I am a middle aged woman of no consequence. Regardless, your story has invaded all of my social media feeds and as a result, you have become a person of consequence to me. As such, I would like to respond to your recent post about your Beckham-family misalignments. I think at least the Western World has put our fear of Trump’s next impulsive power grab on pause and collectively stopped to ogle. Way to break the chaos! Yet interestingly enough, even though your experience is conveying a bit weird and un-relatable, it is universal in its relatable-ness.
We see you!
In the unrelated words of the Avett Brothers:
“Oh Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me (us) in
Are you aware the shape I’m (we’re) in?
My Our hands, they shake, my our head, it spins
Oh Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me us in.”
In all sincerity, I’m sorry you’re struggling. Your feelings are valid from every vantage point. You’re not alone. Family stuff is hard. Most of us do not hail from the top .001% like you, nor do we live our lives as publicly as you and your family have done. Unlike you, when we have big feelings, if we do post online, you can be certain that unlike the response to you, a million people will not care to take our side while a million other people to hate us. I mean, look, as I mentioned, I am a complete unknown and you are the son of David Beckham and Posh Spice.
Let’s get to the meat:
I say this next part gently and with compassion: The way you publicly articulate your problems, stating things like, “the performative social media posts,” and, “I do not want to reconcile with my family,” make you appear performative, spoiled, entitled and tone deaf, exactly like the people you are addressing in your, “I am standing up for myself for the first time in my life,” post.
In a world where a mother was shot in the face & murdered for looking out for her neighbors, where a four year old boy was used as bait by ICE to draw his family members outside and then flown to Texas; and at a moment when families without due process are being terrorized because of the color of their skin, I don’t understand why you had to make it all about you, the dresses and the dance.
Brooklyn: (may I call you Brooklyn?) You are not like us. My hope is that you want to be more like us. I really hope you didn’t intend to come across as an out of touch, rich, spoiled, white boy. And because this is what I understand to be a parasocial interaction, (me to you), I recognize I will never know if you’ve connected the dots, yet I feel entitled to weigh in nevertheless.
What I have observed is that you’ve lived in a fortunate bubble echo chamber, a magic land where you have the funds to create a hot sauce brand on a whim. (I want the funds to create a hot sauce brand on a whim.) Sure, you were required to show up for family photo ops and yes, I am sure a bunch of it was a facade. Hey look, even while scream fighting with my dad, my mom was always able to stop and answer the phone in a friendly voice.
Truthfully, for like five minutes, your beef was a delightful distraction from our sad, heartbreaking world.
What would it be like if our only worries revolved around an annoying mother-in-law and having to replace a promise of an expensive custom wedding dress with another fabulous custom wedding dress? My wedding dress was altered incorrectly and the sleeves were too tight. I could not lift my arms and was forced to hold my arms at my side the entire day. My mom was missing-in-action and I didn’t have the funds or the know-how to make it right.
Stay with me.
Contrast your wife Nicola’s wedding dress & your wedding dance drama with the millions of people who are losing healthcare and the ones fearing for their safety.
Yes, we all agree: your family seems to live by the steely, cutthroat veneer your words so aptly reflect. Ultimately, you chose to air your grievances publicly, and I’m sure life with your mom is complicated at best. I have sons. I get it. I want to respect and care for the women they love. Sometimes that space is hard to navigate and I fully screw up.
I’m not asking you to show your mom grace. Maybe offer her a sandwich.
Like I said, and for like the billionth time, you don’t know me and I don’t know you. What I am conveying is gratitude for my sons who show me grace and care. Here is a thought? No matter what happens with your family, I hope you continue the healing process. I want to believe your post was you trying to break your dysfunctional family cycle. Am I right? Is that what you were trying to do? Some would argue that breaking cycles is simply growing up. I, myself, like the idea of breaking cycles.
So if that is who you are, keep breaking cycles!
Maybe you could start by removing yourself from the public eye. Set private boundaries and trust in us lookie loos to see you as the person you want your family and future generations to know.
Spitballing some ideas: You could refocus your energy toward volunteerism, say working with women’s healthcare, or make it a constant priority to donate time and money to a food bank. Open a wedding dress shop that gives dresses away to disadvantaged and marginalized women. I promise if you do something more than telling us how much your family sucks that you will be able to break the pattern of your crappy rich entitled family. You’ve got this!
Best to you.
xx CrazyUs
