I joined by accident. I swear. One moment I was signing the permission slip for the school trip, the next I was in a group chat called “Year 2 Hedgehogs Mamas 💚🌈✨” and my phone hasn’t known peace since.
It started off innocent. A quick “Hey, what day is PE?” followed by a few polite thumbs-up emojis. I thought, this is fine. It’s just information. Logistics. Possibly even useful.
I was so wrong.
Three days in, there were 176 unread messages by 9:15 AM. One mum was asking about nut-free cupcakes. Another was deep-diving into the ethics of glitter. Someone asked whether the juice boxes for the picnic had to be organic or just “ethically sourced.” And then came the screenshot.
Poor Zoe. Thought she was sending a private message. Accidentally pasted a screenshot into the main group — a message where she called Claire “passive aggressive with crunchy hair.” Which, to be fair, was… not inaccurate. But still. Carnage.
The group split like an old boy band. People left. People rejoined with vague explanations like “Sorry! Wrong group lol x.” Alliances formed. I swear I saw someone start a Google Doc.
Then came the spreadsheet. For snack duty.
I don’t remember volunteering for snack duty.
I didn’t even know we had snack duty.
And don’t get me started on the birthday whip-arounds. Every time a kid turned six, I was pinged for £7.50 and expected to sign a card I never saw. At one point, they started collecting for the teacher’s dog’s birthday. I’m not making this up.
I tried muting the group. Twice. But they kept @-ing me like I was some kind of snack coordinator. I finally caved and bought a multipack of gluten-free oat bars from a local zero waste store just to stop the notifications. Felt like I was buying my way out of a hostage situation.
There was one glorious morning where I thought they’d forgotten me. No messages for two hours. I almost cried with relief.
Then someone sent a voice note of their toddler singing “Let It Go” into a saucepan and everything fell apart again.
My breaking point came when I posted “Sorry, I can’t do Wednesday drop-off — anyone around?” and was met with a brutal silence, followed by a cascade of messages about someone’s new yoga leggings.
I saw you, Rebecca. You were typing. And then you stopped. I saw that too.
So I did what any rational, overwhelmed mum would do.
I faked a phone upgrade. Told them I lost all access to WhatsApp and had to switch to Signal. No one followed me. It was beautiful.
Now I live in peace. I check the school newsletter like it’s gospel. I read bulletin boards like I’m decoding ancient scrolls. And you know what? I haven’t missed a single bake sale.
But I still twitch every time I hear that WhatsApp notification ping.
Some trauma never really leaves you.