by Erika Jayne
I always felt like an outsider at that school. It was as if they were all normal and I was different. That school is where I had my first mean girls experience, with some of my classmates making fun of me and passing notes about how much they hated me. These were the same girls who were going to get up on the altar at confirmation and talk about being good Catholics. It smacked of hypocrisy to me. They wanted no part of me, and I thought they were all sheep. They passively went along with whatever the people wearing the robes were telling them to do.
I also thought it was bullshit that we were essentially forced to make a lifelong commitment to a religion when we didn’t know any others. At thirteen years old, how could I possibly make all these big promises in front of God about being Catholic for the rest of my life? I knew enough to know that I didn’t know anything. Just because the teachers at school and the priests were telling me this was right for me didn’t mean that it was. What if I wanted to be a Buddhist? What if I wanted to be a Protestant like my grandparents? What if I wanted to become a Scientologist? I don’t think I would ever want to, but it might have helped my entertainment career—who knows?
I felt like I was being punished for even questioning why we would get confirmed. If one of the priests could have given me a valid explanation as to why we were doing it, I would have been happy to participate. But we were expected to follow blindly. The fact that they said we should do it was supposed to be enough of an incentive. They wanted us to do what we were told. Well, not me.
One day after class, I told my religion teacher, Mrs. O’Connell, “I’m choosing not to be confirmed.” She was surprised but kind of blew it off. When we got closer to the ceremony, she realized I was being serious. She told the principal about my decision. The principal called my mother down to the school for a meeting.
When Renee arrived, they told her that she had to force me to get confirmed. “No, I’m not going to do that,” she told them. Renee and I had plenty of issues, but she always had my back when it came down to it. “Listen, I’ve done everything I possibly can. There is nothing else for me to do if this child is not going to do it, and that’s that.”
I was the only kid in my class not to get confirmed. I never quite understood why no one else had the hesitation I did. I looked around at my classmates and wondered if I was the only person who felt this way. Or maybe I was just the only kid who had enough guts to say, “I’m not going to be forced into this.” I wanted my peers to challenge or at least question authority. And I was determined not to be a sucker.
I didn’t care what any of them thought: my mother, the priests, the principal, my friends. I knew I made the right decision for myself. I decided to attend the confirmation ceremony to support my friends. When I got to the church, my friend Amanda said, “Maybe we can ask the priests to give you a blessing, even though you’re not getting confirmed.” She asked the priest, and he said no.
The Catholic church always made me feel judged. I saw church as a place of limitations and harsh criticism. A place where I felt like I would be corrected or ashamed, like I was bad. I never felt the church was loving or inclusive.
My husband, Tom, was born in a Catholic hospital and went to Catholic schools all the way through law school. He still sits on the board of trustees at Loyola University Law School. But he was taught by the Jesuits, an order of priests that believes in education and teaching people to question the things around them to find the truth. The priests molded this man and encouraged him to help people whenever he could. His experience with the Catholic church was worlds away from mine.
When I enrolled in public high school, I left the church behind. I didn’t really miss it until I was twenty and about to get married to my first husband, Tommy. We had a huge ceremony at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Midtown Manhattan where Tommy, a New York native, had been baptized. In order to get married in the Catholic church, we both had to get confirmed, so we did it together. Tommy and I had a private confirmation ceremony in the chapel underneath the altar at St. Patrick’s.
As part of the confirmation process, I had to choose two things: a confirmation name and a sponsor. A confirmation name is like a second middle name that one adopts, which is also the name of a saint. Mine is Ann, after my grandmother. I chose Christine Olender, my mother’s best friend and one of the managers of Windows on the World at the World Trade Center, as my sponsor. We shared a lot of similarities in our lives and she was the best Catholic I knew. It was a special moment with her by my side. It became even more poignant to me after Christine lost her life while at work on September 11, 2001.
A few years later, I was getting a divorce. That is something that Catholics frown upon, and that judgment turned me off of organized religion. But I have spiritual beliefs that I cherish and stand behind. I believe in faith. I believe in God. I believe in angels, or at least a force of good in the world that we can feel.
I tend to believe that we live many lifetimes. I have no proof of this yet, obviously, but ask me again in my next life. I believe that the soul can never be destroyed, but it simply transfers. I believe in a higher power. I don’t believe in hell as a place of eternal damnation with a lake of fire and the gnashing of teeth, but I do believe in hell on Earth. I believe that there are people who suffer needlessly and that we should try to alleviate that suffering.
I believe in the first lesson any kid learns in CCD: the Golden Rule. I treat people the way I want to be treated. I try to confront everyone with kindness and will be nice to them as long as they’re nice to me. I don’t fuck with anybody who doesn’t have it coming to them.
Life should be about treating people well and trying to find the good in others. To evolve the humility it takes to look out for others. I don’t know any other way to say it. Not looking out for others just shows a limited soul and low maturity level. No one knows what someone else has been through. We don’t know their story. We don’t know where they’ve been or where they’re going. We don’t know their potential or whether the path they’re on might lead them somewhere great. That’s why I try to treat everyone like an equal.
Trust me, I fall short of that mark every day. That’s such a Catholic idea, though. No matter how hard we strive for goodness, we’re all sinners on the inside. Just ask Erika Jayne. She’s even a sinner on the outside!
I think it’s important to pray. It’s important to have some sort of spiritual practice for your own soul. I say my affirmations every morning when I wake up. Every night when I go to bed I say my prayers, what I’m thankful for, and I ask for protection and guidance.
I met with a spiritual adviser awhile ago. She said to me, “You don’t pray for your mom.”
“No, I don’t,” I said.
“You have to correct that,” she said. “That’s not right. You have to pray for your momma.”
“Really?” I asked. “I pray for myself, my son, and my family. Isn’t that enough?”
“No,” she said. “You have to pray for your mother specifically.”
I think she was right. I do believe that the words we say out loud and the prayers that we think manifest themselves in the real world. I’m not just talking about the scientific studies that prove that prayer helps heal sick people. I’m talking about how our intentions can influence reality.
When Tom and I were restoring our house in Pasadena, there was a strange area that was kind of like a bathroom with a little gym attached to it. We had no idea what to do with the space. By that time, I had been collecting icons and religious art for a while. I thought it would be great to put all of them in a little chapel.
I brought up the idea with our interior designer and she loved it. Now it’s my own meditation room, my spiritual space. I think that it’s important to have a place like that where you can go and quiet the mind and think about things. That’s what that space represents to me. It’s my private spiritual sanctuary.
I use it as often as I can, but not enough. Rather than going to the chapel, I usually say my daily prayers in bed right be
fore I pass out from exhaustion.
When I do sit in there, I close my eyes. I try to slow down my mind. I let the darkness behind my eyelids wash over my consciousness. I let my mind expand, atom by atom, out across the chapel and through each room of the house. It goes out past the gardens of our estate, past the freeways of Southern California, past the ocean in the west and the mountains in the east. It glides over the land and through the sky, taking in the whole world.
It travels to everyone who is important in my life. My husband, who has given me so much and taught me so much more. My son, who I am so glad grew into a strong, good man, but whom I will always want to protect. My mother, the cause of so much of my strife but also the source of so much of my character. My grandmother, who taught me how to be a leader and always to follow my heart. Mikey, who inspires me every day to be a fiercer version of myself. Travis, who believed in me and changed my life forever.
Then my mind travels backward in time, from my sometimes chaotic childhood to the stability and joy I found performing in children’s theater. From the hard times of auditioning in New York to the success of birthing Erika Jayne into the world. From not knowing how I was going to make ends meet in LA to having the love and security of Tom, the best man I’ve ever known.
Then my mind travels to the future, which is as unknowable as the blankness behind my eyes. But it’s bright, too. There are stars of possibility illuminating that darkness. All I have to do is pluck those stars, one at a time, from the sky. I can hold each of them in my hand and make that vision come true. I see that ball of light resting in my palm and expanding, blossoming into something great.
We never know what is going to come. When I was a child commandeering the lead role in the kindergarten production of Mrs. Jingle B, I never would have imagined that I’d be a wife and mother living in California. Reality shows didn’t even exist yet, so there was no way to conjure up starring in one. The wealth, happiness, friendship, and love that I’ve found on my journey was nothing but a mirage back then, but they’re real now. I’ve kept my dreams alive and achieved so many of them. It wasn’t by compromising. It was by constantly battling back the fear that I would be criticized and judged for being true to myself and my vision.
As I sit in my chapel with my eyes closed, I wish for the future and dream of it. A million pictures flash through my mind in fleeting moments that may or may not actually occur. I’m open to all of the possibilities—good and bad. I let the beauty of that uncertainty wash over me like starlight. It’s so wonderful and intense. I would have no idea how to contain it if everything that happened until now hadn’t prepared me perfectly.
Erika, wondering who all these fools are.
Here’s a picture of me at two from a scrapbook my mother kept. I’m taking this to my plastic surgeon to get those lips back.
Standing out from the pack on the far left before my first dance recital, age five.
The St. John the Baptist kindergarten production of Mrs. Jingle B, where I stole the lead role from a less deserving girl. I am on the far right, seated.
Me in first grade, over school and over this jumper.
This is my grandmother, Ann, filming me with her 8mm camera. She was so little she cut off all our heads in the frame.
The program from the memorial service for my grandfather, Hollis, in 2010. He’s pictured with my grandmother, Ann, who died four years later. They spelled her name wrong!
My report card from the Royal Academy of Dancing examination. I was pissed that I was not rated “highly commended.”
Me pulling focus in the eighth grade class photo in 1985. These are the people I wouldn’t get confirmed with.
A glamour shot of Erika and Renee, NYC, 1994. Courtesy of Ron Rinaldi
A Christmas card that my paternal grandmother, Esther, who lived in El Salvador, sent me when I was seven.
Renee, my aunt Janet, and me before a night of clubbing in London, 1986. What is with this hair and these outfits?
The note I left for my grandmother when she came to meet me during a class trip to Belgium. I roomed with her instead of a classmate every year because she let me sneak out.
Putting on the Ritz circa 1990 in the apartment I shared with my first husband on 100th and Amsterdam Ave. in Manhattan.
“The Flirts,” just another ’80s girl group. Me at eighteen, Trish (top), and Tracy, who looks incredibly cold.
My day planner from senior year in high school where I was rehearsing for an ill-fated production of Pippin and performing with the Northside High School Tour Show.
My son and me, summer 1994, in downtown Manhattan. He’s two and I’m twenty-two.
I cut off all of my hair after I got divorced. This is me with my son in 1995 on Catalina Island. His smile is way more adorable than my hair.
A photo a friend took of me after I first arrived in Los Angeles in 1996. Cheese, anyone? Courtesy of David Stroud
Tom Girardi’s picture from Loyola High School in Los Angeles.
Tom, my son, and me at another Democratic fundraiser we dragged the little guy to.
Tom and me on a trip to Hong Kong in 2000.
Working hard as a wildlife spotter on a family safari in Africa.
My son and me fishing on our boat in Alaska.
The original Pretty Mess Krewe after a performance at the start of the Erika Jayne project in 2009. Courtesy of Marco Bollinger
Mikey showing me how the moves are done while filming my 2010 music video for “One Hot Pleasure.” But he didn’t have to do it in those boots! Courtesy of Marco Bollinger
Goofing off with the boys after a gig during Gay Ski Week in 2014.
Mikey and me after a performance in 2014. You can tell by the looks on our faces we really needed that pivot.
My assistant Laia, myself, and creative director Mikey at my first premiere party for the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
The Pretty Mess Krewe in the hot tub in Mykonos in 2016. We stayed up until dawn celebrating my forty-fifth birthday.
Coming out of my cramped trailer on the opening night of Dancing with the Stars in 2017.
Tom and my dog Tiago on our plane on a trip to Santa Barbara in 2015.
RHOBH girls taking a break from bickering and rehabbing a home for Habitat for Humanity in Watts.
Yolanda Hadid and me post-taping my first reunion, grabbing drinks at the Beverly Hills Hotel.
My Valley of the Dolls meets Stepford Wives sit-down look for my first season of RHOBH.
Kyle Richards and me in Mykonos. Yes, the one in Greece, fool. Courtesy of Taylor James
Behind-the-scenes selfie in a big glamorous mall with Eileen Davidson and Lisa Rinna on a cast trip to Dubai.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First of all, I need to thank my family. Renee, I’m at this great place because of you. You always believed in me and told me that I could do anything, and I will forever be grateful for that.
Mr. Girardi, you are truly magic and I hope that even a little bit of that magic has rubbed off on me. You are the best teacher I have ever had in my life and I would never have the balls to do what I do without your constant love and support.
To my son, the unconditional love that we share for each other is the greatest blessing in my life.
Without a great team around me, my whole life would be impossible and this book would have been, too.
Thanks to Travis Payne for reminding me of what I love, encouraging me to get back in the game, and not letting me wither on the sidelines. And Peter Rafelson for making music with me and helping me create a sound.
Mikey, you are there every day and keep taking Erika Jayne to a higher and higher level. We will forever be bonded. From the tiniest of dumps to the biggest stage on Earth, you always make me feel like I am a star. You always treated this project like it was some Madonna-level shit, even when we were just starting out.
To the most fabulous Armenian in my life, my publicist, Jack Ketsoyan. I love you and thank you for believing in me all these
years.
Laia is the glue that sticks everything together. I couldn’t do anything without you. You’re the Erika Jayne to the real Erika Jayne.
To everyone who has started me on the Real Housewives journey, starting with Yolanda Hadid. It all goes back to that unexpected day on your couch in Malibu. Thank you for opening up Erika Jayne to the world.
Andy Cohen, thank you for appreciating me for exactly who I am. No one gets it like you do. Thanks to Doug Ross, Alex Baskin, and everyone at Evolution Media for embracing me and bringing me into your crazy reality family.
A shout-out to everyone at CAA, especially Santini Reali and Mark Mullett, who brought me into the fold. This book never would have happened without Cait Hoyt. Hey guys, more deals please. We’ve got lots of money to make.
Thank you Gallery Books, Simon and Schuster, and our very patient editor, Jeremie Ruby-Strauss. (Even though you had no idea what a circuit party was before reading this book.) Also, thank you to Jen Bergstrom, John Vairo, Lisa Litwack, Jen Long, Brita Lundberg, and Jen Robinson.
Thank you, Brian Moylan, for listening to all my bullshit and turning it into something I hope people will enjoy. You are so insightful, clever, and capable of conveying subtleties anyone else would miss. That’s why I wanted you to write this book with me. I needed someone like you to get past the facade and find the humanity behind all of these crazy stories. We popped our book cherry together!
