Toxic Mum Groups: The Viral Motherhood Trend of 2026.
On January 1, 2026, the first morning of the year, when most of us are dehydrated, half-heartedly swearing off sugar, and still recovering from whatever New Year’s Eve did to our nervous systems, The Cut published an essay that felt like someone had lit a match near a gas leak: “Breaking Up With My Toxic Mom Group.”
It was written by Ashley, publicly known for years as Ashley Tisdale, and published under the name Ashley French. In it, she announced she’d left her mum group after the dynamics started to feel less like a “village” and more like being back in high school: exclusion, side chats, that creeping sense that everyone else got the memo except you.
Within hours, it was everywhere. Headlines. Hot takes. Memes. TikToks. And, inevitably, the internet doing what it does best: turning a personal story into a mystery game. People started scanning Instagram followers like they were working a crime scene. Anyone with a baby and a blue tick suddenly felt like a potential suspect. Names were floated - Hilary Duff, Mandy Moore, Meghan Trainor - mostly through speculation, not confirmation, and Ashley’s rep reportedly shut down those assumptions. But the machine had already started. Ashley unfollowed at least one person, and Hilary Duff’s husband Matthew Koma added fuel with a sarcastic Instagram story mocking the essay, the kind of thing that makes a story feel less like “opinion piece” and more like drama with a cast list.
By Alice Codford
And it made me wonder: why did this become viral? Why are we so gripped by the idea of a woman leaving a friendship circle as if motherhood means you’re no longer allowed to quietly choose peace? As if becoming a mum automatically makes us all compatible, all kind, all obligated to like each other?
Because the truth is… most of us have felt some version of this since becoming mothers.
Maybe not celebrity-level, not with tabloids and detectives, but in the smaller, more ordinary ways it happens: the group chat that splinters. The invites you don’t get. The jokes you’re not in on. The “we should do something soon” that never becomes anything. And the confusing part is that it’s happening in the exact season of life when we need support the most, when we’re already tired, already doubting ourselves, already trying to figure out what we’re doing while pretending we’re fine.
“It wasn’t really about who the mums were. It was about the feeling, the one so many women recognise instantly and almost hate themselves for recognising. The childish sting of being left out… as a grown woman… while holding a toddler’s sticky hand and pretending you don’t care.”
So when did mum groups become less about help, and more about hierarchy? When did “the village” start feeling like a popularity contest? And why, in a time when so many mothers are craving connection, are we still clinging to dynamics that make us feel smaller?
Maybe that’s why it travelled so fast. Because it wasn’t really about who the mums were. It was about the feeling, the one so many women recognise instantly and almost hate themselves for recognising. The childish sting of being left out… as a grown woman… while holding a toddler’s sticky hand and pretending you don’t care. And because it’s motherhood, the stakes feel higher. You’re not just losing a brunch invite. You’re losing a lifeline. The people you thought you’d do this season with. The ones who were meant to text you back with “same” when you admitted you were drowning.
“Why did this become viral? Why are we so gripped by the idea of a woman leaving a friendship circle as if motherhood means you’re no longer allowed to quietly choose peace? As if becoming a mum automatically makes us all compatible, all kind, all obligated to like each other?”
And then there’s the modern layer we can’t ignore: we don’t just experience social dynamics anymore, we witness them. In real time. In HD. Through Instagram stories and likes and follows and group photos that pop up on your feed like a little digital reminder that you weren’t there. We’re living in an era where friendship has receipts. Where exclusion is no longer subtle, it’s documented. And when you’re already in a tender, hormonal, sleep-deprived place, those small social cuts land deeper than they should. Not because we’re dramatic, but because we’re depleted.
So maybe “toxic mum groups” have become the viral motherhood trend of 2026 because they’re the perfect storm of everything we’re living through: motherhood’s identity shift, the pressure to find “your village,” and the performance culture of being watched while you do it. We’re told we need community to survive this season and then we’re dropped into micro-societies where unspoken rules, status cues, and invisible hierarchies take over. Somewhere along the way, “support” starts to look like social politics. And suddenly, the village doesn’t feel like shelter. It feels like a stage.
By Alice Codford
