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When you think of witches

is this what you see?

As a little girl, like so many little girls

I wanted to be

a witch.

On grey winter days I heard their songs in the woods.

At night they danced in my dreams.

I longed to join their secret rituals.

I brewed potions from flowers and herbs.

Wrote spell books that I hid under my pillow.

And I chanted my desires over and over again

trying to make something, anything, happen

in my quiet little world.

I read books about witches

I saw them on TV

but most of all I watched them at the cinema.

You girls watch out for those weirdos

We are the weirdos, mister.

I still remember seeing The Wizard Of Oz

for the first time.

From the moment Dorothy stepped into that technicolour land

I was spellbound.

The Wizard Of Oz showed me that there are

two types of witches.

We have Glinda with her white magic, her sweet temperament

and her sparkling, traditional beauty.

Are you a good witch or a bad witch?

I'm not a witch at all.

Witches are old and ugly.

Only bad witches are ugly.

And we have the Wicked Witch of the West,

whose sickly green skin and evil demeanour

has become an indelible cultural image.

I'll get you, my pretty.

And your little dog too!

I wanted to be a good witch

I couldn't understand why any woman would choose to be bad.

I didn't know then what I know now, that being good or bad

isn't a choice a woman gets to make for herself.

The Wicked Witch was supposed to scare us

but she was also created

as a warning for women and girls.

Behave, and be beautiful, or we will destroy you.

Women have been taught this lesson for centuries

so that now it is embroidered onto our bones

mixed with our blood

tattooed onto our beating hearts.

It is in our culture, in all our stories.

Women are pitted against each other.

The virgin.

The whore.

The maiden.

The crone.

The good witch

and the bad witch.

It is a narrative that is so successfully pervasive

that we repeat it to each other.

We police our sisters, our neighbours, our friends.

Slut.

What did you say?

You heard her.

She's not wearing a bra.

This vicious narrative empowered those who are

threatened by us to believe that their fear and hatred

of women is correct.

That they are right to persecute us.

A few months after I watched The Wizard Of Oz

I learned in school about the women who had been murdered in the witch trials

that took place across Europe and America hundreds of years ago.

Their stories haunted me.

I became obsessed with them,

carrying their names around with me like charms.

Reciting them to myself when I felt anxious or lonely.

Anna Moats.

Elizabeth Clarke.

Mary Scrutton.

Katherine Grady.

Mary Hicks.

Isabella Rigby.

Janet Horne.

Ruth Osborne.

Agnes Waterhouse.

Elizabeth Device.

Anne Whittle. Jane Bulcock. Susannah Smith.

Anna Moats.

Some of those witches were healers and midwives

helping their communities with their skills.

Others were outcasts, living on the edge of their village.

And some of them had lost their minds.

This resonated with me

because I have always been stalked

by the shadow of madness.

As a child I made deals with unknown forces

believing certain behaviours would keep me safe.

At night I would talk for hours to people who didn't exist.

And I constructed worlds in my head

that were so visceral, so solid and alive

that I wanted to stay in them forever.

As I got older, I poured my madness into my work

and found I was able to control it, even use it.

And I said goodbye to the witches

letting them fade away into childhood.

I was happy.

I was safe.

But that was just an illusion.

Three years ago, I gave birth to my son.

Within a month, I was admitted to a psychiatric ward.

The madness had found me again.

And the witches?

They were so close now I could feel their breath

on the back of my neck.

As I shuffled from room to room

I caught glimpses of them.

Felt their bony hands on me when I lay awake at night.

They sung to me from the sea.

Called me into the woods

inviting me to join them.

Until eventually

I did.

I've always been scared to be ugly and messy.

Scared to show my wickedness and my weakness.

But I don't care anymore.

I need you to know how it feels to lose your mind completely.

I want you to see what I saw

feel what I felt.

So I'm going to drag you into this spell with me

because while I survived

far too many

have not.

Pregnancy is a strange time

at once mundane yet wildly magical.

And looking back I can see that this was when the madness

started crawling towards me.

As my body rapidly transformed

the edges of reality began to blur.

I no longer felt tied to the present

instead existing in some strange, liminal space

connected to all the women throughout history

who had made this journey before me.

The doors to the past and the future were open

And I felt like I was walking between two worlds.

Asleep and awake.

And no one had ever told me

being pregnant could feel like this.

Films had taught me I was supposed to be calm

pretty

soft and pink.

What is it?

It moved!

What moved?

The baby, it moved!

But I didn't feel like that.

I felt out of control.

I was a storm

wild and unmoored.

I was a fire.

And because of that disconnection

I found pregnancy an anxious and lonely time.

I counted down the days till it would be over.

I couldn't wait to hold my son in my arms

to feel his warm body on my skin.

After his birth I was elated, I was on a high.

I couldn't sleep because I didn't need to sleep.

I was too excited, too mad with love.

But then

everything started to go wrong.

What follows is my testimony.

Thank you.

Okay, so.

my son was born on a Wednesday

in a heat wave.

and by the Sunday night, I was starting to feel

very strange.

I remember my husband was holding our baby

and he asked me to take him, just for a minute

and I couldn't.

He was standing in the living room.

And I remember I sort of started, involuntarily

backing away into the kitchen.

I was just terrified.

It was a fear that I have never known before.

I wanted to run away.

We drove to A&E at midnight

our son, tiny, in his little car seat

and sat in this sticky

sweaty room while a doctor

I remember this really clearly

because he had really red hair and these bright blue scrubs.

Dr Ben, he was called.

He started asking me a series of questions.

In the last week, how often have you been bothered

by feeling down, depressed or hopeless?

How often have you had little interest or pleasure

in doing things?

How often have you been bothered by

trouble falling or staying asleep, or sleeping too much?

I would become very familiar with these questions

over the next few months.

How often have you been bothered by feeling bad

about yourself, or that you are a failure

or have let yourself or your family down?

After listening to me explain how I'd been feeling

Dr Ben said it was a classic case of "baby blues"

and that it would probably just go away on its own.

I went home and tried to carry on.

I tried to hide how I was feeling

but my mental health was deteriorating rapidly.

I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep

and I was starting to have thoughts of harming myself.

One night I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge

to walk out of our house

and head for a nearby bridge that went over the motorway.

I'd seen bunches of flowers there before.

Faded photographs with names written underneath.

But I'd never been able to understand why

anyone would climb onto the railings

why anyone would jump.

But now it was taking all my strength

not to run there.

We called the hospital and I remember

the woman on the phone was so kind.

She just kept saying, I know, I know. It's awful.

And she called me an ambulance.

When the paramedics arrived, I was sat on the sofa

and I think by this point I hadn't slept

for about ten days

and I couldn't eat.

I just physically couldn't swallow.

It was five in the morning and I wanted to die.

And one of the paramedics was this guy,

in his fifties or sixties.

And he took one look at me, sat on the sofa, and he said,

"Welcome to parenthood!"

With, like, jazz hands.

And I remember just thinking like...

"Really?!"

This...

This is normal?

I'm supposed to feel like this?

It's supposed to be like this?

He was a very nice man.

He came to see me later when I was in A&E to check up on me.

But him saying that, at that point in my illness,

really made me feel like there was something wrong with me.

Like I wasn't cut out for this, that I didn't possess

the requisite skills to be a mother.

And it kills me to say this, knowing what I know now

and knowing how I feel about my son.

But from then on, I really started to feel like

I'd made a mistake becoming a parent, and that everyone knew.

And everyone could see it.

Because we all know what a mother is supposed to be like.

A good mother is selfless

her entire identity consumed by her love for her child.

She is immaculate.

She is youthful, innocent,

almost virginal in her purity.

Her hair flows behind her,

as she walks through a field of wildflowers,

breastfeeding her baby.

She always smells of freshly baked bread,

she wears long cotton dresses, and no makeup.

She glows with love from within.

She never questions her life.

She feels eternally blessed and complete.

She has at least three children

for whom she is the primary caregiver.

She is thin, attractive and stylish.

She is never stressed,

never angry,

she overflows with compassion, joy,

and endless emotional resources.

She is a mother and nothing else

and that is more than enough for her.

And she is happy.

I was now surrounded by perfect mothers.

They were everywhere.

I was nothing like them.

I was more like the character of Marlo in Tully.

A film I'd seen before, but which had new resonance

when I watched it again at 4am while trying to breastfeed.

I was shocked by how much of it felt

deeply, troublingly relatable.

Marlo seems to be trapped in her life with a newborn

repeating the same three hours over and over again

losing more of herself as every second ticks by

until she is just a ghost, who has forgotten who she once was.

Her old life gone forever.

I had finally found a woman

who looked, behaved and felt like me.

But her story didn't end well.

And I was becoming increasingly suspicious

that mine wouldn't either.

As the sun came up

I went back to the emergency room.

I was prescribed medication to help me sleep

and I did sleep

and I started formula feeding which definitely helped.

Although, you know, also compounded my feelings

of shame and guilt and that I wasn't an adequate mother.

But that...

that anxiety, that doom just kept growing.

And it was like this living, breathing terror.

And we didn't know what to do.

We didn't know what was wrong with me.

And so it became even easier for me to think

"Right, everything in my life was fine.

"And then I had a baby

"and now I'm in a horror film.

"So it must be because of the baby that I feel like that".

At first I was able to push those thoughts away.

But the longer my illness went on

the harder it became to ignore the voice in my head

that told me I was only in this situation

because I had become a mother.

My thoughts about my son became more sinister.

Maybe if he wasn't here any more I wouldn't feel like this.

Maybe that was what would finally end this torture.

I was so desperate that I started to fear

there was only one way to make that happen.

I didn't tell anyone about these thoughts.

They were too evil.

No one would ever understand me

and no one would forgive me

for thinking them.

I knew what happened to women

who hurt their children.

I knew how society treated them

so I didn't dare tell anyone.

Not even the doctors.

Every day I would wake up with this dread.

This doom.

It was like being in

excruciating pain, physical pain.

And no one can do anything.

There's nothing they can do to take it away.

Well, they can prescribe you medication

and they can refer you for therapy

but the counselling

the waitlists for counselling in the UK especially, are so long.

And the medication can take up to four weeks to work.

If it works at all.

It was... It, it really was unbearable.

Before I got ill, my only awareness of

mental health conditions around childbirth came from films

where it's very much "baby blues".

"Due to changing hormones over 80% of all women

"experience postpartum depression".

Well I'm not gonna.

There's a woman and she's got milk vomit on her sweatshirt

and her hair's all a mess and she can't stop crying.

And she, like, calls her mum and sobs down the phone for a bit.

There he is!

And then in the next scene, she's like

buying shoes or something.

It really was like living in a horror film.

My house

This home that had once felt completely safe

was now the scariest place in the world.

It was visceral. I could...

I could taste the evil in my mouth.

I know that sounds dramatic, but I don't really know

how else to explain it.

And it did feel like I was possessed.

Like there were two versions of me.

Good me...

I'm glad.

And bad me.

I can't exist by myself, because I'm afraid of myself.

Because I'm the maker of my own evil.

It's the strangest feeling to exist in your life,

in your world, and all the pieces of it are still there.

Your home, your friends, your family, your partner.

Everything is still there. You can see it, you can touch it.

But all of the colour and the joy

has just drained away.

And things you never ever thought would happen to you are happening.

These once unimaginable scenes are just unfolding around you

and you feel so powerless because there's no way

for you to stop it.

My friends,

my family, my husband, they all did their best to support me.

But increasingly I began to feel like I was a burden

and that everyone would be better off without me.

My son included.

I thought... I thought that if I did die, if I did kill myself

they'd be sad, sure.

But they'd probably also be like,

"Oh well, it's for the best. Yeah, it's for the best"

I really, really believed that.

I started thinking of ways I could do it.

Not so much making plans, but definitely

weighing up my options.

And then I nearly stepped in front of a van

only stopping myself because I didn't want to do that

to someone else.

I was just scared to be alone.

I was even more scared to be alone with my son because

I didn't know what I might do to him.

By now, my brain was playing a constant loop

of hideous scenes.

I saw myself smothering our son with a pillow

dropping him from a window on the third floor

drowning him in the bathtub.

And yet I loved him more than I had ever loved

anyone or anything.

At night, I checked constantly that he was still breathing.

Watching his little chest rise and fall.

When he wasn't in my arms

I missed him so much my heart ached.

For the first time in my life, I realised I could hold

the good and the bad

in my heart at the same time.

I could feel both at once.

That was terrifying.

I felt so alone.

Throughout this whole period

I was asking everyone I knew for help.

I was posting on Twitter, which...

Sometimes I regret posting on Twitter

when I wasn't completely in my right mind

but still, I was posting on Twitter.

I was messaging all the parents I knew, I was talking to

women I'd never met before on the phone about it.

I just wanted someone to say, "Look, this is the way out.

"This is how you get out of this".

And then a friend put me in touch with a WhatsApp group

of women who'd had similar illnesses

and that just changed everything.

So my name's Shema Tariq

and I'm a doctor

and researcher based at University College London

working in HIV.

And I'm your friend.

Can you just remind me of how we first met?

So we met in summer of 2020.

And you had just had Bertie?

I think he was like, what?

- Two weeks old, three weeks old? - Yeah.

And you joined this WhatsApp group

Motherly Love.

Can you just introduce yourself for me?

Of course. So, my name is Milli and I am a mum of two

and I live in London.

So, Motherly Love is a peer support group for women who

are struggling with motherhood, and don't have a space to talk

about the darker side of it.

And we just started it,

as basically, a cup of tea.

Come and have a cup of tea and a biscuit

with other women who don't feel that

they belong within the normal baby group world.

They just, they got it, and they took me seriously.

And whatever fucked up thoughts I was having

someone else had had them too, and they'd got through it.

They'd survived, they'd been there.

It became this vital source of hope and support,

and just knowledge

which didn't seem to be accessible anywhere else.

No one talks about how hard it is.

Someone will ask you how it's going and you're expected

to say, "Oh, it's great, I'm really happy.

"This baby is the centre of my world".

And I, I didn't feel like that.

When I had our eldest...

Like... She...

I was really unhappy in myself, but I loved being her mum.

But what started to happen was, I started to have maternal OCD

where I believed that I was going to hurt her.

And...

it's such an uncomfortable thing to talk about because

I, every night I put her to bed

I had these thoughts that I would sexually abuse my child

and saying those words out loud

I hardly ever say that to anybody.

But it was the most frightening thing.

And I never spoke to a single person about it.

And I would self-harm because that was the only way

to stop these thoughts.

And...

I just lived with it.

And it was just so-- It was torture.

Why do you think people don't talk about that stuff?

Why do you think it is so hidden?

People are scared.

I think society is scared about engaging

with these more difficult feelings around motherhood.

We want to feel safe, don't we, with mothers?

We like to think that mothers are

the place of ultimate safety.

And I think even when we're grown ups

the idea that a mother might not like her child

is actually deeply terrifying.

It's a sort of very...

Sort of primal fear about engaging

with those sort of

with that darker side.

I was so scared to be honest with anyone

about what was really going on in my head.

I thought they'd take my son away from me.

But after Milli, Shema,

and the other women in the group

began to tell me about their own experiences.

It allowed me to finally be honest.

And they didn't judge me.

Instead, they responded with love and compassion.

They made me realise how serious my illness was

and that this was a situation

which could have potentially tragic outcomes.

So when I told them I was once again feeling suicidal

they sprang into action.

Do you remember that day that you came to my house?

Yeah, I do, very vividly.

Partly because my husband was worried.

He was like, "You're going to go and just meet

"a stranger who you know nothing about

"who says that she's really, really struggling.

"And what are you going to do?".

I was like, "I'm going to pick her up and drive her to A&E".

I was worried about you.

I mean, I'd been worried about you for a few weeks, actually.

And I was anxious about whether you'd get taken seriously.

So I remember

in that drive, almost trying to coach you

'cause I just wanted you to get the help that I thought you needed.

At the door to the hospital Shema said to me,

"You need to tell them everything".

And there was an understanding between us of what that meant.

She told me that was the only way to activate

the next level of care.

I had tried so many times to get help.

But it wasn't until Shema said that to me

that I felt brave enough to tell the doctors

about the thoughts I was having.

And when I did, they listened.

You help so many people, I see you do it all the time

and you helped me, you saved my life.

That group saved my life.

So, thank you. Thank you so much.

But isn't it sad?

It's so sad, I think, to think about our circumstances

and how we met and that it took

effectively a random stranger to be the person

to advocate for you, to say,

"This is what you need to do".

And for Shema and I to be on the phone to one another saying,

"We need to get her to hospital now".

Why is it down to average people doing that?

Because if I didn't exist

that group didn't exist, who was going to do it?

And that's just so, so sad

because there must be so many other women who

are going to slip through the net.

It's really tragic.

Two days after Shema drove me to the emergency room

for that fourth and final time

I was admitted to a Mother and Baby Unit

which is a psychiatric ward for new mothers

where their babies stay with them in hospital.

Walking onto the ward for the first time

I had a sort of dissociation with reality.

This wasn't happening to me.

I wasn't really here.

This wasn't my life.

I had my son with me.

He was asleep in his pram.

But because of COVID

my husband wasn't allowed onto the ward with us.

So we waved goodbye to each other

from behind this really thick glass

as they, like, locked the doors behind me.

They showed me and my son to our room

and I remember thinking it was quite nice.

It was clean, it was quiet

I could see the trees through the window.

And then another woman came into the room

and she ordered me to open my bags

and she, like, snapped on these latex gloves.

And she started going through my belongings

holding things up and saying, "What's this?"

They took away my cables,

my dressing gown belt,

any plastic bags I had,

and my scissors, my tweezers and my razors.

Anything that I might use to harm myself or my baby was confiscated.

You asked for this?

Are you gonna watch?

'Fraid so.

That's why there's so many fuzzy legged women around here.

And then they left me in a room

alone with my baby.

And I freaked out because by this point

my greatest fear was to be left alone in a room

with my son.

The reason mother and baby units encourage their patients

to have their child stay with them on the ward

is so that they can bond while the mother is being treated.

This greatly increases their chance of recovery

which is wonderful.

Unfortunately, most of the patients on those wards

are having very negative thoughts and feelings

about their babies.

So most women do freak out at this point.

The way I did.

There's been some kind of mistake.

I'm not supposed to be in here.

After that, a member of staff sat at the door to my room

which was was wide open, by the way, and they watched me.

Every 15 minutes someone would look through your door

and write down whatever you were doing, 24 hours a day.

So in the middle of the night

you'd have this bright light shining on you.

And they'd be like, "What's she doing? Oh, she's sleeping".

Someone I'd never met before

watching me wash, eat, talk on the phone.

Hi, my name is Sawyer Valentini.

I am at Hyland Creek Behavioural Health Facility.

I am being held here against my will.

Please send help.

Do you know how many calls the cops get like that every week?

Those are from crazy people.

They watched it all and they wrote it all down.

I immediately felt like I'd made a mistake

and tried to bargain my way out.

I told them I didn't need to be there

that actually going home would be the best thing for me

that I wasn't really that ill.

They told me I was wrong, that I definitely needed to be there

and that if I tried to leave they would section me

under the Mental Health Act

meaning I would be detained against my will.

My rights stripped away.

The reality of my situation hit me then.

In only a month I had become so unwell that I was now

trapped on a locked ward, trying to convince a stranger

that I wasn't mad.

When I knew in my heart that I was mad.

And for the first time I thought,

"I might never get out of here".

I felt like a prisoner.

We couldn't go into each other's rooms

or touch each other's babies

when we were finally allowed outside

we weren't allowed to meet up with another patient.

We were given our pills in one of those little paper cups.

And I remember thinking,

"Oh, this is like those little paper cups in films".

And then I met the other patients.

They had wild eyes

stained clothing, they shuffled around in their slippers.

Some of them were crying, others glared, angry

but most of them just looked scared and lost.

Now I was surrounded by witches.

They looked in at me through the window.

They whispered to each other outside my room.

They swayed in the shadows, waiting.

At dinnertime, I sat down at a table and a woman

I'd never seen before came and sat down next to me.

Hi, I'm Emily.

We were soon joined by another woman.

Hi, I'm Jude.

I felt an immediate connection to Emily

and Jude as they told me their stories.

I had had months of

feeling

progressively worse.

There was one specific day.

I'd asked my friend

who is an A&E nurse, actually

to meet me in the park.

And I, I just said to her,

"I don't recognise myself.

"I looked in the mirror and I don't recognise who I am".

She said, "I'm going to take you home now.

"And I really think we need to step this up

"because if someone presented to me in A&E like this

"I would immediately call the psychiatric team".

What do you mean you didn't recognise yourself?

I looked in the mirror and I was...

It wasn't me anymore.

I saw a person

but I felt so disconnected to that person.

I was... I was terrified.

And Emily, what was happening with you?

I think pretty much as soon as my son was born

I sort of stopped sleeping.

And progressively that became

more and more sort of horrific.

This building feeling of wanting to escape.

What sort of things were you planning?

How were you going to escape?

Maybe I could, like

get a train several hours away

and hide in a hotel and not tell anyone.

Really, really weird.

And then I guess...

also that became a bit more desperate and darker.

And actually, how can I just, just literally escape.

Talking to Emily and Jude did help

but it wasn't enough.

I needed to talk to people who had suffered

from these illnesses and recovered.

A friend gave me the phone numbers of two women

and from my room on the ward,

I called them.

Hi, my name is Krystal.

I'm an Associate Professor

at Manchester Metropolitan University.

And I'm also a mum myself to a little four year old boy called William.

Hi, I'm Lucy. Lucy Warwick-Guasp.

And I am one of two mums to a wonderful daughter

who will be nine in a couple of weeks.

Krystal and Lucy had been on different wards

a couple of years before me.

Both of them were now doing well

and had used their experiences in their work

to help other women who found themselves in a similar place.

Another person I spoke to was Sophia

who has never been in a Mother and Baby Unit

but has had experience of postpartum depression and anxiety.

She reached out to me when she heard I was in the ward

and was so kind and understanding.

I felt very close to her.

I'm Sophia Di Martino, and I'm an actor.

And do you have children?

Yeah. Two.

I asked these women to tell me about their experiences

hoping I could use their stories of recovery as

a kind of spellbook

to help me find a way through the storm.

So can you just tell me, how did your feelings

of anxiety and depression, how did they first manifest?

I was really loved up at the beginning.

After giving birth, until my husband went back to work.

And when it was just me responsible for the child

things just nosedived really, really quickly.

I experienced very long labour

so I was kind of left quite traumatised really after that.

And this then kind of continued.

And I do remember speaking to

my GP quite early on, saying, you know,

"I'm crying a lot. I'm still probably in shock".

I think what she was trying to do was ascertain whether

I was experiencing postpartum psychosis, which I wasn't.

But then everything else just kind of got missed.

Looking back, it was post-natal depression

and anxiety.

But it started off as, like, a chronic insomnia.

I thought I was going to die.

I remember asking the midwife,

"How much no sleep does it take to kill a person?

"Like can you die from having no sleep?".

And she was like, "No of course not.

"Of course you can't die from having no sleep!"

But I think you actually probably can

because I felt my body

like...

giving up.

I couldn't work anything out. I couldn't work out...

I remember lining up my glasses in the morning thinking

"If I put them there, then I'll remember to put them on".

You know, everything becomes like

how do I navigate my home

with a... with a baby as well?

And I couldn't quite work it out.

I had this sort of heartbreak when my second child was born

because I loved my baby so much, of course

but I realised that I... Oh God...

That I couldn't...

be with my first child as much, just me and him.

And I was just heartbroken.

The reality of being in the hospital, away from him

for a few days

just... just broke my heart.

And I was just

desperate to not be on my own with him.

So I'd be driving to my friend's house

for a few hours just so that I wouldn't be on my own

and thinking desperately how I would fill each day.

But it just spiralled and got worse and worse and worse

until I was admitted to a Mother and Baby Unit.

The other women on the ward

were all fellow sufferers of perinatal mental health issues.

Some had been there for months already.

Some had even given birth while they were staying on the ward.

Most of them had anxiety and depression like me

but some women had psychosis.

This is Catherine Cho.

The author of Inferno: A Memoir of Motherhood and Madness.

which details her experience of postpartum psychosis.

Catherine wasn't on the ward with me but she and her book

have helped me to better understand these illnesses.

How is psychosis different to, say, anxiety or depression?

So psychosis is a complete separation from reality.

The wall between what your brain is experiencing

and all the memories and the subconscious is broken

and genuinely it felt like

everything I'd ever experienced, read about or

known was being processed at the same time.

What kind of things were you seeing during that psychosis?

First it started with seeing devils in my son's eyes.

That was the first indication that something was wrong.

I started seeing demons.

I heard the voice of God talking to me.

I saw a lot of figures.

I felt them as well, which is kind of terrifying.

You could feel people brush past you.

The food that was given to me looked like flesh.

And I could see people preparing the flesh and bringing it to me.

My husband's face wasn't his own.

I saw, you know, robots.

Basically a lot of just very vivid imagery

and continually, devils

and demons.

The nurses looked like devils to me.

I could feel them kind of pulling at me

tearing at me, even though I know now that wasn't happening.

My husband took me to A&E when he realised I was not well.

I thought we were in purgatory

and I could see people pushing microphones, lights and screens

and kind of laughing like, this is really funny.

And I was trying to convince him that we were on a film set

that we were in purgatory

and we that needed to exit.

And he was just like, "Be quiet".

Can you tell me about waking up in the psychiatric unit?

I woke up in a blank room, a white room...

with no memory of what was going on.

I woke up alone.

This was after four days of psychosis.

And eventually, by the time I'd been brought to the ward

I had stripped off my clothes and urinated on the floor.

And they left me in there to wake up after sedating me.

It felt like I was in a film, that moment of, where am I?

What had happened?

There was nothing for me to do except to get out of the bed

put on some clothes and step outside, which is what I did.

Catherine became unwell during a trip to America

and didn't have access to a specialist Mother and Baby Unit

like I did.

Instead, she was separated from her son

and treated on a general adult ward.

So, most of the people in the facility were

homeless or veterans,

people who had drug abuse issues.

People who had fallen through the system, essentially.

Before you became unwell,

what did you know about postpartum psychosis?

I did know the very famous case in the US, Andrea Yates.

But it wasn't until I was recovering that I realised

we had the same diagnosis.

I didn't know that it was postpartum psychosis.

Can you tell me a bit about Andrea Yates?

Andrea Yates, this happened, I think, in 2001.

She was a woman in Texas

and she drowned her five children in a bathtub.

She was charged with murder

and they were looking for the death penalty.

But it was her husband who really stepped in and he said

he didn't blame her for what she had done.

But I think the general public just didn't understand

and was horrified.

And she's still very much a polarising figure in the US.

There are just two Mother and Baby Units in the US.

In the UK we have 22,

which is in part due to the tragic death of Dr Daksha Emson.

A brilliant psychiatrist

who lived only a few miles from where I gave birth.

Well, my name's Dave Emson

and I was the... husband to Daksha

and the father to Freya.

So prior to becoming a mother, Daksha had been diagnosed

with manic depression and was on medication.

How did her pregnancy affect that?

So she had to be off her lithium,

her antidepressant, and her thyroxine.

And we were very lucky 'cause we conceived straight away

and then miscarriage.

We got pregnant again straight away

and then another miscarriage.

And all this time she's off her medication.

So it's almost like that time bomb is ticking away.

And in the end, you know, the dream came true

and she was pregnant with Freya.

And then Freya was born.

All fathers will know, especially with a first baby,

what a magical experience.

Daksha was keen to breastfeed.

So the couple agreed, along with her psychiatrist,

that she could stay off her medication

for a further three months.

We discussed her medication, her signs, her illness

before she got pregnant, during and afterwards

on a daily basis.

But it was in that last week that I realised

it was three months that she's been breastfeeding

and she's been off her medication

and had three miscarriages before that.

So I did mention to her that, you know

it was probably time to go on medication.

She didn't want to.

Daksha was suffering from postpartum psychosis

but no one around her knew.

She was scared that if she told anyone

then Freya would be taken away from her.

And she was afraid of being stigmatised

by her colleagues if she told her psychiatrist the truth.

The day Daksha and Freya died

Dave had been at work.

As I got to the front door

there was a very, very strong smell.

So I went to the kitchen, Freya's pram was there

but she wasn't in her pram.

There was something on the table...

an A4 piece of paper.

I picked up the note and...

I just read the first word.

And then...

I knew what that smell was.

The day before Daksha killed herself and Freya

Dave had taken this photo of them.

She was brilliant at hiding her feelings.

So the photograph that I took

big smiling face...

she'd already planned it.

The impact of Daksha and Freya's legacy on cases

like mine cannot be understated.

Their story has been used internationally to emphasise

the importance of perinatal mental health training.

Why is it important to you to talk about it?

I have to do this.

I cannot allow my girls

and other mums and babies

to die in vain.

You know, what happened to Daksha was

a complete and utter tragedy.

And sadly, you know, I've been involved in looking at

the reports from her death and from Freya's death

and sort of learning lessons from...

from her death and from Freya's death.

And actually, you know...

Gosh, I might get quite tearful... but

for her... um...

Sorry.

That really shocked the medical world when it happened.

That a doctor, a very gifted doctor

took her own life.

And it made it very clear to people that organised services

that there is a difference between

the way psychosis presents in the normal population

and how it presents in the postnatal population.

The condition comes on faster.

Presentations can change within minutes

whereas in the general population

it could take weeks to months to see the same changes.

It's considered a psychiatric emergency.

We don't have many of them.

As the years go on I sort of often think

what state of mind she must have been in

to have been so psychotic.

I don't know...

I have no idea what was going on in her head.

And no one will know.

Her husband won't know. Nobody will know.

But to have got to that point of psychosis where

that was the exit route

whether it was for...

Through the psychosis, she thought she was saving

herself and Freya, I don't know.

I don't know.

It has been over 20 years since Daksha and Freya died.

But what happened to them is still happening.

So in 2000, one of the factors that shocked the UK

and more globally

was the fact that suicide was a leading cause of death

in the pregnancy period and just afterwards.

And in November last year, 2022

we had the latest triennial report.

And guess what?

Suicide is still a leading cause of maternal death in the UK.

So nothing has changed.

In fact, the awful statistic from last year is that

the rates of suicide have actually gone up.

Even with the expansion of services

there are gaps

in women coming through the door in the first place.

You've got all these women who wouldn't even dare

tell their GP or their midwife or their social worker

whoever it is, that they're suffering

because they're worried what might happen.

One of the most common things that we get in our service is,

"Oh I was worried that if my GP referred me to you

"that you'd take my baby away".

I can count on one hand the number of women who've

had their children removed.

And I've treated thousands and thousands of women.

There's a stigma around mental health

but the stigma around motherhood is huge as well.

To say you're not a good mother

is probably the worst insult

a woman would ever hear in their life.

It cuts very deep.

So there's this idea that being referred to somebody "like us"

or someone like me

this internal idea of

"Am I a failure?"

"Am I not a good mum?"

And I think women

struggle with that even before they get through the door.

Do you ever feel guilty as a mother?

I think I feel guilty as a mother a lot of the time.

The moment

you find out you're pregnant, the guilt begins

and I don't think it ever stops.

There's so many pressures and so many expectations.

Am I doing enough?

Have I given them enough time or enough space?

Am I providing for them in all the ways

that I should be or could be?

Feel guilty about working.

Feel guilty about not working.

Feel guilty about

spending too much time with one child

and not the other child.

Feel guilty about not spending enough time with your children.

Feel guilty about not spending enough time on yourself.

And there's a lot of shame as well, around

being a mum and not...

People not wanting to show the messy bits.

And there's a lot of shame around

being ill after having a child.

There is a lot of shame around that.

Why do you think you were scared

or you didn't tell people that you were going into the unit?

Well, it is, it's just all that judgement.

Didn't want people to think

badly of me

that I'd been a failure.

Yeah.

And I do remember there was two other women

who had babies that were the same age as our daughter

and one of them had friends visit and things

and I was like, "God that's brave".

I hid from my friends.

So I remember in the Mother and Baby Unit my friends turned up

and they'd just come to see me

and I was like, "I can't see them"

because I just didn't feel like me anymore.

What am I gonna say to them, you know? When they're sat there, like

I can't make small talk because

they've come to see their friend and their friend's gone.

So that guilt and shame that you felt, which I felt

which seems to be almost universal when it comes to motherhood.

Where do you think that comes from?

I don't know. I wish I knew

because I'd find it and I'd fucking get rid of it.

I don't know.

It just must be a subconscious

societal thing that is drip fed into us

since being born.

I don't know, do you know?

Maybe women don't want to talk about the dark thoughts

and feelings we have

because we don't want to be the wicked witch.

Or maybe it goes back even further

to the women who were accused as witches

hundreds of years ago.

The ones I read about in school

the women whose names went round and round my head.

Wow this is heavy.

So these are testimonies of women who confessed

to being witches in the 15th and 16th century.

Wow.

Okay, and just read them one by one?

Okay.

Anna Moats confessed within two hours of her arrest

saying the devil appeared to her when she was alone

in her house, cursing her husband and children.

Mary Scrutton confessed that the devil appeared to her twice

once as a bear

then again as a cat

and tempted Mary in a hollow voice to kill her child.

Susannah Smith confessed the day after her arrest

that eighteen years previously

the devil had appeared to her in the form of a red dog

and tempted her to kill her children.

Priscilla Collitt confessed that the devil had appeared

to her when she was sick some twelve years previously

and tempted her to kill her children to escape poverty.

She placed one of her children next to the fire to burn it.

Fortunately, another child pulled the baby away from the fire.

So that to me sounds like somebody developing a

postpartum psychosis

or a severe depression, but it certainly sounds

like somebody dipping into a psychosis.

Can you relate to any of those testimonies?

I mean, I think the voices for sure, the kind of voices and

the idea that it is a devil.

Oh, the devil appears all the time in psychosis. Yeah.

Where do you think that comes from?

It's really interesting.

I think it's,

something to do with the way women start to think

in that postnatal period, particularly when they're depressed

or they're developing a depression

and then a psychosis.

They bring in either their own faith or their own religion

or I guess a more sort of global

interpretation of Good and Evil.

Devils and angels.

Those witch trials were such a long time ago

and yet I can relate to so much of what the women were saying.

It is chilling to realise that if I'd been alive back then

I would have been considered evil

and I would have been killed.

In the 15th and 16th centuries

thousands of executions took place

usually by either hanging or burning the accused at the stake.

The witch trials ripped through communities

with devastating effect.

In Europe and North America around 50,000 women

were killed.

In 1585, two German villages were left

with only one female inhabitant in each.

I'm Professor Marion Gibson

and I work at Exeter University

where I'm professor of Renaissance and Magical Studies.

And what is it that you find interesting about witches?

I've always been interested in witches, actually.

When I went to university

they gave me a kind of newspaper account of witches

of a witch trial in Elizabethan Essex.

And in it there were these voices of women

that I became fascinated by

because these are women that we didn't normally hear from.

You know, they weren't in the literature that I was reading.

They weren't in the history books.

They were ordinary women, and they were talking about their lives.

And the way they were doing that was framing it through

narratives of witchcraft. I thought that was fascinating.

These atrocities were playing out

against a backdrop of normal, everyday life.

Women in their kitchens feeling the devil's presence

as they baked bread.

The devil lives in domestic spaces

and he lives in ordinary foods and he lives in ordinary objects.

And you can use those ordinary objects to bewitch

your neighbours.

And I think that's one of the most frightening things

about the idea of the witch.

It's all so ordinary. It's all so mundane.

Anybody could be a witch.

Anything that crosses your path in the course of your day

might be bewitched.

And the idea that your whole world is threatening to you

your whole world is full of witchcraft and the devil

I think is a very frightening thing for people in this period.

Many of the women accused as witches were people

who lived outside of the established norms

who dared to rebel.

Even back then the witch

was the stereotypical opposite of the good mother

the good wife.

She was the woman who was trying to act independently

of male control.

Witchcraft trials are all about power and control.

They're about controlling women.

They're about controlling people generally.

They're about telling you what to believe

and making you affirm that you believe it.

So they're a control mechanism.

So a woman is accused of being a witch.

What happens next?

They would have been questioned by the magistrate

and then they would be put in a cart

and taken off to the nearest prison

and then they would have waited there

in the jail conditions, which were horrible

until the criminal court was convened.

And that could be months.

And then they'd be brought into the court

in a public setting

where everybody was angry and shouting

and there's a kind of whirl of activity.

Questioned by the judge, very briefly

asked to say something about their situation.

I know nothing of witchcraft.

Then judged by the jury.

Most trials took about 10 minutes, if that.

Which is astonishing, isn't it?

You have absolutely no time to think.

And then you're judged

and then you're taken away and you could be hanged.

And how did they torture the women?

Torture was officially banned

against witches or anybody else in England.

It was reserved for state crimes, things like treason.

So those women, whose testimonies I showed you,

they confessed without torture?

Yes, they do seem to have confessed voluntarily.

And nobody's ever really been able to explain that.

And would they have known what would happen to them

if they confessed?

Would they have known that they would die?

Yes, they would have seen it in their communities.

So they did know.

I think there's good evidence that they had quite a lot of

experience of what happened to witches.

Particularly when you get on to, say

the Matthew Hopkins trials in the 1640s, you know, by then

witchcraft has been illegal for 80 years.

There's 80 years of people being hanged for this crime.

But nevertheless, people carry on confessing

which is very difficult to explain unless you think there

are other factors involved.

One thing I would say from these questions though is

you know what I just read?

Like, the way I felt

if there wasn't something

where perinatal mental health was a thing that I knew about

and I was in a Mother and Baby Unit

I, I would have confessed to being a witch

if that was the social narrative

that if you think X, Y, and Z, you're a witch

I absolutely, I'd have confessed.

- I would have done it. Oh, sorry. - That's alright.

Because you feel so...

You're desperate for an explanation.

I think that I would have gone for that.

Yeah. And would you have also

been happy dying as well?

Yeah... yeah.

I can fully relate to that feeling of choosing

to be hanged versus carrying on in a really terrible reality.

It was a form of torture.

To be a prisoner in your mind is a form of torture.

It was not a way to live.

I would have voluntarily confessed too.

But it has been 400 years.

Why do women still feel like this?

Why are suicide rates increasing?

Why is there still so little awareness

knowledge, and support around these illnesses?

If I'd been pregnant in that time

who would have treated me?

You'd have gone to your neighbour

because you knew they'd had children before

and you'd say to them,

"Could you maybe come and look after me during my pregnancy?"

And then you would say to them,

"Can you act as a midwife as well?"

But basically it would be a neighbour.

It would be an elderly female neighbour,

who had done all of this before.

Women used to be the main healers.

We were doctors without degrees, learning anecdotally

passing on our knowledge to the next generation.

We were the first pharmacists

abortionists, nurses and counsellors.

We were midwives travelling from home to home

and village to village.

Medicine is part of women's heritage and history.

It was once our birthright

but then everything changed.

Did you know the entire witchcraft scare, as far back

as the 14th century, was started by

the medical profession?

That's right.

They were trying to get midwives out of

the child birthing business.

That's what they were.

Most of the women that they burned

midwives.

Is that true?

You better believe it.

Just another example of male dominated professional society

exploiting females for their own selfish purposes.

Men are such cocksuckers, aren't they?

He's almost right.

But it wasn't just midwives.

It was any women who treated their neighbours

who made medicines

who cared for others.

One of the arguments that's been put forward is that

witchcraft trials were about driving out female healers.

While I don't think that was a deliberate strategy

it does seem to me to be an effect of what happens

if you're constantly

attacking and demonising people who say

they have healing skills and dragging them away

and they're being executed as witches

it seems to me that does leave a kind of gap

in the healing market.

And that was the gap into which male medical workers stepped.

But the male doctors of this period were using very little

of what we would recognise today as science.

During training, they rarely saw any patients

and no experimentation of any kind was taught.

Whereas the wise women, the witches

were working in the field

treating people

developing an understanding

of bones and muscles, herbs and drugs.

When I became ill, my only course of action

was to keep returning to the emergency room

desperate for the help I wasn't receiving.

I wish that instead I could have gone to the home

of the local witch who had seen all of this before.

But those women were stolen from us

taken from their homes.

Bring out Elizabeth Selwyn.

They were vilified, derided, called crones and hags.

Witch!

Condemned for all eternity to be dismissed as old wives

or spectres of doom.

To scare little children,

and warn women to never grow old, to never behave badly.

Burn the witch!

And the eradication of their history as healers

still affects medicine.

Gender bias in medical knowledge

research and practice is deeply ingrained.

A study from 2022 showed that women are often not taken

seriously, ignored, or deemed "emotional"

when it comes to their illnesses and pain.

An entirely natural expansion of the pelvis.

You can fight it with ordinary aspirin.

I was afraid it might be an ectopic pregnancy.

Ectopic?

I thought you weren't going to read books, Rosemary.

It was staring at me in the drugstore.

And all it did was worry you.

Will you go home and throw it away, please?

- I will, I promise. - The pain will be gone in two days.

Ectopic pregnancy.

So I have a good friend, Rageshri Dhairyawan

who writes a lot about this.

We call it testimonial injustice.

And that's when your truth is not taken seriously.

You're not seen as a reliable narrator of your own story.

And it classically happens to women, and certainly women

who are racially minoritised are at the greatest risk

of not being believed.

It's right across the board.

So if you think about endometriosis

it's on average eight years

for a woman to be diagnosed with endometriosis.

And during that time she's likely to have sought help

again and again and again

and her symptoms would have been dismissed.

Pain relief.

We know that Black women are much less likely

to be given adequate analgesia after medical procedures

because of the perception that they have a higher pain threshold.

Me going in and saying numerous times

I'm struggling, I'm depressed

I'm clinical and I'm telling you

with my experience as a doctor

that I've got severe postnatal depression and anxiety

and I need help.

For that to just be minimised.

We have known for years

that Black and Asian women are more likely to die in childbirth

and we've done nothing about it until relatively recently.

We still don't do enough about it.

That's a deliberate thing, because we could solve that.

We managed to raise funds to be able

to find a vaccine against COVID within 12 months.

So when there is political will to address a situation

we address it.

There has been no political will to address

ethnic disparities in health.

So my son arrived very early

and I also had an infection

but I was told, don't worry, and it would all go away.

But actually it didn't go away.

I, gradually, over the next 48 hours, became

more and more delirious.

I remember walking through the kitchen and seeing loads of shiny knives

and having a thought back to Daksha Emson

thinking, "God, is that what went through Daksha's mind?".

And I immediately was so terrified by that thought.

So terrified

even though I wasn't in a dark space at that point.

But I remember being so terrified

that I ran out of my kitchen as quickly as I could.

I knew something was wrong with me.

But I didn't quite know what it was.

And then eventually

I collapsed.

At the hospital, Trudi struggled to make

the other doctors understand what was happening to her.

Because I said, "You know, I'm a perinatal psychiatrist".

They didn't believe me.

They thought I was unwell, so they didn't believe me.

And then my husband had to say to them, "No, it's true.

"No, she really is. She really is a perinatal psychiatrist.

"That is exactly what she does".

Were you able to look at yourself from the outside at any point?

Constantly.

Yeah... yeah.

In a way, I was being my own psychiatrist

looking at what all the causes might be

and what all the treatments might be.

But I could also see it from all the thousands

of counts of stories I've had from women over time.

And have you ever talked about this in public before?

No.

I've never, ever, ever spoken about this publicly before. No.

Why haven't you?

I think you have to be ready to tell

your own story, actually, at the right time

to the right people.

Even being a perinatal psychiatrist

it took me years to accept that it had also been a full blown psychosis

or that it had dipped into a psychosis.

And that's stigma.

I don't think I've been open at work about the severity of

my mental health issues.

In fact, I don't think anyone at work knows.

My entire career

has been focused on challenging stigma

around HIV in particular.

But then when it comes to mental health

I still feel there's still an element of shame within me about that.

Like somehow I failed.

My brain

or my mind, wasn't strong enough to cope with this.

So this is my fault.

Executing women as witches

was a way of cleansing communities of women

who were mentally unwell

who didn't fit in

or who knew too much and had too much power.

Their murders still reverberate throughout our society.

Witch.

Women are scared of being judged,

scared to talk about our dark thoughts,

our rage, our madness.

I think the witch trials do leave a tremendous legacy

of guilt and shame and silence.

The silencing of women's voices

the silencing of women's experiences.

It may all seem a very long time ago

but it is so persistent.

I've looked back at witch trials over seven centuries.

And I can't help thinking that we see the same thing

again and again and again.

And as a female historian that really resonates with me.

I feel those emotions the same as those women did in history.

And I think that's really powerful.

I think we should be telling this story.

The witch trials leave behind them this tremendous legacy

of women feeling they can't talk about things

that happen to them, of women feeling things are their fault

of women feeling disempowered

and that they are the enemy somehow in society.

The whole thing is just this enormous

ball of guilt and shame and misery

and difficulty and horror and anxiety, isn't it?

"Oh, God, I'm wrong".

It's that, isn't it?

We all feel it.

- Hm. - Yeah.

After a month on the ward I gradually, magically,

did start to get better.

I spent more time with Emily and Jude

finding sisterhood and understanding amidst the darkness.

We ate all our meals together.

We would sit at the doorways to each other's room, chatting.

Before lights out in the evening

we'd slump on these sofas and

compare symptoms.

We became like a strange sort of family, a coven.

Holding each other when it all got too much.

My son and the other babies became part of our coven too.

I spent my days just holding him.

And gradually I started taking him out of the ward on my own.

I was no longer scared of him.

I began to understand him and what he needed.

Then one day I was finally able to close the door to my room

so that he and I were alone together.

I was so relieved that I could do it

that he was finally safe.

I was finally safe.

Being released from a psychiatric ward

is as weird as going into one.

They don't wait until you're 100% better.

Will you ever be 100% better? Will any of us?

Anyway, they don't wait until you are 100% better.

But instead they... they wait

until they know that you can cope with being at home.

And it's very gradual.

So I started going home for the afternoon.

And then I would go home for the whole day.

And then overnight.

After one of my overnights

Emily told me that she'd heard a nurse saying

that they thought I would be going home for good soon.

And I was really scared

because I didn't think I was ready.

The staff told me to try going home for the weekend.

Oh fine, thanks.

Right over there.

My husband Jeremy came and picked us up

and he'd bought all my favourite food

and he was just trying so hard

to make it really nice and comfortable.

And I was really touched. But I remember also...

feeling really scared, that I wouldn't be able to do it

that I wouldn't be able to cope and that I would let him down.

But then the next morning, I woke up

and everything was okay.

And I just remember crying with relief

because I knew that whatever happened

we'd got through this.

The darkness had lifted.

I think the time when we couldn't stop laughing

that first time when we laughed like...

a proper belly laugh, crying laughing.

I was like, "Oh, I can feel, feel again.

"I don't feel like I'm behind a glass wall".

Just getting, like, a hug from another woman

like a long hug.

Like you're a kid, like you're a little girl.

Just having someone hug you and be like,

"You're gonna be okay.

"You're gonna get through this, and you're gonna be okay".

And just like, hold you.

Because you're doing all the holding when you become a mother.

You're doing so much holding.

Having someone hold you and just...

I'm so lucky to have my mum

just do that for me.

In what ways do you feel like your illness

and that experience changed you?

It was absolutely my lowest I've ever been

and I've had some lows.

It's absolutely the lowest I've ever been

and I kind of climbed back from it.

So in a way I do feel that nothing we face as a family

is probably ever going to be as bad as what we went through.

Yeah, I think I am more grateful now,

for small things, and for my family, and for moments.

And kind of, I feel so lucky

to have had the help and to have got better

and had some amazing times with my family.

With my family.

Before I had kids, I always used to think,

"Why would you have mum friends?

"I won't have mum friends. I'll just keep my own friends.

"I don't need new friends, oh, it'll be so boring".

And then I had children

and then I had a breakdown

and I really, really needed that community.

I needed to be wrapped up

in the love and the care of other women.

It does feel like a coven, doesn't it?

This sort of collective wisdom, knowledge, experience

sharing, support.

What would you say to a woman who's watching this

who is maybe going through a perinatal mental health crisis?

What advice would you give her?

Never, ever, ever struggle in silence.

There is always help for

every type of perinatal mental health crisis

or psychological crisis.

Tell everybody around you.

Tell your partner, tell your family, tell your friends.

But most importantly, go and get professional help.

And no one's going to take your baby away.

I always wanted to be a witch.

A good witch.

One who only used her power gently.

But now I know that good witches are prisoners, too.

They have to suppress their power.

You know I lighted it with a match, Wally.

From now on, I'm going to be just a simple, helpful wife.

Or give it up.

They must stay young and beautiful.

They cannot stray from the path.

I see now that their magic is meaningless.

Nothing more than a trick.

Thank you.

I would much rather be a bad witch.

My mental health is now stable

although I have been told I should probably stay on medication

for the rest of my life.

I see the world in a different way now.

How fragile our minds are.

How easily our reality can be shattered.

I know now that not everything is as it seems.

I've thought a lot about how to talk to my son

about what happened to us.

About how he was pulled into my darkness

my madness

my horror.

I don't want him to feel bad about that.

My son is two and a half now

and I'm completely obsessed with him.

He's my favourite person in the whole world.

And while there are a lot of people to thank for my recovery...

It was my son who saved my life.

He gave me love

and focus, and a reason to keep going.

And he was there with me every day on the ward.

I now treasure that one-on-one time we had together.

In your life, you too, will find that your sense of reality

shifts.

You will be pulled into worlds that are so horrible

you cannot even begin to process them.

Rooms that make your knees weak.

Madness and darkness,

horror and pain

are always here waiting.

They will come for us all.

But then so will joy,

beauty,

love,

and magic.

Every woman is a witch

and every witch needs a coven.

Now, what do you want to ask me?

Alright. Thank you, can we cut?

Bertie, can you see the camera? Where's the camera?

- Can you see the camera down there? - Okay!

- Can you say hello? - Can you wave to the camera?

- Can you wave hello? - Hello.

- Hello. - Hello.

Can you say thank you?

Thank you.