Mariska Hargitay has always known that some wounds never quite disappear — they simply shape you. For decades, the “Law & Order: SVU” star has embodied strength, empathy, and resilience on screen as Olivia Benson, a woman who has seen the darkest sides of humanity yet still believes in justice and compassion. But in her real life, Hargitay has been walking her own quiet road toward healing, one defined by loss, love, and finally, truth.
This summer, she opened that deeply personal journey to the world through her HBO documentary, My Mom Jayne, a film that peels back the glittering, tragic, and misunderstood story of her mother, Jayne Mansfield. For many, Mansfield is remembered as a 1950s Hollywood icon — the blonde bombshell who rivaled Marilyn Monroe and graced magazine covers with her signature curves and charm. But for Hargitay, her mother has always been more of a mystery than a memory. She was only three years old when the car crash that killed Mansfield forever changed her life. The accident left Hargitay and her brothers alive but motherless, and that loss cast a shadow that followed her into adulthood.
At 61, Hargitay has finally turned to face that shadow head-on. During an appearance at Reese Witherspoon’s Hello Sunshine “Shine Away” conference on October 11, she spoke candidly about what making My Mom Jayne truly meant to her. “For me, my mom was somebody that I was afraid of,” she admitted. “Not because of who she was, but because there was just so much hurt and mess and yuck attached to her story.” Her words were raw, stripped of Hollywood polish. They carried the weight of someone who had spent years tiptoeing around grief she didn’t understand. “I thought, ‘The only way I’m ever going to be free and unburden myself is to find out what happened,’” she continued. “I was yearning and longing so much for my mom — to figure out who she was, where I came from, and who I am.”
That longing became the engine behind the documentary, which took two and a half years to complete but, as Hargitay said, felt like the culmination of her entire life’s preparation. She described the process as a kind of emotional excavation — painful but necessary. “I feel like that’s what I’ve been doing all along, getting ready to make it,” she said. “I had to build the infrastructure inside me so I could tell the story clearly, while battling all these demons.” Those demons were more than memories; they were questions that had gone unanswered for decades.
One of those questions led to a revelation that would have stunned anyone else but seemed, to Hargitay, like another piece of the truth she was ready to face. In the film, she reveals that her biological father is not Mickey Hargitay — the former Mr. Universe and bodybuilder who was married to Jayne and raised Mariska as his own — but singer Nelson Sardelli. For years, this fact had been a family secret, buried beneath the surface of Hollywood legend. And yet, in telling the story of her mother, Hargitay realized she couldn’t separate that truth from her own.
Still, she speaks with immense love and gratitude for Mickey Hargitay, the man who gave her stability in a world defined by chaos. “Mickey was my father in every way that mattered,” she’s said. “But learning about Nelson helped me understand another part of myself. It doesn’t erase anything — it just completes the picture.” That sentiment perfectly captures her approach to the film: it’s not about rewriting history, but about reclaiming it.
For Mariska, uncovering her mother’s story also meant challenging the way the world had chosen to remember Jayne Mansfield. Too often, Mansfield’s name has been reduced to a punchline or a tabloid headline — the curvaceous actress who lived fast, loved wildly, and died tragically. Hargitay wanted to show something deeper. “My mom was reduced to a caricature,” she said. “But she was so much more — she was smart, she was funny, she was deeply loving, and she was incredibly driven.”
In My Mom Jayne, Hargitay gathers rare footage, personal letters, and stories from people who knew her mother intimately, painting a portrait that feels both tender and truthful. For the first time, audiences see Mansfield not as a spectacle but as a woman — a mother trying to balance ambition, love, and survival in a world that often punished women for wanting more. Hargitay’s voice, both as a narrator and as a daughter, trembles with emotion throughout the film, but also with strength. “I made this film to give my mother her humanity back,” she said. “And to give myself permission to love her, flaws and all.”
The process of creating the documentary was more than a creative challenge; it was an act of emotional courage. During the pandemic, when the world slowed down, Hargitay found herself surrounded by boxes of old letters, photos, and mementos people had sent her over the years — strangers who felt compelled to share their memories of Jayne Mansfield. “People were so generous,” she recalled. “They sent stories, they sent love, they sent pieces of her that I never had. It was overwhelming, but it also made me realize how much she still lives on in the hearts of others.”
The Hello Sunshine panel where Hargitay spoke was aptly titled “Connecting Passion to Purpose.” Joining her were Reese Witherspoon, who founded Hello Sunshine to champion women’s stories, and actress Karen Pittman, known for her roles in And Just Like That… and The Morning Show. Together, the three women shared stories about motherhood, trauma, and the delicate dance between pain and passion.
Pittman spoke about how acting became her way of managing grief, saying, “Self-expression was how I dealt with my hurt and my pain. But eventually, that trauma becomes a wall, something that stops you from doing your best work. You have to go back and find another way.” She also reflected on her own mother’s passing, recalling how watching her mother’s unfulfilled dreams inspired her to push harder. “My mom was so sad that she didn’t get to do everything she wanted,” she said softly. “So I decided — I’m going to finish the journey for her. I’m going to take the baton and run the rest of that race.”
Hargitay nodded in agreement, visibly moved by the sentiment. She, too, had spent much of her life trying to carry her mother’s spirit forward, though in her own way. “That’s exactly how I feel,” she said. “I wanted to finish what my mom started. I wanted to show the world who she really was, and I wanted to show myself that I could love her — not the myth, but the woman.”
Throughout her career, Hargitay has been a study in endurance. For over 25 years, she’s played Olivia Benson, the compassionate yet unflinching detective on Law & Order: SVU. The role has not only made her one of television’s longest-running leads but also turned her into a real-life advocate for survivors of sexual assault and trauma. Her work through the Joyful Heart Foundation has helped thousands find healing and justice, and it’s no coincidence that her advocacy work feels like an extension of the compassion she inherited from her mother.
“My mom had this huge, open heart,” Hargitay has said. “She wanted to make people feel seen and loved. I think I got that from her. That’s her legacy living through me.”
Even as she sat on stage at the Hello Sunshine event, surrounded by her peers, Hargitay’s vulnerability felt disarming in its honesty. She wasn’t the poised TV star or the seasoned Hollywood veteran; she was a woman who had done the hard, necessary work of confronting her past. “The only way out is through,” she said, repeating the mantra that has guided her. “You can’t outrun pain. You have to face it, hold it, and walk through it until you find the light again.”
That philosophy defines both her life and her art. For Hargitay, healing has never been about forgetting what happened — it’s about learning to live with it. Making My Mom Jayne wasn’t about digging up old wounds for the sake of shock value; it was about transforming pain into purpose. It was about taking control of a story that had been told by others for too long and finally telling it in her own words.
The documentary doesn’t shy away from the darker aspects of Jayne Mansfield’s life — the career struggles, the heartbreaks, the relentless media scrutiny. But it also captures her humor, her warmth, her fierce love for her children. In doing so, Hargitay restores a sense of balance to her mother’s legacy. “I think she would be proud,” Mariska said quietly. “Not just of the film, but of the fact that I finally found peace.”
Peace, for Hargitay, doesn’t mean closure. It means understanding. It means no longer seeing her mother as a source of fear or confusion, but as a complex, vibrant woman who did her best in a world that wasn’t kind to women who dared to dream big. It also means forgiving herself — for the years of silence, for the guilt of surviving, for the hesitation to look back.
When the panel drew to a close, Reese Witherspoon turned to Hargitay with admiration and warmth. “You’ve done the work,” she told her. “You’ve turned pain into purpose.”
Hargitay smiled, tears glistening but her voice steady. “That’s the journey,” she replied softly. “That’s the point.”
In that moment, she wasn’t the daughter of a Hollywood legend or the face of a long-running television series. She was a woman who had finally come home to herself.
For so long, Mariska Hargitay’s story has been intertwined with tragedy — the little girl in the backseat, the daughter of a star who died too young, the actress who carried her mother’s beauty and legacy like an unspoken burden. But now, she’s rewritten that story. It’s no longer about loss — it’s about reclamation. It’s about finding freedom in truth, and light in the shadows of the past.
In My Mom Jayne, she gives her mother something the world never allowed her: grace. And in doing so, she gives herself something even more profound — peace.
The journey was never easy, and perhaps it never will be. But as Mariska Hargitay continues to live, to love, and to tell stories that matter, she carries both her mother’s legacy and her own hard-won wisdom. The little girl who once survived a tragedy has grown into a woman who transforms pain into power. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what Jayne Mansfield would have wanted all along — for her daughter to rise, to heal, and to shine in her own name.
As Hargitay herself said, “The only way out is through.” And through the telling of her mother’s story, she finally found her own.