So, ICYMI… apparently, moms are miserable now. At least according to pop star and chaos agent Chappell Roan, who casually dropped a motherhood-related, pitchfork-rearing bomb on the Call Her Daddy podcast, which — naturally — ignited a digital fucking firestorm. Cue the TikTok think pieces, rage stitches, and a full-on internet identity crisis: Are moms okay? Are they just trauma-dumping in public now? And are they the reason an entire generation is reconsidering kids?
Depending on your algorithm, your feed was either full of people saying, “She’s right, and I’ve been crying since 2021,” or “This is why I’m never giving birth — y’all look exhausted.” One viral TikTok even declared, “The people who’ve made me the most scared to become a mom… are moms.” Which, okay, a little dramatic — but not entirely surprising. The last few years have been an unprecedented era of Mom Realness online, and with that has come an undeniable shift: the birth announcements and gender reveals are still there but often buried under the mental health breakdowns, rage reels, and honest-to-God confessions about peeing yourself when you sneeze. (I know, I know — I need to go to a pelvic floor therapist. I get it!!!!)
So, is motherhood actually that miserable now? Are we too online? Too honest? Too whiny? Or are we finally just saying the quiet parts out loud — and maybe a little too loudly?
Okay, Wait, What Happened on the Call Her Daddy Podcast?
On March 20, 2024, emotional glitter cannon Chappell Roan went on Call Her Daddy and casually stated something that sent the internet into meltdown mode: “All of my friends who have kids are in hell.” She added, “I don’t know anyone who’s happy and has children at this age… anyone who has light in their eyes… anyone who’s slept.” The 27-year-old went on to say that, as the oldest of four, she doesn’t understand why her mom “did that” [re: had her at 23].
The wholeee kids convo took up a whopping minute and a half of the 1.5-hour interview, but that was enough to snowball into a Very Big Conversation online. In a not-so-surprising twist, TikTok exploded with people debating whether moms are scaring an entire generation out of having children. Is this what happens when we share too much? When we let the exhaustion show? When we stop acting like finger painting and first steps, cancel out the full-body burnout? Or — stay with me — are we simply seeing what parenting actually looks like in the moments *between* the milestones?
Okay, Maybe We’re Trauma-Dumping… Just a Little
Let’s be fair — if you’re a child-free person scrolling through your feed and all you see is moms talking about cracked nipples, intrusive thoughts, and how their toddler just head-butted them, yeah… it might be a little off-putting, especially when it’s everywhere. Gone are the days of one crunchy mom blog in a dusty corner of the internet. Now, your algorithm might be serving up ten different women pacing their kitchens at 2 a.m., whisper-screaming about sleep regression while their partner is allegedly “still asleep.”
And yes, it’s become A Vibe™. There are trending audios for mom rage. There are aesthetic graphics about postpartum identity death. There are basically matching sweatsuits that say, “I Love My Kids But Also Help.” It’s real, and it’s valid — but to the uninitiated, it’s a lot.
So maybe it’s not totally wild that people like Chappell Roan are looking at all this and thinking, “Wait… is everyone who has a baby just… miserable?” Tbh, based on what’s flooding her feed, that’s probably exactly how it looks.
But Honestly? Chappell’s Right — We Are Scaring Non-Moms
Here’s the thing: I don’t blame Chappell Roan. In fact, as a mom of two, I kind of agree with her. If I were looking at motherhood based on what my friends were posting — or even what I share on social media — I’d be scared, too. And honestly? She should be scared because motherhood is scary. It’s overwhelming, and permanent, and raw in a way you can’t possibly understand until you’re in it. Eye-roll, right?
But hear me out. Before I had my first baby, I thought I was prepared. I’d pulled a few all-nighters. I had dogs. I knew what it meant to take care of another living thing. But nothing — and I mean nothing — prepped me for what it actually felt like (and I don’t just mean birth, but yeah — ouch). This was a few years ago before the Honest Motherhood Movement really took off, and frankly, I didn’t give much thought to the admittedly hellish parts of motherhood that — yeah — can take the light out of your eyes every now and then.
I had no idea I’d be expected to take care of a newborn immediately after giving birth. Delusional? Sure. But seriously! No one told me I’d be sobbing in a hospital gown, shell-shocked and bleeding, while an all-too-peppy nurse tried to explain breastfeeding to me at 3 a.m. after my 3-day induction. I know — woe is me. But the reality of motherhood kicked in before I even had time to process what my body had just done, what I had just signed up for.
I didn’t expect to fantasize about getting in the car and driving away during a particularly brutal stretch of sleep deprivation. I didn’t know that having a miscarriage would make every period after feel like a gut punch. I didn’t realize that I’d lose pieces of my identity in the haze of spit-up and cluster feeds — and that I’d spend months wondering if I’d ever feel like myself again. Wondering who I even was anymore.
If honesty ruins motherhood’s image — if it makes people scared — then maybe the image was the problem to begin with. Maybe more people should be scared. We’ve been told for so long that motherhood is just the next logical step — something you’re supposed to do without question like it’s a default setting. But guess what? It’s not. And if hearing the truth makes you hesitate? That’s not a problem. That’s a sign you’re thinking critically.
Motherhood is kind of like climbing Mount Everest. I imagine that even in a best-case scenario, it’s still hard and scary and painful and overwhelming. I bet there are times when — even if you were born to mountain climb and had been waiting for this moment forever — it would still feel like hell. There’d be moments when you’d question your sanity for doing it and wonder if you’d actually make it. Would I love to see the view from the top of Everest? Sure. But do I want to freeze my face off and almost die to get there? Hard no. Some things are beautiful, brutal, and not for everyone. And that’s okay.
Yes, there is joy. So much joy. We know how incredible it is to be the one who can translate toddler gibberish or cure a bad day with a hug. We’re lucky to get the snuggles and the firsts and the giggles and the sheer fucking awe of watching a few cells turn into a person who walks and laughs and makes the ugliest crayon drawings that we’ll absolutely cherish forever. We know that part. And we don’t need to convince each other of it.
It’s the hard stuff — the stuff that feels impossible, the stuff no one warned us about — that makes us talk.
Is motherhood hell? Maybe. Sometimes. For some people. A blanket statement like that doesn’t work — just like a blanket expectation that all women should become moms doesn’t work. One person’s experience, one person’s goals, one person’s trauma — that’s not the blueprint for everyone else. (Cue the absolute horror of forced birth — but I digress.)
So, sure, some moms might be scaring people out of parenthood. I’m cool with that because we’re just being honest about what it costs. And if that honesty makes you flinch? Good. Better now than when there’s a baby screaming its head off in your arms, and you’re wondering why no one told you the truth.
