Review
Culture
Film & TV
Identity
Weirdness
5 min read

Nightbitch’s metamorphosis of motherhood

In parenting the best things in life cost everything and nothing.

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

A woman runs down a street at night accompanied by dogs
Amy Adams, running with the dogs.
Searchlight Pictures.

With birth rates declining, family breakdown increasing and what has been called an anxiety epidemic amongst children, a film about the raw challenges of motherhood – aimed at men as much as women - has to make us sit up and take notice.  

Nightbitch does exactly that. Based on Rachel Yoder’s lockdown novel of the same name, it tells the story of a stay-at-home mum who, faced with the brutal realities of modern-day mothering, discovers her feral side – and transforms into a dog. 

The film stars Amy Adams, an exceptional actress known for her roles in Arrival—a Denis Villeneuve masterpiece about aliens arriving on Earth—and other iconic films like Man of Steel (as Lois Lane), Enchanted (where she plays the central character), and Night at the Museum (as Amelia Earhart).  In this film she delivers a powerful and deeply emotional performance as another alienated character, once a successful artist with a promising career, now reduced to part-parent, part-nightbitch.  

The plot has echoes of Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, where travelling salesman Gregor Samsa wakes up one day to find himself transformed into a giant insect. While Samsa’s arthropod transformation signifies entrapment and helplessness, Amy’s canine alter-ego provides a contrasting sense of liberation, offering her an empowering path of fierce self-assertion amid the demands of motherhood that have become overwhelming and suffocating. Nevertheless, both magical realism narratives use animal transformation to explore profound feelings of loss of identity, isolation and inequality - themes that are especially relevant in a time when pressures on families are immense.   

Identity loss 

Introducing herself to a group of new mothers, Amy’s character, who remains nameless throughout, says, “I used to be an artist.” Her inability to articulate who she is reflects so much: her loss of purpose, loss of social identity, loss of external validation, loss of financial independence, loss of cognitive functions, loss of self-worth. But it is not only her transformation into a dog that depicts this. There’s a poignant moment as the film opens when Amy bumps into the woman who has taken her old job. The stark contrast between their appearances—Amy looks pretty rough compared to her perfectly turned-out replacement—highlights just how different her life now is.  It seems to me that this image of identity loss will resonate with all who face the struggle to reclaim oneself after a major life event, but especially with new mothers.  

Isolation 

Though Amy’s character is married, her husband is often absent, working long hours to provide financially. When he is home, he seems to want the pre-motherhood version of his wife, engaging only in the lighter aspects of parenting while avoiding the ongoing challenges. This dynamic leaves Amy’s character feeling alone and disconnected from her husband. Not only that, Amy’s initial attempts to connect with other mothers at her child’s nursery fall flat. Although they share the bond of motherhood, she finds their conversations unfulfilling. Similarly, when she reconnects with her old work friends, she discovers their lives have moved on without her, deepening her sense of displacement. She doesn’t fit in at home, at work, or in her community. She is trapped between worlds and is deeply isolated. Nightbitch offers a powerful antidote to Insta-perfect images of parenthood. The stark visual this film provides of the mother running away from the home at night as a dog challenges us to take seriously the need for mothers to escape claustrophobic societal expectations and to find autonomy, community and support.  

Inequality 

The third key theme explored in the film is the inequality between the male and female experiences of parenthood, as it portrays how much of the burden falls on women. Statistics only confirm the ongoing gender disparities, with women far more likely than men to reduce working hours and sacrifice their career prospects. Women disproportionately shoulder the long-term economic and professional consequences of parenthood, as well as the day-to-day duties of parenting. Add to this the emotional impact of isolation and identity loss, and the burden becomes almost insurmountable. This cumulative strain is faced by all those who are expected to seamlessly transition from independent individuals to selfless caregivers, often with little structural support. The film lays bare how these pressures, left unaddressed, can fracture not only individual lives but the entire stability of the family.  

The film left me with questions:  

Have I played my part? 

As a father, watching this film prompted me to reflect deeply on my own family dynamic. Do we divide responsibilities fairly? Have one person’s dreams or ambitions been side-lined for the sake of the others? Do I overlook or undervalue what my wife does?  What happened to the balance we originally envisioned and agreed upon as a couple?   

Where is the support? 

I also wondered about the structural support needed for those beginning their parenting journey. Then I remembered who facilitates tens of thousands of parent and toddler groups each week across the UK – the Church. Over a third of children under four attend these groups, translating to millions of parents and carers finding access to a lifeline – a welcoming environment and space for connection and mutual support. Do churches know what an important role they are playing? Do new parents know what is available to them there? 

Is parenting only a burden? 

While the film expresses brilliantly the challenges of parenthood, does it do so at the expense of expressing its joys? In my own experience parenting 30 children through birth, fostering, and adoption in almost the same number of years, I am still trying to work through the paradoxes. How can it be both overwhelming and overwhelmingly enriching. Both lonely, and connect us to the privilege of unconditional love? How is it that in parenting the best things in life cost everything and nothing? 

At the London Film Festival Premiere that I attended, Amy Adams also reflected personally on the film: 

“It gave me an opportunity to not only tell my relationship with my mother but also my sister and my friends…. There was a deep universality to the experience of motherhood but also the exploration of relationship inside of parenthood,, the relationship with husband. Everything just fell so true, relatable, and funny.” 

In the end, Nightbitch is more than a dark, fantastical, funny tale of transformation; it’s a powerful mirror held up to modern family life that everyone can benefit from considering. It challenges traditional gender roles and expectations, inspires reflection on sacrifices and struggles, and provokes important questions about identity, privilege and partnership in the complex journey of parenthood and beyond.  

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Article
Creed
Identity
Nationalism
4 min read

Born in Wales, made for more

Does where we are born matter?

Rachel is a reader and writer, a coach, and an educator. 

A boat rests on a mud bank of a river, hills are in the background.
River Loughor, near Llanelli, Wales.
Sean Alabaster on Unsplash.

I know someone who drove his labouring wife several hours, in the middle of the night, to cross the English border so that their child would be born in Wales.  

Though my passport states that I am British, people (especially my sister) tell me that I am unequivocally Welsh. I was indeed born and raised in Wales, a gentle but obvious accent remains as testament, but I have lived in Oxford for almost 30 years compared with only 18 lived in Llanelli.  

What does this mean? Is my identity staunchly based on where I was born? I’m not so sure. 

The same sister is angered by my disinterest in rugby as a Welsh mother of two English sons. One of her first gifts to my newborns was a pint-sized Welsh rugby jersey followed by larger unused versions as they have grown. Whilst watching a match she will unfailingly urge them to participate by sending photos of her two dogs in their Welsh rugby jerseys.  

My sons prefer rowing, climbing and swimming – I am an apparent disgrace!  

It’s not that I am not proud to be Welsh; I am entirely neutral on the matter. I love many things about Wales as well as I love many things about England. In all honesty, I love significantly more about Norway than either of these, even though I have no reason to live there or claim it as part of my identity. If a place were an accurate reflection of a person, Norway would be much closer to the mark for so many reasons.  

There are many things that are particularly special about my birthplace – the countryside is beautiful, without doubt. I cannot tell you how much I miss mountains and hillsides from where you can sit and enjoy all the twinkling lights of a town of an evening. Oxford has its beauty, but mountains are not part of it.  

Wales is truly a place of music and song. Everybody sings and the songs come from deep inside your bones. It’s a very pure and primal sound as mellifluous and unadulterated as honey straight from the comb.  

And then there is the language which is funny and complicated in equal measure. Where else will you find both golff and Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch? 

This brings me to the inspiration for these particular ramblings, which is the word, ‘hiraeth’ (pronounced hee-rye-th).  

It is one of those special words almost impossible to translate. It expresses a particular longing or yearning for a time and place that can never be returned to fully. It includes, but is insufficient, to think about nostalgia. It is a soul word: transcendental.  

Though my childhood was far from easy, there are things for which I feel intense hiraeth – moments with important people; the encouragement of my music teacher; the shovel-sized hands of my grandfather and the belly rock of his silent chuckles; days out cycling with my friend, Paul, and picking out the millions of bones from my mouth as I ate countless impromptu dinners offered by his lovely, generous mother made from the trout that his father had invariably caught a few days earlier.  

Those days will forever be feelings fully alive in me but invisible to others until I share them like this. I wish I could replay them on old cinefilm for others to understand but, you just had to be there to know.  

I have the same hiraeth for so many days shared with my husband and sons, not least the precious days surrounding their births. They’re not tied to places; they’re all bound with love.  

Love has nothing whatsoever to do with my passport because there is no official stamp that says, ‘Child of God’ and yet, if it did how might we each identify? Would nationality matter? Would where we were born be of any consequence at all ? I hope not.  

Sometimes, perhaps often, my hiraeth is for a time gone - before the internet, smartphones and AI, a world without guns and nuclear weapons, where, like William Morris, we had nothing in our homes that were not either useful or beautiful, an era where we ate seasonally and lived in harmony with nature… 

I wish that my children could experience that existence but, despite my longings, I must accept they are made for a different time and place. 

In his writings, C.S. Lewis uses the German word ‘sehnsucht’ to express a similar sense of longing. As ever, I find that his words explain things to me in a way that provides great comfort and challenge as I ponder:  

“If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.”  

So, perhaps, the best I can say is that I was born in Wales, matured in England, but made for something more.  

How about you? 

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