breaks My Heart

My six-year-old son got into the car after school and declared he only wanted to have one kid when he grew up.

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In a few weeks, I'll be sending my second kid off to school full-time. It's a moment I know I should feel sad about, and believe me, sometimes I do, but mostly I feel guilty because I don't.

I Feel Guilty About Sending My Kids To School

Back when I had my first child, back when he was still a baby, I imagined us moving to the mountains. I was thinking about having three more kids, living off the grid, and soaking up every last bit of their wild childhood. It was a fantasy, through and through.

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I felt a strong need to rise to challenges, because I knew that my dad would expect nothing less from me. Image: Thinkstock.

My Dad Wouldn't Call Himself A Feminist, But I Would.

“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.

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It’s a wish that I could live a thousand different lives if only there were time.

Chasing The Life I Didn't Live

Starting a new year makes me look toward the future, looking at all the choices that lay ahead of me. But it also nudges me to examine my past in a very certain way. It's the time of year I always find myself thinking about the choices I didn’t make — about the life I didn't live.

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 I want 2017 to be a year I spend actively fighting, instead of allowing myself to become complacent once the excitement of the election subsides.

3 New Year's Resolutions For Our First Year Of A Trump Presidency 

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.

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