I Feel Sick For Victoria Beckham — My Son Had A Toxic Girlfriend

And he threatened to cut me off at one point.

It was an emotional rollercoaster for all of us.

I'm not in the celebrity gossip game, but the Brooklyn Beckham feud breaks my brain (and my heart). I'm not sure if it's because I'm a mum (a boy mum at that), or that I secretly have a soft spot for Victoria Beckham. VB and I, after all, share a few things in common — namely a birth year (not telling you) and a star sign (Aries power).

I was also there at the height of Spice Girl mania (my money was always on Posh). And I've watched her transition from pop star to mother to the Paris runways — even sitting front row at some of her shows as a former Vogue and Harper's Bazaar editor.

Oh, and I almost married a David. That is, until a frenemy stole him out from under me. Never mind that she was married to someone else at the time.

VB and I are practically sisters. Only I'm the broke one.

She might be a mega celebrity with a mega fortune, but VB is also a mum who, I suspect, like the rest of us, loves and wants the best for her kids. One can rightly assume she’s legitimately broken that Brooklyn has cut her off. So finally. So publicly.

I get that it can't be easy growing up, Beckham, what with all the forced red carpet appearances and pressure to maintain "the brand." But being a nepo baby can't be all that bad — I mean, what with the private jets, elite schools, mansions, personal chefs, A-list friends, and the million-dollar opportunities to build your own brand on the back of your famous last name.

So it says a lot, in my view, about the power one person can hold over their partner — that a beloved son would sever all ties with his parents and siblings.

I feel sick for Victoria (and David).

Because my son — from all appearances —had a toxic girlfriend in high school. The relationship did a real number on him, and came dangerously close to driving a wedge between him and me.

BECKHAM vs. BECKHAM

Brooklyn married "actress"/heiress Nicola Peltz in a star-studded wedding in 2022. At the time, we were clueless that the relationship between VB and Nicola had entered hostile territory. Barely had the ink dried on the fairytale nuptials when things went nuclear. The celebrity gossip mill had a field day over an alleged spat because the bride rocked a custom Valentino dress and not a Victoria Beckham design. Then came #GyrateGate, and things went to a weird new level: Victoria was accused of hijacking the couple's first dance and — so the reports went — dancing "inappropriately" with her son.

Guests signed an NDA, so we'll never truly know if VB did indeed get her twerk on. But even Blind Freddy could see war was on the horizon. First, Brooklyn was a no-show at David's 50th birthday. Then he and Nicola "renewed their vows" — code for a total wedding re-do without a Beckham in sight. The bomb was officially dropped in January when Brooklyn — on Instagram, mind you — declared he did not want to reconcile with his family, and accused them of trying to ruin his marriage, attempting to steal the rights to his name, and inflicting deep emotional trauma.

Shots fired.

The bloody battle continues. Brooklyn and Nicola have chosen to mark their second wedding as their real anniversary. And now Elton John has been caught in the crossfire.

WE ALL TRY NOT TO F*CK UP OUR KIDS

I'm not afraid to admit I'm a bit of a helicopter parent. The backlash to the free-range parenting Gen X kids endured (let's just say it was very hands-off) is that it gave birth to the first generation of helicopter parents. To add insult to injury, I grew up in a volatile home with an emotionally abusive, alcoholic father. So I’ve tried hard not to make the complex childhood trauma generational. I'm not perfect, but I'm a loving and devoted mum who is very "present" in my boys' lives. And I think I did alright, judging from this interview where I gave them permission to tell me exactly what they think of me.

And I vow, here and now, that I will never steal their first wedding dance or get jiggy on the dance floor.

Trauma, however, is a ruthless b*tch. Try as I did, you can't protect your children from everything — and the sudden, traumatic breakup of my marriage, when my boys were just 11 and 5, also did a number on them.

So when my son got his first girlfriend at 16, I was thrilled for him.

SPICE UP YOUR LIFE

Spicy, as I'll call her, had arrived as the new girl in 9th grade at the school my son had attended since middle school, where he was part of a tight-knit group of friends.

They began dating a year later. I was excited to meet her, and she arrived at our apartment like a warm breath of fresh air — friendly, polite, and casually dressed in jeans, a hoodie, a cute ponytail, and barely any makeup. I only mention this because, in hindsight, I suspect the wholesome girl-next-door vibes were to lure me in. It worked. She instantly became part of our family.

Spicy loved my son, smothered him with attention — I'd hear him wake up to her voice on the phone: "Good morning, my love" — and that was enough for me.

Let him have it, I thought; he deserved to soak up every bit of love and happiness. As the eldest, he'd often borne the brunt of the marriage breakdown, which had put me on my knees. Forced, at times, to witness his mother hanging on by a thread. Spicy brought some much-needed joy to all of our lives, even mine. But I was quick to learn she could also bring the opinions, emotions, and drama.

Looking back, it seems the ones to watch don't just love-bomb your kid. They love-bomb the mother too.

THE SLOW FADE

Maybe, as an outsider, Spicy struggled to penetrate my son's friend group. Or perhaps she just wanted him all to herself (a bit of both), but my son began distancing himself from his friends — even no longer talking to his ride-or-die platonic girlfriends who'd been his emotional and academic anchors since 6th grade.

On the upside, your teenage son having a serious high school girlfriend can be a godsend — instead of doing god knows what with god knows who on a Saturday night, he was often curled up on our sofa watching Netflix with Spicy. The downside, as I saw it, was that Spicy had become his entire world.

And that appeared to be the way she wanted it.

Spicy seemed upset when he wanted to do something without her or see a certain friend. And in those instances — as I heard later — she’d accuse him of being a bad boyfriend and issue the kind of unhinged ultimatums no teenage boy is equipped to navigate.

This, BTW, was a kid who pushed her around in a wheelchair when she broke her leg, walked her dog when needed, and was beloved by her entire family — right down to an elderly relative who adored him so much she sent him little notes filled with candy.

His grades plummeted. He became a shell of himself.

IN DEEP

It became painfully clear I had two high school kids in way over their heads on my hands, so I was forced to walk a delicate tightrope: respect my son’s choices and freedoms, knowing he was on a fast-moving train headed for a crash — or intervene.

Thankfully, Spicy stepped up and dug her own grave. Enter #AustraliaGate. During spring break of my son’s junior year, I took my boys home for my sister’s wedding. It was a special trip because, thanks to COVID, we hadn’t been able to travel to see our family in five years.

Spicy must have lost her mind at the very thought of my son in Australia for three weeks without her. Before we'd even boarded the plane, the seeds of insecurity were sown. My son told me that while we were away they'd be "taking a break" — not breaking up, he explained, but no contact, no photos, no pet names.

What a way to mess with a kid's head.

Mission accomplished — he was an anxious wreck the entire time. Then about a week into our visit, he came to me in a state of distress. She'd called it off completely. He'd also heard that she'd been seen flirting with her ex.

Our trip was ruined.

MOTHER TO MOTHER

This might come as a surprise to no one, but they were back together almost the moment we landed home in NYC.

I had no choice but to let it play out.

Even though my smart son was barely scraping through high school and his chances of getting in to college now hung in jeopardy.

I'd thought about calling Spicy's mom many times out of concern for both of them, but never wanted to be "that mother." Two years in, Spicy left me with no choice. I won't go into the gory details, but let's just say we’d entered the peak manipulation phase. I sent a text and asked to talk, mother to mother — my hope being that we could work together to support these kids through high school and avoid a heavy emotional fallout.

We talked, but I got the sense our private call hadn't been private at all, and worse, I'd been reframed as a punchline rather than a concerned mother whose kid was drowning. She also dismissed the seriousness of the situation, saying words to the effect of, "He just doesn't like school," about my son, and that she was "just waiting for high school to be over."

When my son heard — or was told — about the call, he was livid. He told me Spicy never wanted to see or speak to me again — and, low-key, he felt the same.

I knew then he'd well and truly been abducted by aliens. One by one, everyone had been edged out — and now it was my turn. The last roadblock to remove.

THE CRASH

As fate would have it, the emotional breakdown I'd tried so hard to avoid (for both of them) finally came before they even graduated. Starting to push back against what I now believe is a form of coercive control — if you’re not familiar, read this article by Dr. Emma Katz on the very subject— my son defied orders and spent some time with other friends.

When Spicy found out, she did what she always did: dumped him.

Only this time, he didn't go running back; he came to me instead. And no, it wasn't an "aha, checkmate, I got you, Spicy" moment.

I gently explained that no amount of hoops he jumped through would ever be enough. Spicy needed to learn how to fill her own cup, and that no one is responsible for anyone else's happiness.

I did, however, dare him to call her bluff (after all, we’d been here before).

He did. And he even dipped a toe back in with his middle school mates, who — as it turned out — had booked a group trip abroad to celebrate graduation. He hadn't been told, let alone invited. It made me so sad it had come to this. So when, god bless her, one of his friends extended him a last-minute invite, I can't tell you how fast his dad and I booked that ticket.

THE END

At the last minute, my son wavered on whether he should go or not, worried about upsetting Spicy. So his dad and I half-seriously hatched a plan to kidnap him and get him on that plane.

He went. He had the time of his life.

She angrily blew up his phone. When that didn't work, she love-bombed him with long letters and dredged-up memories.

It was too late. He was awake.

Spicy apparently took the breakup hard and reportedly grieved it very publicly online.

Despite how this may sound, no, that didn't make me happy. I felt for her — I loved her once. I know what it feels like to be a teenage girl — and to desperately want love, especially when you're trying to outrun unchecked abandonment or emotional issues.

I'm not a therapist or a perfect mother, but I do believe it's on us as parents to raise our kids right. To instill in them confidence, independence, conviction, balance, self-love, self-belief — all the buzzwords. And more importantly, to teach them how to spot the red flags of an unhealthy relationship.

As for the Beckhams, all I can say is that you don't have to love your in-laws. But if you love your partner, you should respect them and encourage some kind of relationship.

Otherwise, you’re just pouring rocket fuel on the fire in a war where no one wins.

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