What Chief Moms Is

I've been so busy that I haven't done the thing that keeps me sane — walking, talking, telling my stories out loud — then collating them into a word doc where I process and edit before pressing submit.

The last piece we published was from a mom who chose to stay anonymous — a short, powerful story of her college self meeting her current self, child in tow. It’s exactly the kind of story Chief Moms is here to hold.

And lately, all anyone wants to know is: what is Chief Moms?

When I was at the Mom 2.0 summit last week in Austin and people asked, I let my subconscious answer because that's what happens when I get put on the spot. What came out was: it's a shared journal for motherhood. Think Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, but in journal form.

And I meant it. It's a processing platform. A place where people go to share a story — happy or sad — that they've been carrying inside their head, inside their home, and they're finally ready to release it beyond that. Once one person shares their story, it gives permission for the next person to do the same. No one is alone. We are a chorus of voices.

Then comes the next question: how do you make money?

I don't. Not from Chief Moms.

How do you plan to?

I don't. Not right now.

That really confuses people. My answer is that my goal is to build a community. Not to be an influencer mom. None of this is about me — it's about all of us. And once a community has grown into something real, something that formed itself through your contributions and your stories, there might come a day when a brand partnership makes sense in a way that's actually authentic.

Dartmouth Hitchcock, where my son received all of his care — if they ever wanted to put a banner on the articles where I write about Ernie's surgeries? Sure, because I want every mom to know where to get the best care I’ve ever received. If Apple wants to sponsor our stories about enjoying time with kids off their screens, and pay for L.K.’s next screenless family vacation, I'd support that too, because it's a power stance they should take.

But I'm not there yet. I'm not even close to thinking about it. Because most communities, most brands, get too obsessed with growth before they've found their identity. And the growth ends up f***ing the identity.

So my number one objective with Chief Moms is to preserve it for what it is. To honor what it's meant to be. If someday this platform demands the attention from partners that feel right — organic, authentic, genuinely useful to all of us — I'll consider it then. But that's not the mission right now.

What's funny is that this is the first thing I've ever built or grown that I'm not focused on monetizing. And it's the one I care about most.

Not just from sharing my own stories, but from holding space for yours. From watching the archive take form. From going to bed every night grateful I had the courage to start it.

[At this exact moment, standing at a four-way stop with my dog, a driver who appeared to have taken his driver's education course in a parallel dimension rolled through his stop sign, waited just long enough to signal it was safe for me to cross, and then accelerated directly at me at full speed. I'm fine.]

The dog is fine. The voice memo survived. Moving on.

And, that moment, captured on audio, actually brings me to the next topic — Chief Moms is a platform that proudly embraces we’re in our voice note era.

We are busy. We are reflective. We want to connect. We don't have time to compose pen pal-esque updates the way we once did, but we can catch someone up on everything in three minutes flat — in our own voice, in real time, press send before we second-guess it. Voice notes feel connected because they embrace the imperfect. You say it as it comes. And the person who receives it is happy to have it exactly as it arrived — unpolished, unfiltered, true.

Voice notes show vulnerability. They’re the ultimate signal of safety in the modern age.

Here is my actual voice. I trust you with it.

Hence our tagline: for moms in their voice note era.

Many of the stories you read here started as exactly that — a voice memo sent to me, transcribed, and softly shaped into something you could read. When contributors check "I'd like help editing for flow before publication" on the Share Your Story page, I help shape it, ever so slightly, and always return the edited version back to them for approval before publishing. When they don't check that box, you get it as it came. Either way, what you're reading is theirs.

Chief Moms is not a therapy platform. We don't give advice. We don't offer clinical support. We exist somewhere in between the ritual of journaling and the routine of therapy — and what makes it different from both is that you're not alone in it.

When you journal, you're still inside your own head. There's healing in that. But it can still feel isolating. And therapy is beautiful — being held by someone trained to listen — but sometimes you're not looking for a path through. Sometimes you're not looking for a solution. Sometimes, if you've ever been married to a man who hears a problem and immediately wants to resolve it, you know exactly what I mean when I say: I'm not looking for an answer. I just want you to listen.

There are very few places left in the world that just listen. No likes. No comments. No feedback. No unsolicited wisdom. Just: let it out. We're here. We've got you.

That's all of it. That's what Chief Moms is, and what it will always be. It will evolve, as all brands do, but we’ll never steer away from this foundation.

If that's what you've been looking for — welcome home.

If you go by name, pen name, or anonymous, you're all equal to us. We hold your story above all else.

Enjoyed this story? Read Anne B's last story →