Gemma Hartley

I know it won't be long until he can read the headlines before I can bury the truth. He will learn to read, and then to suffer. Words will haunt him.

Feminism should empower all girls — not just those who buck the system. Do I have my preference for what I would like her to do? Yes, but what I envision for her isn’t as important as what brings her joy and helps her find fulfillment.

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

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.”

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

I spent the better part of two years a frazzled mess over things that ultimately didn’t matter. My child was still growing up perfectly normal, even when he didn’t follow the straight and narrow path set forth by his pediatrician. I was driving myself over the edge for nothing.

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

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

Minimalism is great in concept, especially when you’re looking at someone else’s well-curated life. Declutter, simplify, own only things that bring you joy. This is all well and good for the twenty-something living in a one bedroom apartment, beholden to no one. When you’re a parent, however, minimalism gets a lot more complicated.

To be honest, I consider myself pretty damn good at adulting. I’m a great cook, as long as I have a recipe. I’m a self-taught professional baker.