I found for me that my safe place was work. I could control my environment. I became very fastidious and detailed, and wanted things a certain way.

This is a serious, serious condition that is also called postpartum psychosis. And that's where, literally, you get so bad that you end up either hurting the baby or killing yourself.

I have always lived the way I wanted regardless of whether or not it was popular.

This is a physical thing that is fixable. I know, I'm a survivor. Believe me, there was no way I thought I could survive. There are answers out there that need to be found.

When you have a baby, love is automatic, when you get married, love is earned.

When I look in the mirror, I see my late mother: I have her nose, her dark eyes - I call them chocolate eyes - I have her colouring, and my hair is greying the same way, although I use colour and she didn't.

Right now I don't call it the menopause, I call it men-on-pause.