The unexpected catalyst that shattered my marriage turned out to be none other than Britney Spears. Britney and I have shared a tumultuous journey. Back in 2007, as she famously shaved her head and attacked a paparazzo’s car with an umbrella, I was at a similar stage in life, working at UCLA. From my cubicle, I could hear the sirens and choppers as an ambulance took Britney to UCLA Medical Center for her involuntary psychiatric hold. I had even envisioned writing a memoir chapter titled “Peers with Spears,” but little did I realize that in 2021, we would both be navigating the complexities of mental health.
The spark that ignited a cascade of mental health challenges for me was my fervent desire to “free Britney” during my first full-blown, unmedicated manic episode. A lifelong admirer of Britney, I took it upon myself to organize a “pop-up performance” to advocate for her freedom. In just 13 days of planning, I orchestrated an incredible event on Venice Beach, dancing in costume with backup dancers as a crowd cheered for “free Britney!” I collaborated with two activists I met during a Black Lives Matter protest, creating an uplifting tribute to mental health that even garnered attention from the BBC and The New York Times. It felt liberating to channel my skills into something larger than household chores.
However, this endeavor did not bode well for my marriage. I spent countless sleepless nights and distracted days deep in mania—crafting signs, sending emails, and sourcing costumes, all while neglecting my household responsibilities. I never neglected my children; if anything, I included them in my plans. My preteen daughter rolled her eyes at my dance routines and constant Britney discussions, while my toddler gamely accompanied me on “location scouting” trips to LA. For nearly two weeks, I boasted on Instagram that I was “pulling a Lin,” referring to Lin-Manuel Miranda, and dubbed myself “Lin Manuel Mermanda.”
When my husband walked in and expressed anger over my “end misogyny” posters, it marked the beginning of the end. My mind was resolute: no one could deter me from freeing Britney! I fervently continued ordering supplies online and bombarding strangers on social media with messages.
I was aware I was experiencing a manic episode, feeling the surge of energy building within me. My therapist had recently introduced the concept of “hypomania” to me. Those with bipolar disorder often experience grandiose thoughts that lead to ambitious yet improbable plans. At that moment, I viewed medication as a means to suppress my creative spirit, which I believed was capable of achieving great things. During this manic phase in March, I was “liberating my inner Britney.” My mood swings and energy fluctuations were rampant, with no regard for my husband’s passive-aggressive disapproval of my initiatives. Fortunately, this episode did not escalate into psychosis, unlike the subsequent two episodes that would land me in the hospital.
In the midst of my marital turmoil, unresolved resentments and poor communication reached a tipping point during my “free Britney” phase. While this episode was mild compared to what would follow, it strained my marriage significantly. It was about reconnecting with the person I had been before a series of traumatic experiences, including my son’s battle with eye cancer.
Despite the strain, I didn’t accept that I needed medication to function. The next episode was more severe and involved psychosis, where my distorted perceptions led to bizarre behaviors that alarmed my family. The aftermath of the pandemic exacerbated my mental health issues, plunging me into a frightening reality filled with hallucinations. The stress from my divorce only added to the chaos. During one episode, I wandered outside wearing mismatched shoes, with one being a spa sandal, and began sticking feathers into the grass to ward off imaginary threats. My family had no choice but to call the police due to my erratic behavior, leading to my hospitalization.
Those six days in a psychiatric ward were surreal—filled with the screams of other patients. I complied with the prescribed medications to regain my freedom. Once discharged, I committed to a regimen of mood stabilizers, including Lamictal, after realizing how close I had come to losing my grip on reality. I was diagnosed with Bipolar 1 with psychotic features, and later, after another episode that resulted in property damage, I received a diagnosis of schizophrenia. This was a serious condition, and I wasn’t willing to risk further psychotic breaks; my inner Britney needed some restraint.
Today, I take seven pills daily, and I’ve come to terms with it. I’m thankful for my robust support system and the effectiveness of my medication. My creativity and energy remain intact, without the obsessive thoughts that once plagued me. I have learned to embrace my mental health journey, using it to foster self-awareness that enhances my role as a mother and individual. I wouldn’t change my experiences, and I look forward to the next chapter of my life—one where both Britney and I make significant comebacks.
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Summary: The author reflects on how her obsession with advocating for Britney Spears led to a manic episode that strained her marriage. Despite the challenges posed by her mental illness, including subsequent hospitalizations, she has found strength in medication and support, embracing her journey towards self-discovery and creativity.
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