IN DEFENSE OF THE "TOXIC" MOM GROUP...

OK, so, a little tidbit about me: I used to be a collector of people. No, not in a creepy way, but in that golden retriever, "You should meet my friend!" kinda way that made me feel like the social architect of my own miniature universe. In college and just after, I'd orchestrate these elaborate nights out, mixing friend groups like a DJ blending tracks. Former roommates would meet work friends who'd meet high school friends who'd meet that girl I talked to once at a coffee shop and immediately loved. I was building bridges, creating synergy, and expanding everyone's social portfolio. I was basically doing God's work.

Then, somewhere between my late twenties and the arrival of my first child, between bar tabs and kindergarten tuition, I learned a terrible truth: when you introduce two people and they hit it off, you might not get credit. In fact, you might get demoted. In fact, you might engineer your own obsolescence. And so, like anyone who's been burned, I got protective. I started hoarding my friendships like a kid who won't let anyone touch her Halloween candy. I kept people in separate containers. I ran cost-benefit analyses before making introductions. I was safe. I was strategic. I was boring.

Which is why I'm here to say something controversial: I love a big friend group.

I know. I KNOW. We've all been told these groups are toxic. We've seen the movies. We've read the tabloids. We've watched the TikToks where someone explains, very earnestly, that she "outgrew" her mom friend group because of "the drama." And look — I get it. A dinner gets scheduled in a separate text chain. Someone reacts with a thumbs-up that feels aggressive. Someone else suddenly can't make it. The fracture begins. It's a tale as old as the group text itself.

And yet. AND YET.

These supposedly toxic cliques? They're usually the ones who show up. They're the group text that's simultaneously the most annoying thing on your phone and the first place you turn when you need someone to tell you that your kid's rash is normal or that your mother-in-law's comment was indeed as passive-aggressive as you thought. They're there at 6 AM when you can't sleep and at 11 PM when you shouldn't still be awake. They remember your kids' names and your coffee order and that thing you mentioned three weeks ago that you barely remember yourself.

Yes, someone is always vaguely annoyed at someone else. Yes, the dynamics shift like tectonic plates, and you're never quite sure if you're currently on the inner or outer ring. But you know what doesn't happen in a big group? The triangle problem. Anyone who's watched their kid navigate preschool friendships knows that three is not the magic number — someone is always on the outside. But in a big group, nobody gets demoted because there's no hierarchy to fall from. There's always someone available, always someone who gets it, always someone whose particular brand of crazy complements yours that week.

As a mother — and let's be honest, mothers need this more than anyone — that ever-present hive mind is not just nice to have. It's infrastructure. It's the safety net under the tightrope of modern parenting. And calling it "toxic" because it's complicated is like calling a marriage toxic because you sometimes fight about the dishwasher. Complicated is not the same as bad. Complicated is what happens when people actually show up for each other over and over again.

So no, I'm not the friend collector anymore. I'm not trying to engineer the perfect mix of people or protect my little one-on-one friendships like they're made of glass. I'm just in it — the sprawling, annoying, beautiful mess of a group that will absolutely talk about me when I leave the room and then bring me soup when I'm sick.

And if you're the person I introduced to someone else and you're now better friends with them than with me? I'm not mad. I'm just quietly plotting which of your friends I'm going to become best friends with next.

I introduced you once. I can do it again.