THE FAMILY CHAT IS THE BEST GROUP TEXT EVER

There’s a text thread on my phone that makes no sense to anyone but four people. It’s called The Fam (it’s actually not, but for the purposes of this piece it will be), and it’s been running since my youngest child got a phone. There are 32,000 messages in it. I’ve never scrolled all the way back. I’ve never deleted anything. I never will.

The family chat is the ultimate insiders’ group. It’s proof that the people who know you best are the ones who’ve seen you at your absolute worst—and decided to keep the conversation going anyway.

This weekend, my husband sent a photo of our daughter asleep on the couch in a gravity-defying position, captioned only: “2pm nap coalition meeting.”My daughter replied: “Slay.”I sent a thumbs-up.My other daughter responded: “Mom that’s not how you use thumbs up.”

To anyone else, this would read as total gibberish. To us, it’s a full conversation—with emotional depth, callback humor, and a meta-commentary on my texting inadequacies. It’s a language we’ve built together, one autocorrect fail and passive-aggressive emoji at a time.

The family chat is where “Mom found your report card from 2013” lives. Where a random photo of the fridge interior—paired with aggressive exclamation points—means “Who ate all the good cheese AGAIN?” It’s the only group text where you can call yourselves dysfunctional and everyone responds with laughing emojis and “Facts.” Where family drama unfolds in real time but gets defused by someone dropping a GIF of a cat falling off a counter. Where your kid roasts you, your spouse sides with the kid, and somehow you’re not even mad—because the joke was actually pretty good.

The beauty of the family chat isn’t that it’s always supportive—it’s that it’s always honest. When my daughter texts “Why are you like this,” I know exactly what I did (wore a designer bag to back-to-school night). When she texts “Emergency,”immediately followed by “Nvm found it,” I know she means her phone charger, not actual danger. The cadence, the shorthand, the personality of each person revealed through punctuation—or a total refusal to use any—it’s like a group text written by people who’ve been studying each other their whole lives.

Because they have.

In some ways, the family chat has replaced the photo album. It’s not a highlight reel—it’s better than that. It’s a record of us in real time: unflattering angles, halffinished jokes, typos and all. The moments you’d never think to save are the ones that end up meaning the most.

And let's be real: No one gets the family chat like family. Not your book club, not your tennis group, not even your best friend who knows everything else. They weren’t there for the eighteen texts about whether “dinner at 6” means food on the table at six or butts in chairs at six. They weren’t there on the fateful day your spouse discovered GIFs. They don’t have the decoder ring. They don’t know the lore. And the family chat is all lore.

It’s where you can be your most unfiltered self because these people have already seen you cry over a commercial, rage over a parking ticket, and eat an entire sleeve of Oreos standing at the counter. There’s no pretense left—just people who know your tells, your tics, and your tendency to text “their” when you mean “they’re,” even though you’re literally a writer.

And yes, sometimes it’s annoying. Sometimes there are seventeen unread messages and they’re all debating tacos versus pasta—a war of words that does not require a full committee hearing. Sometimes someone overshares. Sometimes someone undershares and you have to read the subtext like a detective. Sometimes you just want to watch TV without your phone buzzing every four seconds.

But then someone sends a throwback photo. Or a video of the dog doing something idiotic. Or an archival Magic Al video that makes you laugh out loud in the grocery store. And you remember: these are my people.

The family chat is where everyone shows up exactly as they are—the funny one, the serious one, the one who sends TikToks at midnight, the one who asks the same question we've gone over 100 times —and somehow it all works. Because no one’s performing. You’re just there. Together. Even when you’re not.

It’s the best text ever. Not because it’s perfect, but because it’s ours.

And when my phone dies, the family chat is the only thing I actually panic about losing. Not my photos. Not my apps. The thread. The proof that these are my people, and I’m theirs, and we’ve built this ridiculous, chaotic, irreplaceable language together.

Group chat muted?Never.