Britney Spears and I share both similarities and differences. As a Gen-X, West-Coast Scorpio, I contrast with her Millennial, Southern Sagittarian background. Yet, she was a constant in my life during my younger years, her iconic “Baby One More Time” video looping endlessly at my local sports pub. I even learned that her famous schoolgirl scenes were filmed near my childhood neighborhood. There was something unique about her presence; she occupied her space with a confidence that many female artists lacked.
Our paths mirrored each other as we both entered the realm of motherhood. I welcomed my first daughter, Faith, in April 2005, just months before she had her son, Sean. After experiencing unsuccessful fertility treatments, I was surprised to find out I was pregnant again. Eden, my second daughter, arrived in March 2006, while Britney’s second son, Jayden, followed later that year.
Living in a modest home in L.A.’s San Fernando Valley, we were only a stone’s throw away from Britney and her family. Whether I was searching for a pediatrician or a baby group, it felt like we were in the same orbit. Friends joked about the idea of our kids marrying someday. My connection to Britney deepened as I believed we were both navigating the challenges of motherhood.
When my daughter, Faith, had a mishap while learning to walk, I found myself overwhelmed with emotion. The stress I felt was magnified by my postpartum depression, which my doctor warned was common for those like me who had back-to-back pregnancies. While I sought help and started to feel better, Britney’s situation seemed to spiral. She was going through a divorce and began to exhibit troubling behavior, culminating in her infamous breakdown.
I, like many, judged her harshly. I criticized her parenting choices without considering the immense pressure she faced. I even found myself leaning into the media frenzy, watching her heart-wrenching interview with Diane Sawyer, where Britney, clearly vulnerable, was reduced to tears.
As time passed, my daughters grew, and I had another child. Britney, too, managed to turn her life around with a successful Vegas residency. Yet, I couldn’t shake the thought of why someone so talented still needed her father as a conservator. It was a fleeting concern amidst the busyness of life until I watched the documentary Framing Britney Spears on Hulu.
The film laid bare the public’s cruel treatment of a young woman trying to navigate her fame. It made me reflect on my own experiences in the workplace, where I faced similar judgments and scrutiny. I realized that my generation of women had failed Britney. We had internalized a belief that success could only be achieved through silence and conformity, while she boldly defied these norms.
Britney, a multi-award-winning artist, still faced ridicule, while the men in the industry often escaped similar judgment for their missteps. I found myself intensely ashamed for having participated in the shaming of someone who had so much in common with my own struggles.
That night, I woke my daughters to share my regrets, emphasizing the importance of judging people based on their merits. They were outraged on Britney’s behalf, reminding me that the fight for justice and empathy is crucial.
As my girls prepare to step into adulthood, I hope they carry forward a sense of humanity that transcends gender identity.
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