Brand Beckham, Brooklyn & Family Estrangement — Why I’m Speaking Out

A quick note before you read on this isn’t gossip, and I’m not here for the Beckham media frenzy.

I’m writing from lived experience – about estrangement, boundaries, and the moment a parent chooses to stop colluding in a family narrative that causes long-term harm.

Why this family drama matters to me

With that context in mind, I’ve felt a deep, quiet empathy for David and Victoria Beckham for several years now – particularly in relation to their relationship with their eldest son, Brooklyn.

In recent weeks, speculation has intensified following Brooklyn’s public statements which have fuelled intense public interpretation and commentary. I’ve read the articles, scanned the commentary, and — like many — read between the lines.

But here’s where I step out of the crowd.

My perspective isn’t media‑fuelled. It’s lived experience.

I’m not a former Spice Girl. I don’t run a global brand worth millions of dollars. But I am a businesswoman, a mother — and I’m living a strikingly similar reality.

My son is 27. Brooklyn Beckham is 26.

My son has not spoken to me for three years.

Some context (because none of this estrangement happens in a vacuum and I feel that an explanation is essential)

I divorced my first husband when our son was six. Before that, we’d been together fourteen years. I came from a family where marriage meant for life — my parents married in 1961 and remain together today — so leaving wasn’t a casual decision. It was survival.

During my marriage, boundaries were inconsistent. When I said no to my son, I meant it. When his father said no, it often became yes under toddler pressure. That undermining of me was constant — and corrosive.  I could do nothing right. Ordinary moments were criticised, reframed, weaponised.

Following divorce it took me 6 years — and another relationship — before I could even see how my words had been twisted against me.

This matters, because parenting doesn’t happen in isolation. Dynamics repeat. Patterns embed.

Loving a strong‑willed child

I have always adored my son. He’s bright, engaging, charismatic — and has always had a powerful personality.

School years were relentless. Calls from teachers. Behavioural issues. Distraction. Entitlement. A deep resistance to authority. Gratitude felt absent. Teachers were always wrong. I was always wrong.

It was exhausting.

I took responsibility for his school life simply because it reduced conflict. At home, I learned — as many parents do — to choose battles carefully, particularly after I trained as a coach!

I also consciously changed my own behaviour (we all must take responsibility for our own actions – blaming others is simply transferring the issues we need to resolve personally) in an attempt to shift his.

For a time, it worked. But when I was single again during his late teens and early twenties, things deteriorated fast.

I need to be clear: my love for him has never wavered.

What did wear me down was the pattern.

He wanted support — but only if it validated his view. If it didn’t, I was dismissed, insulted, or replaced by someone who would agree with him.

I was frequently told I was a terrible mother. That I’d failed him. That parents should provide indefinitely.

I absorbed it as “normal young male behaviour.” I shouldn’t have.  I really ought to have spoken out about it more but didn’t because I accepted how he was and continued to do my best to be a supportive parent.

I didn’t go looking for gratitude and appreciation. I was very hurt by the abuse though.

Boundaries are not abuse

Living together became untenable.

I introduced boundaries because I had to — financially, emotionally, practically. They were always met with resistance.

When COVID hit, my business collapsed overnight. I lost my office and had to reclaim space at home. To him, this was unforgivable. He told friends I’d “thrown him out of his room.” Context didn’t matter.

By then, I was broken. I cried to my office manager late at night. Attempts to talk were met with laughter. Any appeal to his father only made things worse.

I wanted to leave my own home.

Later, when my now‑husband temporarily moved in due to pandemic restrictions, my adult son confronted me:

“You didn’t ask me if he could move in.”

He was 22.

When independence becomes necessary

Eventually, I made a non‑negotiable decision: we could no longer live together.

He moved out. He rented. He later bought his own place.

And here’s the truth many won’t say out loud:

Standing my ground helped him grow.

I am proud of what he’s achieved.

But growth doesn’t always come with gratitude.

The breaking point

Three years ago, his friends discovered my Lucy Loves Latex Instagram account.

They mocked him.

I understood his embarrassment — but what followed was something else entirely. He demanded I delete or hide my account. He insulted my husband. He accused me of being corrupted. His language was misogynistic, controlling, and absolute.

At the same time, my business was collapsing. I was making staff redundant. We were selling property and relocating.

I tried to respond calmly. Thought distance might help.

Six months later, I messaged him about belongings still at my house.

His reply was an A4‑length message of abuse, ending with an ultimatum: end the relationship with my now-husband — or lose him.

I couldn’t respond.

Unless I complied, I would always be wrong.

That moment broke me and I can still feel tears welling up now the pain is so deeply anchored.

Understanding what I was dealing with

Through an awesome coach friend, I was guided toward resources on narcissistic dynamics and somatic healing.

I wasn’t searching for labels. I was searching for understanding.

And suddenly — everything made sense.

The entitlement. The lack of empathy. The rewriting of history. The inability to tolerate boundaries. The demand for loyalty without accountability.

This understanding didn’t excuse behaviour — but it explained my exhaustion.

And it helped me stop colluding.

Why the Beckham story resonates

Watching the Beckham situation unfold, I recognise the pattern.

I don’t know Brooklyn. I don’t know Nicola. I don’t know what happens behind close doors.

What I do know is what estrangement looks like when a child controls the narrative and the parent is silenced by fear of making things worse.

No contact — or limited contact — is often the least harmful option.

Not because there’s no love.

But because love without boundaries becomes self‑destruction.

Where I stand now

For three years, I’ve forwarded my son’s mail. I’ve sent birthday cards. I’ve remained open.

There has been no response.

It is what it is.

If reconciliation ever comes, it will require accountability — and an apology, at the very least, to my husband.

I accept that this may never happen.

And acceptance — not blame — is where healing begins.

Why I’m sharing this

I hesitated to write this. Silence can feel safer.

But silence can also feel like collusion.

If you are a parent navigating estrangement… if you’re being asked to erase yourself to keep the peace… if you’re questioning your sanity because your lived reality is being denied — you are not alone.

This isn’t about celebrity.

It’s about truth, boundaries, and choosing not to disappear.

And if one day my son reads this — know this:

I love you.

And I finally love myself enough to stop pretending this was okay.

If this resonates and you’d like to explore these themes — privately, professionally, or publicly — my work sits at the intersection of lived experience, coaching, and compassionate truth‑telling. You’re welcome to reach out.