‘I grew up with a famous parent…I will need therapy for the rest of my life’

As the daughter of a household name TV presenter, Charlotte* grew up in the limelight, with her mother giving the press almost unfettered access to every aspect of her life.

Now an adult herself, Charlotte believes her mother’s candid attitude in sharing their family’s most private moments has had a lasting negative impact.

Here, she tells her side of the story – and heeds a warning to other parenting influencers about how their actions could have a lifelong effect on their children.

Charlotte says:

I don’t know what life is like not having a famous parent. Within hours of being born, I had cameras thrust into my face, featuring in glossy magazines and regularly being wheeled out to photoshoots. As I got older, this was something I was expected to become accustomed to, but I never did.

In her heyday, my mum was a hugely popular celebrity figure, regularly featuring on big TV shows and writing in newspapers. When I was really little and watching TV at home when she was on, I would try and speak to her – not understanding why she wouldn’t respond.

So one day, she sat me down and explained to me that while some mummies work in offices, or others worked for the police, her job was being on the TV. Being famous was her livelihood. 

There were some aspects of my mum’s fame that were great: we got to live in an amazing house, and I attended a good school. Mum was just so well-loved, that when she ever came to pick me up from nursery or school, everyone flocked to her, desperate to speak to her. But it was rare that she would pick me up – she worked constantly. Her busy schedule meant we could only have one holiday a year, and while they were usually in amazing locations, it was often intense for us to suddenly spend so much time together.

Because her schedule was so full on, I was raised by a series of nannies throughout my childhood. They were often a substitute mother figure, looking after me five days a week – but I never gave myself the chance to get close to them because they fairly often left.

Her career also meant my mum didn’t often have time for me. If I tried to speak to her about a problem, she’d often tell me she was too tired and it was dismissed. I felt rejected.

But that didn’t stop her speaking out about our family life in newspapers and on TV. It seemed everything was up for public consumption. Our school reports, arguments we had at home. Even that time we got stomach bugs was free for everyone to read about. 

It caused a weekly row in our house where I’d beg her to not discuss us so publicly, but nothing ever changed. For her, being so candid was a part of her fame – this was the trade-off for success.

There were more damaging side-effects to her job. Because she spoke so openly about any issues she was having, it resulted in people treating us warily, uncertain whether things they said would end up being broadcast. It meant we lost a lot of close family and friends when I was young. It took me years, in some cases, decades, to rebuild some of those relationships. 

As I hit my teenage years, I became more uncomfortable being in the public eye. It was so embarrassing having to do photoshoots with my mum even though I felt really self conscious about my changing, teenage body and my stomach was in knots every time I had to do a red carpet. One year, I was meant to feature on a TV show with my mum. I was so nervous that I had to camp out in the toilets. Everyone thought I’d be just like my mum – really confident and at ease in front of the camera – but I wasn’t.

Mum’s fame also greatly infringed on my personal life. As she was so candid, details about us were relatively easy to find. Gross sexual objects were posted to our house and sometimes, weird men would loiter around school, so we had to get the police involved.

It left me feeling that I couldn’t trust anyone. Lots of people wanted to be my friends but so few were genuine – people wanted to come to my house to take pictures and brag they’d been there. Some instances of me mucking around with my friends were photographed and made their way to the tabloids. I felt really alone as I didn’t know who I could rely on.

I felt I was under greater scrutiny even when I was doing other things kids my age were doing. My mum put pressure on me to behave a certain way. She’d say: ‘If you get caught behaving badly and I lose my job, we’d have to take you out of your nice private school, away from your friends.’ It was always made clear to us that if we did anything to jeopardise my mum’s career, the whole family would lose out. It meant I learned to lie really well. I played two parts – the straight A student at school, then outside of school with my friends getting totally off my face. I turned to alcohol and drugs from early in my teen years to help with the pressure.

The tipping point was when I was expected to contribute to one of my mum’s projects – I had to basically tell everyone what a great parent she was. It made it harder for me to tell other people how I was really feeling, especially as I had been documented saying the exact opposite.

Leaving home for university was a real saving grace for me, as it allowed me to put some distance between myself and my mum. For the first time of my life, I was actually entitled to some privacy. I wasn’t obliged to pose for photoshoots. From there, I could find my own space. After I graduated, I got my own place and started my own career so I wasn’t dependent on my mum. Our relationship became more distant.

I have spent thousands of pounds on therapy to help me recover. It’s something I’ll be doing for the rest of my life. I have always been made to feel I was the problem; my mum was this amazing, well-respected figure with a huge following so it couldn’t be her. I was repeatedly told I had to be grateful for this life.

Therapy helped me shift my perspective and release some of the anger I had towards my mum. It’s made me share a lot myself. It gives me control – I have found my voice and now I can tell my truth, which is why I’m telling my story now.

It has also helped me understand why my mum shares so much. I think being famous gave her huge self-esteem and now she needs to share constantly in order to feel valued.

I now keep my mum at arm’s length. It is sad, but I need to protect my mental health. She still airs our dirty laundry on social media, but I’ve got her muted so I don’t see it as much.

My relationship with mum now is difficult and can sometimes be really painful. We can get along fine as long as I make sure the conversations are kept at surface level. She actually doesn’t know much about me or my life at all, and even though sometimes I’m desperate for my mother’s support and understanding, given our past history, opening up to her feels too risky.

We talk on the phone maybe once a fortnight but it’s not something I look forward to. WhatsApp family chats make it easier to maintain contact without sharing too much – Mum gets really upset if she feels like I’m avoiding her (which I actually do, a lot).

I see her in person, we’ll have dinner together maybe three times a year. I usually have a huge breakdown before these dinners, sometimes I get so anxious I don’t turn up. Sometimes they’re really lovely and fun but sometimes they erupt in arguments – it can go either way. If they go badly I tend to fall off the wagon and it can take me weeks to get back to myself again.

There’s still an expectation for me to pull my weight as we share our stories but now I’m older, at least I have some choice in the matter. Last time we did a story together was a few years ago.

As my mum has got older, she’s struggled with not working so much and it’s impacted her mental health. When she doesn’t have work, she’s a husk of herself. Letting her continue to share at this point is the lesser of two evils.

My mum’s choice to share our private life so publicly has been crippling. Despite therapy, I struggle with anxiety and depression and there are times where I feel like I just can’t leave my house. I would love to meet someone and start a family of my own, but I find it too hard to trust people.

For other parenting influencers out there, I want them to know that having my life broadcast like this has caused so much pain. If I had been protected, I would be a lot more successful, I’d probably be happier. Parents need to consider what they’re taking away from their children in the long-term if they ‘sharent’ – or overshare as a parent.

I often mourn the quieter, more ordinary life I could have had. I think I’d be less fearful; I think I would be more social. I spend so much time trying to manage my mental health. If I didn’t have to do that, I could be doing amazing things. I love to do voluntary work, so I’d do a lot more of that. Sometimes, I look at my friends living normal lives and I’m so jealous. Sometimes, I just wish I’d had the choice.

*names have been changed

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Kimberley.Bond@metro.co.uk 

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