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The headline I read recently was, at first, upsetting: Singer Britney Spears, a superstar whose career spans two decades, has checked into another residential mental health treatment facility. The recent event follows highly publicized involuntary psychiatric hospitalizations, known as 5150s, many years ago. As a psychologist and mental health advocate who is intent on trying to destigmatize mental illness, I've watched from the sidelines as Spears has seemingly thrived in the years after her very public shaming. Between 2013 and 2017 alone, the singer brought in about $140 million of revenue at her Las Vegas concert residency and appeared to find balance as she simultaneously raised her two children. On a more symbolic level, Spears's personal and career resurrection inspired fans around the world who watched her eclipse the hardships and become wiser because of them.
A fellow global star, Justin Bieber, has recently disclosed his own mental health challenges. Moving past tabloid-celebrated brushes with the law, he now appears to be making a concerted effort to focus on personal growth and newly-married life with his wife, model Hailey Baldwin. Posting a photo of himself recently in the middle of a therapy session, he commented that working on one's mental health shouldn't be shameful but a source of pride. To his credit, his comments aren't the narcissistic, look-at-me kind. Quite the opposite: His comments indicate actual insight. He has talked publicly about the cruel and ignorant reality that conventional wisdom has historically suggested—no, admonished—that mental health challenges are something to hide because they reflect that something about the sufferer is inherently bad, wrong or broken, as if the individual should "buck up" and shouldn't have developed such difficulties in the first place. In recent interviews, Bieber has spoken with disarming insight about how he must now, as an adult, reconcile the psychological costs of extreme fame at a very young age.
Spears and Bieber, the public must remember, have been performing for mass audiences since they were mere children. Many may not know that Spears' first experience with fame was at the prepubescent age of 11 when she was cast on The Mickey Mouse Club. Similarly, Bieber achieved worldwide fame before he was old enough to get a driver's license. Though some may cast him aside as a studio creation or a caricature from the tabloids, the truth is that he is a musician who became a virtuoso drummer and learned multiple other instruments before he ever scored a record deal.
Spears and Bieber lie at the farthest, most extreme end of the pop music success spectrum, but other performers are showing a similar willingness and pride in disclosing their own mental health challenges. Selena Gomez and Demi Lovato, for example, have both openly and unashamedly talked about their own mental health difficulties as they navigate fame. I would betray one of my ultimate points if I didn't note that these two women, like Spears and Bieber, had stage careers as children, with each having been cast on the television show Barney & Friends.
The obvious, treacherous dangers of fame that comes too early are not new or unique. We know instinctively that fame might not be good for a child or teenager. Yes, these individuals reap some benefits as a result of a near-freakish lifestyle that most boys and girls don't have the chance to access. They cultivate the capacity for razor-sharp discipline; they reinforce an off-the-charts focus and work ethic while counterparts may spend hours playing video games; and they learn to survive and become resilient in an industry that can be vicious. The latter point, of course, underscores what is simultaneously one of the greatest dangers inherent in young performers' work and life experience: Yes, they become resilient, but at what cost? What is the ultimate emotional toll of learning to survive in an industry that eats its young? On some level, these young famous males and females are strong, but the demands of their work and personal environments bring pressures and eventual identity crises that may tempt them to self-medicate in highly self-destructive ways.
We've seen the effects of an early life stolen by fame so many times that it's almost redundant. There's Michael Jackson living a pressurized life as a member of The Jackson 5 or Whitney Houston, whose meticulous, worldwide career rollout was orchestrated by her mother before her 18th birthday. We saw the price those two performers paid. What we haven't seen, however, is stars of that magnitude talking in the present about what they are doing currently to work on their mental health before a potentially worse or even lethal toll is taken.
While many stars of the past appeared to internalize shame and externalize their anxiety in self-destructive, life-threatening behaviors, perhaps these modern celebrities are pioneering a new way to accept, integrate, and own their mental health challenges, a protective triad that can stave off the nefarious risks of extreme fame at a young age. I've known a couple of people who have known Spears, and have shared that she is a kind and decent person, but I don't know either of these individuals. As a result, I have no way of knowing how much either identifies as a social advocate for change. What I can say is that they are bona fide revolutionaries in the way they openly and unabashedly own their mental health fragilities, and they model the destigmatization of mental illness every time they acknowledge their challenges without a whiff of embarrassment or shame.
Spears recently commented publicly about her last hospitalization, flipping the script on shame and stating that she clearly needed some "me time." A more senior superstar, Mariah Carey, deserves similar credit for sharing in an interview not long ago that she has suffered from bipolar disorder. After decades in the spotlight living with the disorder, she "came out." One has to wonder whether the death of Whitney Houston, a friend, triggered such openness; perhaps Carey saw in Houston the tendency to internalize shame about mental challenges, raising her own awareness that the only way to thwart the ghosts associated with fame is to be open about how overwhelming they can be. As a psychologist, I wouldn't wish that kind of fame on anyone.
Ultimately, I believe that part of the legacy of Spears and Bieber, among the others I've highlighted, will include the way they have helped to change the face of mental illness from something shameful to a simple fact of life. These stars, whether they know it or not, are destigmatizing mental illness and changing the lives of young men and women who have their own emotional struggles. These stars are brave and honest and deserve credit for ushering in a wave of change.
