Now I’m standing there, facing the audience all by myself, the weight of the subject matter hanging heavy in the air, the message suddenly flashes up on the screen in huge letters: ÁMATE. LOVE YOURSELF.
CHANGE STARTS WITHIN OURSELVES
Putting “Qué Hiciste” in the show, with that message, had me contemplating my past. Once again, the show was helping me face my own truth. I’ve never gotten a black eye or a busted lip, but I’ve been in relationships where I have felt abused in one way or another: mentally, emotionally, verbally. I know what it feels like for your soul to be diminished by the way your loved one is treating you . . . maybe it’s a push, a shove, or a nasty word that stays with you. The scars might not be visible, but they run just as deep.
It took me years to figure out that in that kind of relationship the intensity and the conflict are really coming from two people—your partner and yourself. Because every day that you don’t walk out that door, every day you accept things in your partner and in yourself, is a day that you’re saying it’s okay. Ultimately, we can never change someone else’s behavior—we can only change our own.
We can never change someone else’s behavior—we can only change our own.
All I could do now was figure out my own part in it. Through putting the show together, I realized that what I was working through wasn’t about any one relationship, issue, or person. It was about anything in my life that I wasn’t okay with. Anything I wanted to change. And I was getting to a point where I understood that that change had to happen within me.
Se te olvidó que era el amor lo que importaba,
y con tus manos derrumbaste nuestra casa
(You forgot that love was what mattered,
and with your own hands you destroyed our home)
—“QUÉ HICISTE”
THE END OF AN ERA
It was now May, and ever since the “I’m not happy” conversation back in March, I was living with so many unanswered questions and conflicted emotions that we hadn’t addressed. Now that I look back, maybe we were both deliberately avoiding it, yet I could feel that there was a wedge growing between us. But I loved my husband, and I loved my family. I wasn’t ready to give up.
The American Idol finale was upon us, and Randy and Steven and I were supposed to do a big performance together. It was meant to be the culmination of this great, amazing season that had rejuvenated the show—but we couldn’t get Steven to agree to any of the songs. We floated a bunch of ideas out there, but for this reason or that reason, it didn’t work out.
I called Simon Fuller, Idol’s creator and producer, and said, “We have to make this happen! It’s been such a great year!” He tried, but eventually it became obvious that it just wasn’t going to happen. I was disappointed, because this finale was going to be the show—I mean, we had a whole roster of A-list artists who were going to perform: Tony Bennett, Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, Gladys Knight . . . It was an amazing lineup of talent and we were supposed to be at the center of it, the stars of the home team. But it just wasn’t in the cards.
The next day, two days before the finale, Marc and I went down to the Hollywood Walk of Fame, where Simon Fuller was getting a star. There was a ceremony, and photographers and fans were there. I love Simon and I wanted to make an appearance to support him. As soon as he saw us, he came over and drew us both into a big hug.
“Listen,” he said. “Whatever you want to do on the finale, we want you to do it. We want you to be happy.” I knew he wasn’t pleased that the song with Steven and Randy had fallen apart. And I loved that he wanted to make it right—which was really typical of how I’d been treated by everyone at American Idol for the whole season.
“Maybe you guys can do something together?” he suggested.
I looked at Marc and said, “Well, do you want to do something together?”
And although I felt vulnerable in that moment, I was hopeful that it was a chance for us to reconnect and bring us close again.
“Sure,” he said. “We’d have to pull it together really fast, though.”
“Just let us know what you need,” said Simon. “Anything at all.”
“Can you fly in my band?” Marc asked. This was not a small request—Marc performed with a full seventeen-piece salsa orchestra, and most of the musicians were based in Miami and New York.
“No problem,” said Simon. “We’ll make it happen.” And he did.
Later on, when we were riding home in the car, I suggested to Marc:
“Since your band is coming, why don’t we do one of your songs . . . How about ‘Aguanile’?”
I knew that American Idol’s mainstream audience would be blown away when they heard Marc sing this song even though it was in Spanish. I started to envision the performance.
“I can sing it with you,” I said. “I can come in on the second verse, and we can do the chorus together . . .”
But Marc disagreed. In a very matter-of-fact way, he said, “You know, this is a guy’s song,” and suggested that maybe he should sing and I could maybe dance.
I wasn’t sure about it but I reluctantly agreed. After all, I wanted this to be good for us. I was going to put all the love and all the power I had as an entertainer and a performer into doing it.
Right away I jumped into “producer” mode. “We need to get dancers, with feathers. It all has to look really chic, with no loud colors . . .” I wanted everything to be perfect. The show was in two days, we had no time to waste. We choreographed a beautiful, sexy dance for me to do, where I came in only after Marc had already sung the first half of the song.
On the night of the finale, the show was electric. It was amazing performance after amazing performance. Finally, it was our turn: Marc sang and was blowing the roof off the place. When I came onstage and danced around Marc as he raised his eyebrows, making the crowd laugh, the audience was on ten. The last part of the song got wild, as I had even gotten Sheila E. to do a percussion solo. The moment built and built, and as the trumpets blasted the last notes of the song, I posed next to Marc, my back to the audience, my hand on his chest—giving him the final moment in the spotlight. As the crowd erupted into screams and applause, we kissed, and I reached up to wipe away the red lipstick that had come off on his lips so he wouldn’t look silly.
Marc was amazing, and it turned out great. But later I realized that performance should have been the culmination of an amazing year in my life and my career and for some reason it just wasn’t.
It’s true that sometimes, when you’re trying so hard to make a relationship work, you can sacrifice things that are important to you. And that’s exactly what I was doing.
When I look back, the finale feels like the end of an era. Marc and I were magic onstage, but that was the last time we would perform together as husband and wife.
ONE LAST TRY
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The night after the finale, Marc and I were scheduled to fly with the kids to the Caribbean for a vacation. I had been feeling so anxious about things between us that I wanted to take some time away from everything, to talk and hopefully reconnect.
We talked a lot on that trip, and I remember saying to him, “Marc, you and I are the glue for this family. We have to be okay, because if we’re not okay, the whole thing falls apart.” I told him I wanted us to spend more time with the kids, to make our family more of a priority.
As I was saying these words, all I could think was, I hope he gets what I’m trying to say. In fairness to Marc, I’m not sure how he remembers all this—whether he saw this vacation as a potential turning point in our marriage or not.
Sometimes, when you’re trying so hard to make a relationship work, you can sacrifice things that are important to you.
We both knew something was wrong, but I’m not sure Marc looked at things as being at the crisis point that I did, or maybe he did . . . The truth was, we were talking
about the same problems we always had, but what he maybe didn’t understand was that even though the problems were the same, I was changing.
Before, I would have accepted things as they were. I’d think, Well, that’s the way it is, so I have to deal with it. But for the first time in years, instead of taking whatever was dished out, I thought, This doesn’t feel right, and that’s not good for me and it’s not good for the kids. And although Marc understood, would anything change? Or would we go right back into the same old patterns?
I got my answers the very first week we were back—the week of our seventh anniversary.
On our return home, when the day of our anniversary came up, we were trying to put everything aside and enjoy the moment, but instead what transpired was another argument.
Here’s the thing about kids: They don’t do what you say; they do what you do.
However, like with so many things after the babies were born, this time was different. I realized I wasn’t the same person anymore and I just didn’t want to be fighting anymore, I didn’t want Max and Emme to think that was normal. Because here’s the thing about kids: They don’t do what you say; they do what you do. They watch you. If you tell them not to drink, but you drink, they will too. If you tell them not to smoke, but you smoke, you can be damn sure they’re going to pick up a cigarette. So if they hear you fight or argue all the time, they are going to think that’s normal as well.
I wanted to feel good about the choices I was making for myself. I wanted to be able to stand in front of them and say, “I did the right thing”—not to be some broken person who stayed in a marriage for the wrong reasons. I had fought so hard to keep things together, but you can’t fit a square peg in a round hole. In this moment, I realized that no matter how hard it would be, the best thing I could do was to walk away.
There is a love like no other. A love that requires no conditions. A love that can’t be explained or learned.
It’s a love that gives you a greater purpose. It’s a love that can set the rest of your world aside.
UNTIL IT BEATS NO MORE
WHEN YOU HAVE children, you feel love like you haven’t felt before. The first time I held Emme and Max, when they were these tiny, helpless little babies, I felt such a pure feeling toward them. It wasn’t traumatic, or tormented, or complicated. It was perfect and simple and true.
When I looked at my babies, I knew I never wanted to hurt them, or let anyone else hurt them. I couldn’t stand the thought of it. There’s a depth of feeling with my babies that surpasses anything I’ve ever felt before—a feeling that I’ll do anything to make sure they’re okay.
Romantic love is different from parental love, obviously, but it still has the same basic components. When I felt that pure love for Max and Emme, I started to understand that something was missing from the love I had received romantically. Too often, that love felt conditional, like I had to behave a certain way, or earn it somehow, to keep it. The Bible tells us that love is patient; love is kind . . . It is not self-seeking; it is not easily angered; it doesn’t keep score . . . Unfortunately, too many of the relationships I’d been in didn’t quite fit that description.
It’s love and I have found it, feel the beat again, stronger than before
I’m gonna give you my heart, until it beats no more
—“UNTIL IT BEATS NO MORE”
LEARNING TO TAKE CARE OF MYSELF
Shortly after our Caribbean vacation, I had to fly to Europe with my mom and the kids to continue promoting “On the Floor.” Our first stop was Paris. My mom could take Max and Emme out anywhere—nobody knew who they were, so nobody messed with them. They spent their days exploring the city, hanging out in parks, enjoying the scenery. Paris has really lovely parks—it’s one of my favorite things about the city. So, one day when the only thing on my schedule was a performance in the evening, I said to Emme and Max, “Okay, Mommy’s coming with you to play in the park today!”
My mom and I packed some snacks in a bag, and we got ready to take the kids out.
“Do you want security to come with you?” Benny asked.
“No,” I said. “I don’t want a bunch of people—I just want to go out with Mom and the kids.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “You’re going to get mobbed.”
I didn’t want to have to take some big entourage to go to the park. Couldn’t we just go and enjoy ourselves? I wanted to believe that no one would notice we were there, or if they did, that maybe they’d recognize that we just wanted to have a nice day with the kids and give us some space. But Benny wasn’t having that, so I relented and had one of our security guys come with us.
We got to the park, and the kids were really excited when they saw there was a carousel. Mom and I put them on the ride, and they laughed and shouted as they went around—they were having so much fun, and it was like a balm to my soul to see my babies so happy. But as soon as we started to relax and have fun, a bunch of paparazzi appeared out of nowhere.
We tried to ignore the pack of men circling us and clicking their cameras, though it was pretty much impossible. Still, we tried to get on with our day, and when Emme and Max saw a little booth selling toys and candy, we walked over to have a look. I told them, “Okay, you can each pick one toy.” Max picked a water gun. And when Emme saw what Max had chosen, she decided she wanted one too. So we filled them up with water, and the kids started squirting each other and running around, laughing.
The photographers kept snapping away, and they kept getting closer and closer. The paparazzi in Paris aren’t the most polite or respectful. I didn’t like how close they were getting especially because I had the kids with me. So I said to my mom, “Hey, I dare you to wet those guys with a water gun.”
She looked at me with her eyebrows raised. “You want me to squirt them?” she asked. “Because I’ll do it!”
“Ah, never mind,” I said. “You won’t do it. I know you won’t,” I added, knowing, of course, that saying that was the one sure way to get her to do it.
“Give me that!” she said, and snatched a water pistol out of my hand, charging those photographers like a mama bear on a rampage. She’d had knee surgery a few weeks earlier, so she was still limping; but she took off after those guys, shooting water right at their cameras. The paparazzi seemed terrified of the crazy lady with the water pistol, and they all started to scatter, yelling and cursing in French. But my mom kept on limp-running at everyone, spraying water left and right.
I doubled over, laughing harder than I had in months. The one thing I love about my mom is that she makes me laugh like nobody else—it’s like we’re connected at the funny bone or something. Whenever I’m having a hard time, I want her there, because she says and does things that always make me feel better. And this was a much-needed break from all of the intense emotions I’d been dealing with during that time.
We’re like any mom and daughter in that we have our ups and downs—times where we’re super loving and times when we fight like crazy. But when I’m feeling down or vulnerable or alone, the one thing I know is that I want my mom there. I know she’ll do anything to make sure I’m okay; she’ll hug me, make jokes, and even sleep in my bed with me if I’m lonely. Whenever I need her, she’s there. I hope that one day Max and Emme can say that about me with certainty. I will do anything and everything in my power to make it so.
Mom chased after those photographers that day because she always has my back, no matter what. Because there’s something about a mother’s love for her kids that transcends everything.
There’s something about a mother’s love for her kids that transcends everything.
THE PUREST LOVE OF ALL
During that time, the strength I got from being a mom carried me through one of the most difficult periods of my life. In planning the show, I felt that “Until It Beats No More” could be a key performance depicting a pivotal chapter in my story. I really wanted the audience to see, to understand that that kind of lov
e—the love I feel for my children—is what I consider to be the purest love of all and the impact that it had on me.
At the very end of “Qué Hiciste,” the words “Ámate” and “Love Yourself” had flashed up onto the screen. And as the piano played the opening chords to “Until It Beats No More,” I would say to the crowd: “There’s all different types of love . . . but then there’s real, true love. And in this life, I can honestly say, I have felt true love.” And then a giant photo of Max and Emme filled the screen.
I was down for the count, feeling like I’ve come to the end
Nothing really mattered, nothing left for me to mend . . .
—“UNTIL IT BEATS NO MORE”
Throughout the whole song, photos and videos of Max and Emme, many of them taken by my dear friend Ana, flashed up on the screen—a collage of so many beautiful moments we’ve had together. I’ve never been one to parade my kids in front of audiences, but I felt really strongly about this part of the show. I wanted to show people the love that had changed me. The love that had shown me that life was to be celebrated, not just endured. My babies’ love saved me, and I wanted to share that with the audience too.
Every time we did this song, the audience went crazy for it. One of the things that was so fantastic about the tour was that we had all kinds of people there—from dads and moms with their eight-year-old kids, to teenagers and girls in their twenties and thirties, to middle-aged couples, to grandparents. It was a family affair, seven to seventy. And all of them responded to this part of the show, which was all about family.
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