Too Much Love Can Kill You

The parallels between motherhood and fame—and where to find love that truly nourishes you.

Being a mother to young kids is like being a megastar, except that you only have a couple of fans. But what fans they are. Fans that want to be around you all the time, that love and adore you so much they’ll fight each other to be near you. And fans that demand you entertain them constantly.

I always wanted kids. It wasn’t a question of if, but when, and even that, I kind of knew.

33

That seemed like the perfect age to do it. And I don’t take for granted that life played out just as I pictured it. I got super lucky. At 28, I met the first man who was still smiling at me the morning after we hooked up in a nightclub. We took a few years to get to know each other, living and traveling together before we settled down and started our ‘real lives’. Being such slow starters, when I fell pregnant, he was waiting tables and I had gone back to school, so some would say the time wasn’t right, but we knew it was perfect.

I never got postpartum depression, I was head over heels for my blond little boy as soon as he came screaming into the world. And he loved me. Boy, did he love me. Wanted to be attached to me as much as humanly possible. I breastfed for two years and then weaned him with great difficulty. Soon after, we had a second child, who was perhaps even clingier than the first.

That’s what we call it, isn’t it? Clingy.

We’ve all seen the Internet videos where parents can’t go to the toilet alone, where they hide out or take moments of ‘me-time’ to get away from their needy children.

And that was certainly my experience, but I don’t always call it clinginess. I try to understand what it really is.

It’s pure, unadulterated love. They just frickin’ love me so much. Their dad too, but it’s not quite the same.

At 8 and 10 years old, they still both ask regularly if they can sleep in our bed. Every morning, one or both clambers in for snuggles, and they want to be held so close that they almost muscle me right out onto the floor.

The other night, when I went to kiss my oldest goodnight, his eyes sprang open and he threw his arms around me and pulled my head close to whisper “You have to stay here forever!”

They sit on my lap at dinner until they’re told off. They want me to watch their every move. Childcare drop-offs were hell, peeling tiny arms off my neck and passing them kicking and screaming to an educator.

I often feel that they would crawl back inside me if given the chance, and indeed, one of my little one’s favorite games is “The baby game”, where she pretends she’s in my tummy and hides under the covers.

She loves playing with my arm and belly fat, calling me ‘squishy’ as she pokes and pinches.

I’m pretty sure that this is typical behavior for young kids, and I should enjoy it because I’ll miss it when they’re big and don’t have time for me anymore.

And I get it. I love attention too. Love holding someone close and feeling their arms around me so tight I feel like I could disappear. And doesn't our whole society value attention as currency? Everyone grasping for eyeballs, clicks, and likes?

Public figures invite others to love them without boundaries. There are way too many stories of celebrities who’ve broken under the gravity of the love from their fans. Macaulay Culkin, Britney Spears, Amy Winehouse, the list goes on. People who became so adored they fell apart, hiding in the sweet escape of drugs, alcohol, or some other crutch until they either re-equilibrated or … didn’t.

I used to think the worst thing in life was to end up all alone. It's not. The worst thing in life is ending up with people who make you feel all alone. - Robin Williams

Tim Ferriss writes about strangers sharing their innermost thoughts with him and expecting him to heal them, like a toddler telling you their tummy hurts and expecting you to magically make it better.

One stranger even sent him a video confession before committing suicide.

We all want to be loved, but can we handle what it actually means? In parenting terms, it’s usually framed as clingy, relentless children who demand infinite affection and attention. Your identity is hijacked, as the you you used to know disappears under the weight of your children’s needs and expectations.

And there’s only a tiny fraction of a step between love and hate, as every parent realises the first time their child cries “I hate you” in sheer frustration.

As they grow, and all the injustice and unfairness in their world slowly clouds their view—their sister getting more dessert in the bowl, not being as quick as the other kids at school, the painful unforgivingness of gravity—they look for someone to fix these problems.

As a parent, you are given this bright, shining, unconditional love from people who are totally dependent on you and expect you to shield them from pain. And you wish more than anything to be able to provide that for them.

As a celebrity, people shower you with love and adoration, but they also demand something in return. Constant presence, performance, guidance, and sometimes a person to blame when things go wrong.

But we are all children who have to learn to stand on our own. To accept things as they are and not as we want them to be. And no one—not our parents, not our celebrities, and not our governments—really has the power to kiss our boo-boos and make them all better.

Make no mistake, the source of this strength comes from love, but not the love you extract from your mother or a singer or a podcaster.

You know what I’m talking about.

If we can teach our kids to find love within, stand up, and take responsibility for their own story, I’d say we’ve done our job.