CEO Mama Newsletter: 21st Edition

“All my friends who have kids are in hell.”
“I actually don’t know anyone who’s happy and has children at this age.”
“I haven’t met anyone with light in their eyes. Anyone who has slept.”

Those were just a few of the comments Chappell Roan made in a recent Call Her Daddy interview — and they immediately went viral.

Some laughed.
Some raged.
Some quietly nodded, thinking: She’s not wrong…

But here’s the thing, :

When a woman without children says that motherhood looks like hell, or that moms aren’t happy, she’s not entirely wrong.
She’s just missing context.

And without that context, what she’s saying isn’t radical — it’s reductive.

From the outside, motherhood can look like hell:

The meltdowns.
The overstimulation.
The women who once lit up rooms, now struggling to find time to shower.
The once-equal partnerships that have quietly slipped into domestic imbalance.
And the invisible labor no one else even sees.

But that’s not motherhood — that’s the system surrounding it.

What people are observing from the outside isn’t a failure of maternal instinct.
It’s the byproduct of a culture that abandons women the moment they become mothers.

A culture that sells us the fantasy of “having it all,” then gaslights us when we ask why it feels so hollow.

The irony?

Many of us are “in hell” not because we became mothers —
but because we’re mothering inside a culture that gives us no time to recalibrate.

No space to pause.
No room to be with the identity shift.
No permission to integrate who we were with who we’re becoming.

We go from birth to back-to-work.
From bleeding to bouncing back.
From sacred transformation… straight into performance mode.

We’re not given time to settle into this new season and choose how we want to feel about it.
We’re expected to keep up, show up, and smile through it — even when everything inside us is being rearranged.

And as for happiness?

We are happy.
But maybe not in the way she expects.

Happiness does exist in motherhood — but it’s a different kind of happiness.
One that’s quieter. Earthier. Earned.
Less about independence, more about meaning.

What we’ve found isn’t the wild, untethered freedom of our pre-child selves.
It’s not the Instagrammable version of “living your best life.”
It’s not peak pleasure or bottomless free time.

It’s something else.
Something deeper.

The happiness we’ve found as mothers is rooted in presence.
In watching our children laugh.
In the stolen silence of a 6 a.m. cup of coffee.
In knowing we’re doing the most sacred, soul-stretching work of our lives.

It’s not always light in the eyes — sometimes it’s fire.
It’s not always rest — sometimes it’s resilience.
And no, we may not be sleeping much…
but we’re awakening in ways we never could have imagined.

So when Chappell says she doesn’t know a happy mom —
she’s right, in one sense.
Because the version of happiness she’s measuring us against?
We’ve outgrown it.

And maybe the saddest part?

It’s not just the systems that fail mothers — it’s often their friends.

When someone like Chappell says “all my friends who have kids are in hell,” it doesn’t just reflect a cultural blind spot.
It reflects a personal one.

Because instead of asking “How can I love you through this?” or “How can I support you as you evolve?” —
She names their reality for them.
She labels them miserable.
And in doing so, she distances herself from the very women who might need her most.

This is one of the quiet tragedies of matrescence:
We’re becoming someone new — while also grieving the loss of being fully seen by the people who used to know us best.

(But that’s a whole other newsletter.)

Ultimately, motherhood is not a universal experience.
It’s a mirror — and what you see in it depends entirely on your support systems, social scripts, and self-concept.

When you’re mothering inside a world that glorifies independence but punishes interdependence…
Where your worth is tied to output, not presence…
Where you’ve been trained to be palatable, productive, and selfless at all costs…

Of course it can feel like hell.

But it’s not the child that creates the cage.
It’s the conditioning.

Motherhood — when resourced, supported, and honored — is not a prison.
It’s a portal.
A reckoning.
A return to yourself.

Not everyone will choose that path.
Not everyone should.

But those who do deserve a culture that doesn’t treat their choice like a cautionary tale.

If you're leading a team, a brand, or a business — this isn't just a parenting conversation.

This is a cultural reckoning.

Because how we treat motherhood is how we treat leadership.

We tell women they can lead — as long as they don’t slow down.
We tell mothers they’re valuable — as long as they act like they’re not raising anyone.

And then we wonder why burnout is rampant.

Here’s the truth:

If you want to lead sustainably, raise humans, grow a business, or even just stay well — you have to unlearn the systems that made motherhood feel like hell in the first place.

Because at some point, the performance cracks.
And the real work begins —
the work of reclaiming your energy, your time, your truth…
and creating a model of leadership that doesn’t come at the cost of your soul.

If Chappell’s comment triggered something in you —
anger, sadness, even a whisper of agreement — you’re not alone.

There’s no right way to feel when the truth brushes up against your lived experience.

But instead of reacting, try this:

Notice. Name. Normalize.

• Notice what part of you feels activated.

• Name the story it’s stirring: “I do feel trapped.” “I don’t feel seen.” “I miss who I used to be.”

• Normalize the complexity: You can love your children and still long for more. You can be grateful and still grieve.

Your nervous system isn’t asking you to choose between resentment and reverence.
It’s asking for space to hold both.

You’re not broken. You’re awakening.

Have the brave conversation.

With your partner. With a friend. With yourself.

Ask:

• Where have I felt like I’ve been “in hell”?

• What systems, roles, or identities are contributing to that feeling?

• And what would it look like to build something different?
  

Because regardless of how this conversation sits with you —
The real work is building a culture where women are not punished for what they choose.

P.S. Wherever motherhood finds you right now — in the chaos, the calm, the questions, or the quiet — you’re doing more than enough. We see you, we’re with you, and you don’t have to navigate this season alone.
If you’re craving support from other mamas building big things, come join us inside the CEO Mama Membership — you can apply right here.

Fill out your application here.