Right. The next session is on the cost of blame, ADHD motherhood in Japan. It's with Akiko Hashiguchi, who... And before we begin, I need to please take care. I need to tell you that this session includes suicidal crisis and it includes potential harm to a child. And if you need support in The UK and Ireland, can call the Samaritans free on any time on 116123, Or you can find your local crisis line wherever you are in the world via globaladhd.com and click the crisis lines link. And that's because of the the topics covered. Twenty five years ago, Akiko Hashiguchi was raising a six year old son in Japan. There was no diagnosis, but there was blame.

There was blame from teachers, from other parents, from family. And it led to a crisis that put both her and her son in danger. And then the school nurse suggested ADHD. Akiko has spent twenty five years working for Inclusion in Japan. She left her job at Canada to do it. She sat on government committees. She's helped... She has helped shape Japan's accessibility plan for the Tokyo twenty twenty games and helped bring calm down, cool down, quiet spaces to Japan from Narita Airport to Expo twenty twenty five. She's the author of a book whose title in English is Stay As You Are, and she now tells her story publicly with her son's support so that it can be understood and prevented. In our conversation, it asks how family reaches.

That point, what culture and the blame of mothers have to do with it, what support was missing, and what every country including The UK can learn. Akiko speaks in Japanese. There will be English captions on the screen. We've actually built... We're talking earlier around AI with the support of AI, a simultaneous translation engine for us specifically for the conference. And we both have instant translation. You'll have translations on the bottom and she has translations on her phone. But we've done that because we care very much about bringing Akiko in. This is a global conference talking about global stories, and Akiko is is important. Akiko, welcome.

Hello.

Everyone. My name is Akiko Hashiguchi. I am delighted and honored to be able to take part in such a special event today. So I'm afraid I am not very good at giving speeches in English. The hope from this point onwards, I will be delivering my presentation in Japanese while displaying the English threat.

And Henry, thank you so much for developing and thinking about this translation software for me. I feel it's a wonderful reasonable adjustment. I look forward to working with you today. Right, let me start straight away then. Yes, this one. Yes. Now I'll explain in Japanese. 'Raising a Daughter with ADHD in a Different Culture: Thoughts Through Raising My Son' – I'm Akiko Hashiguchi, Representative Director of Bridges to Inclusion Ltd, working as a universal design consultant using developmental disabilities as a starting point, and also active as a nationally qualified career consultant. I'd like to share my perspective with you.

Let me introduce myself a bit more. I was born in Japan and raised in a merchant family. I've been active as a parent of a child with developmental disabilities for 25 years. The origin of my activism was an attempted parent-child suicide 25 years ago. I'll explain this later. I've published a book called 'It's OK Just As You Are'. My motto is – because my child-rearing and my life have been a series of hardships – that life is humour. As for future prospects, I believe you cannot speak of universal design without seeing the world, so I'm currently staying in London for a hundred days to discover universal design in everyday life. Today I'll share with you these three things that affect ADHD.

First is Japanese culture, second is the way of being a woman and mother that Japanese society demands, and third is my own experience and the struggles I had as a parent. Let me start with Japanese culture. But before discussing Japanese culture, I think we should align our understanding of ADHD, so I'll explain what ADHD means in Japan. In Japan, ADHD is classified within developmental disabilities. It's covered under the Act for Support of Persons with Developmental Disabilities. Until this law was created, ADHD without intellectual delay had been excluded from support, so including it was truly groundbreaking.

Also, it was very significant that the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology established an educational support system for pupils with ADHD and others through special needs education. And developmental disabilities in Japan is an administrative term. It was established as an administrative term through the Act for Support of Persons with Developmental Disabilities I mentioned earlier, and the classification is unique to Japan. Therefore it doesn't correspond to ICD-11 or DSM-5's neurodevelopmental disorders.

What's happening in Japan now is that terminology usage differs depending on one's position. National and administrative officials use the term 'developmental disabilities' based on the law, whilst medical professionals and private sector people use the term 'neurodevelopmental disorders'. Now let me talk about Japanese culture. Japanese people are fundamentally kind, gentle, orderly and disciplined. So wallets being returned – that's not a myth, it's true. Cooperation rather than self-assertion, being the same as everyone else is the greatest reassurance.

Also, because we place more importance on being considerate of others than ourselves, we excessively dislike and feel ashamed of causing trouble to others. For example, putting your feet up on trains or making phone calls is basically forbidden. Children crying or having a panic is often perceived as a nuisance. On the other hand, the world-famous packed trains are also part of Japanese culture. Within Japanese culture there's this sense that being different from others is wrong. The word 'different' implicitly, tacitly, contains the meaning of being wrong. Next, the human qualities valued in Japan – this is also a very important point I want to share. First, being able to line up your shoes when you take them off.

Being able to greet someone looking them in the eye. Having correct posture, being able to sit properly in a chair, keeping time, being able to start and finish on time. Reading the atmosphere and being able to adopt appropriate dress and behaviour for the situation. Being able to listen calmly and properly to what others say. Not fidgeting. Being able to respect others' opinions over your own – these are the human qualities that are highly valued. And these are things that are difficult due to ADHD characteristics. Therefore, they often become targets of misunderstanding, prejudice and discrimination. Next, I want to share something that I also think is very important. The difficulty of the Japanese language.

In Japan, when writing a name in Japanese, four types of notation are required. In kanji, Hashiguchi Akiko; as furigana, the reading, in hiragana, Hashiguchi Akiko. Sometimes it's also required in katakana. Also, for credit card names and passports, it's required to be written in romaji, in the alphabet. These are the languages taught in education. This is how written language is used. And in everyday life, which notation to use differs depending on the place, situation and emotion at the time. Also, depending on the other person, there's what's called keigo, honorific language. There are three types of keigo: polite language, respectful language and humble language.

These have to be used appropriately. So I think you all know that Japanese is very difficult, but acquiring English as a public language with its different word order and subject is considered extremely difficult. Incidentally, English education in Japanese state primary schools begins from Year 3. And what's happening now in education is that children cannot recognise the difference between lowercase 'b' and 'd' in the alphabet. There was a case where a teacher set homework requiring a student who wrote mirror letters, confusing 'b' and 'd', to write words hundreds of times, which became a problem. Now, the second topic for today: the expectations of women and mothers that Japanese culture demands.

Regarding the expectations of women and mothers that Japanese culture demands: women are expected to be able to do housework such as cooking and cleaning as a matter of course. So 'women who can't tidy up', which became a topic in Japan, become targets of prejudice and discrimination. On the other hand, 'men who can't tidy up' are forgiven. Also, the expectation to defer to men, which remains deeply rooted in the Showa generation, is still very much present. It's certainly not ladies first. And when you become a mother, you're expected to be a devoted parent. Within that, making elaborate meals is seen as, is demanded as, the mother's role.

This became a big topic previously: the story of an elderly man who told off a mother with a small child trying to buy potato salad from the supermarket deli section, saying 'you should make that yourself', became a topic on social media and in the news. Child-rearing in Japan is called 'one-operation child-rearing'. Within this, the prejudice and discrimination due to scrutiny of being a woman with ADHD is serious, and there are many women and mothers who feel it's hard to live. Now the third topic for today: my experience. I'll share what I struggled with as a parent in raising my child. I think the struggles I experienced can be broadly divided into two situations.

One is before diagnosis – in other words, before the mother had knowledge. The other, the second, is after diagnosis – after the mother gained knowledge. So I'll share what I struggled with before diagnosis, and what many mothers in Japan experience. First, anxiety about child-rearing. The anxiety and stress of not being able to do the child-rearing I'd envisaged was very painful. And it can also lead to abuse. Then, isolation from those around you. Even going to the park, my child couldn't make friends, and I as a mother couldn't make friends either. It became hard to live. So in my case, I would aim for the evening when no one was at the park, and drive thirty minutes from home with my son.

Also, the piercing words from nursery, school and other parents, the rumours, and the loneliness from that was painful. Then, going out – not being able to wait in queues, crying and screaming, shouting loudly. At such times, the stares from those around saying the parent's discipline was lacking, or the tacit, implicit atmosphere from those around – that was very painful. This is what I experienced before diagnosis, before I had knowledge. This is about how my sin will never be erased for the rest of my life, and it was published in The Japan Times on 18 May 2026. From here, this experience is also written in my book, so I'll read an extract from the book.

I committed a sin that I should not have committed as a mother – no, as a human being. As people around me said, no matter how much I warned him, no matter how much I scolded him, my son wouldn't listen to me, and he only caused trouble for those around us. I was told my discipline was lacking, that I had no ability as a mother, and eventually that I was disqualified as a human being. I, the mother, who was continuously reprimanded by those around me just like my son, did everything I could. Well, I thought I did. I thought there was a problem with the character of my son who wouldn't listen. So I went to abandon my son in the mountains. But in the end, I couldn't abandon him.

The moment I saw my son's expression as he came down the mountain – filled with an otherworldly, ultimate sadness – I realised it wasn't this child who was wrong. As everyone around me said, I was an incompetent mother, disqualified as a human being, and I realised that it was wrong for me to have given birth to a child. I understood everything, and to take full responsibility for all the trouble we as mother and child had caused those around us, I attempted a murder-suicide by strangling my son, intending to kill him and then myself. It was the only method I could desperately think of to stop causing any more trouble to those around us and to society.

When I put my hands around his neck to kill my son and then myself, the words he said to me with such pure, innocent eyes – 'I'm sorry for making you suffer like this, Mum.' Those words stopped me, and those words are the origin of my advocacy work. This is my experience. In Japan, there are actually many mothers hidden beneath the surface who have had experiences similar to mine. The response to this article was very significant, and many mothers email me individually. So I tell them this is by no means something exceptional – it happens. My son now supports my decision to share my own experience in the hope that this account might help prevent another tragedy. And he's very pleased that I'm speaking here today.

Now, the struggles I faced as a mother – we could say after diagnosis, after the mother gained knowledge. Just because you receive a diagnosis doesn't mean the struggles disappear. I want to talk about those struggles. First, shock. The magnitude of the shock and anxiety that a parent with no knowledge whatsoever experiences. Because it's an invisible disability, a difficulty you can't see, some cannot bear the weight of the word 'disability'. Then self-blame. Regret over not having noticed sooner, my responses to my child up until then, my attitude. On the other hand, scolding. Even though I understood intellectually that it was a developmental disorder, that it was ADHD, I couldn't control my emotions.

The more knowledge I gained, the more I fell into self-loathing over scolding him, which was extremely painful. Then passivity. I wanted those around me to understand. But there was an environment and society that forced me to lack the assertiveness to seek understanding, that forced me to be passive. Then guilt. The guilt over having scolded him, over wishing I'd done things differently – because my child was so pure, there's an indelible sense of guilt that remains to this day. This is probably a guilt that will continue until I die. There was also guilt about giving him medication. Then being unappreciated. Well, child-rearing isn't something you do to be appreciated by others.

I know that. I do understand that. But the invisible efforts as a parent were completely unappreciated by those around me, and having my child's problem behaviours equated with my character as a person was extremely painful. Based on everything I've said, this is what I believe: the difficulties faced by people with ADHD are difficulties that many people living in society also face. Because there's no one in this world who doesn't have ADHD traits, is there? So I believe that people with ADHD becoming happy means, in turn, making society – the world – happy. That's precisely why I think spaces like today's, where we can share these feelings, are so important. In Japan, proper understanding of ADHD still hasn't progressed nearly enough.

Depending on where you're born and where you live, there are disparities in understanding and support – regional differences are serious. Within that context, there are many mothers who suffer as I did, who hide experiences like mine, and yet live desperately, raising their children. Even though countries and cultures differ, knowing that there are mothers who struggle as you do, who live desperately, can give you the courage to live, can't it? Thank you very much for listening. Once again, I'm deeply grateful for this opportunity to speak. Thank you.

Thank you, Akiko. That was obviously very important and very powerful. And Akiko's story is very sensitive. And as a part of that, she wanted to present her story in her own way. And obviously, that's something we wanted to help happen. And, you know, it's a story of someone hugely struggling in coming to an awful place and nearly a nearly a terrible action and now looking to prevent anyone getting to that same place. And and you contributed to our ADHD in women cross cultural group, which was looking at how culture impacts how ADHD expresses itself depending on where you are in the world. Same ADHD, different impacts. Fascinatingly, you're a wonderful contributor. So thank you for doing that. Your son.

You told the nursery gave him a name. They said he's the aggressive child. And in Japan, there's a saying, the nail that sticks up gets hammered down. How was it thinking of your... Well, learning about your son finding him being treated as a nail and being given the name the aggressive child?

Yes. Well, when he was at nursery, I didn't have any knowledge, so he was really boisterous. To give you an example, there are famous Japanese anime called Crayon Shin-chan and Doraemon, and in Doraemon there's a boy called Gian, and my son was like those two characters combined and divided by two. So in the morning he'd come down wiggling his bottom, like 'I'm Gian!' – just full of energy, that kind of child.

And because he was like that at nursery too, his behaviour really stood out. He'd say whatever came into his head, and he'd do whatever he wanted to do. So, as you say, Henry, the nail that sticks out gets hammered down. When you do something different, when you do something different from the other children, the teachers would constantly tell him off. And in the same way, because he couldn't do those things – because my son couldn't do them – it was seen as a problem with my parenting, so every single day I too was being reprimanded by the teachers.

In Japan, when a child causes trouble, who is blamed? Is it... Was it of your husband? Is it the school? Or is it you as the mother?

Well, this is – it's the mother. As I mentioned a little yesterday, how shall I put it... In Japan, people will say that the quality of mothering has declined, but they would never say that the quality of fathering has declined. And no matter how cooperative a partner is at home, no matter how devotedly a father supports the mother within the family, it's always the mother who stands in the firing line when it comes to society outside. So truly, it really is the mother.

And that's something that came... Yeah. And so, you talked very clearly about the mother getting blamed for the child and and there's a Japanese idea, miwaku, of not being a burden to other people. How did that idea rule your life as the mother of a child like your son?

Yes, it really is. Until he was diagnosed. Or rather, I should say, until we found people who would help us. From the moment my son was born, I had been constantly saying sorry to the people around me, to society. I bowed my head so low – not just until it touched the ground, but as if it might reach all the way through to Brazil on the other side of the earth – I just kept bowing and bowing and bowing, apologising constantly. Because you mustn't cause trouble for others – you mustn't. And somewhere in all of that, I came to feel that my son and I were causing tremendous trouble for the world, for the people around us, for society – that we were a nuisance. There were many times when I felt we perhaps shouldn't even exist.

You were twenty twenty nine. Did did anyone know how bad things were? Like, your your husband, your parents, or did anyone know?

My husband was truly very cooperative, very devoted, and supported me enormously. However, my own family – well, my family, like me, had no knowledge of developmental disabilities. Twenty-five years ago, even schoolteachers and local doctors didn't know about developmental disabilities – that was the kind of society it was. So my family also really did say that it was my way of raising him, that he turned out this way because of me, and that was very painful.

And 06/20/2001, it's rainy season. Like, do you... Like, what happened to make it that day? Mhmm. Tell us about the day.

Well, this is truly... I want to say this clearly to everyone here: I committed a sin that should never have been committed. It's something I can never erase for the rest of my life. No matter how many people defend me, I must carry that sin with me always – and that's precisely why I remember it so vividly. People often ask me why I did such a thing. Well, how can I put it? From the time my child was born, I had been constantly apologising, constantly causing trouble for others. There's a Japanese saying: 'Dust piled up becomes a mountain.' Little by little, bit by bit, it all accumulated and piled up, and at that moment something inside me – a thread that had been stretched taut – just snapped, and I acted as I did.

The trigger for this was that he'd entered primary school, and about two months in – well, for two weeks in a row he'd had trouble with classmates. Up until then, from the time he started school, of course the teacher would phone from school every single day, and each time I'd be told, 'Please discipline him properly.' But his behaviour never improved. So for a week, my husband and I took turns – from the time our son arrived at school until he left – sitting on a chair at the back of the classroom, watching his behaviour, as we'd been told to do.

And then there were unannounced home visits – the teacher would come to our house, look around inside, ask what kind of education we were giving him, that sort of thing. So when he went to primary school, you could say his ADHD traits just exploded. And in that context, there was trouble with friends two weeks running. Every single day I scolded him, as everyone around me said I should – or rather, I shouted at him. But his behaviour never improved. And what I thought then was: well, if he's all alone like this and causing so much trouble for the world, for society, for everyone around him, then he should just live by himself. So I gave him his Pokémon cards, which he treasured...

...and I took him to the mountains to abandon him – that's what happened then. It was certainly impulsive, but I think you could say it was a situation where dust had piled up to become a mountain.

It's a big You've talked about the the moment of of of realizing... So you stopped the car in the mountains. It was dark. It was raining.

That's right. This is truly... I still remember it now. I took him deep into the mountains where there were no streetlights, and in the pouring rain I dragged my reluctant son out of the car, and I pushed him again and again into the woods, the scrubland there. Then I got into the car, and – it was truly dangerous, I think – when I started the car he grabbed... ...he desperately tried to grab hold of the car, and I shook him off and floored the accelerator and drove down the mountain. But at that time, for me back then, everything I saw had no colour, the sounds I heard were just monotonous – I was completely in a state of depression, I think – and in that state I didn't even know whether I loved my son anymore.

But still, I couldn't actually abandon him. So after I'd driven about five hundred metres down the mountain, I collapsed over the steering wheel and was crying, and my son – who at sports days always came last or second-to-last in races – came running down the mountain at a speed that would definitely have won him first place. But as I said before, I will never forget my son's face at that moment. The face of a child who had been abandoned by his parent like that – it was the saddest expression that could exist in this world. But when I saw that expression, I realised: ah, just as people around me had been saying, it was fundamentally wrong that I, lacking the ability to be a mother, had given birth to a child – had given birth to this son.

More than that, I'd been told that it was a mistake that someone like me had even been born, and just as that person said, it was a mistake that I existed in this world. So I had no choice but to take responsibility to society. To take responsibility, it wasn't enough for me to die alone – I had to kill this child as well, and then die myself, or our sin wouldn't be erased. That's what I thought, and I put my hands around my son's neck. But at that moment, his pure, innocent eyes – even as I was strangling him, he said to me, 'I'm sorry for making you suffer like this, Mum' – those pure eyes, those words stopped me. I remember it vividly, even now.

It's it's it's an extraordinary story. It's extraordinary what what happened. So you you got to such a place, you're in such a place of desperation. I think you looked to kill yourself and your son and yourself. And he said, I'm sorry for making things so hard for you. And he snapped out of it, realized, and stopped. You went back there about twenty four... So twenty four years later. Why did you do that and what did it... What did you feel like standing there?

Yes. The reason I'm standing here now is that we must not let other parents and children go through the same experience that my son and I went through. Yes. If only there had been knowledge, and if there had been people around to support us, this could have been prevented. And of course, as I stand here speaking now, I'm actually trembling. Talking about this experience takes more courage than you might imagine, and if I were to put it into words, it feels as though I'm cutting away my own flesh and blood to speak. But if someone doesn't talk about these things, parent-child murder-suicides happen frequently in Japan.

That's precisely why, to prevent them, people who have experienced such things must speak out – otherwise these things will never truly stop. That's why I'm here talking with Henry now, and this is the very origin of my work. Yes, I've taken the position that this story must be told.

And let's continue that story because... So two months later, a school nurse told you something no one had told you before.

Yes. This was about two weeks later – not two months, about two weeks. We were truly isolated, my son and I, and I thought there was no one in the primary school who understood either him or me. But when I went to pick up my son from after-school care or something, the school nurse called out to me. The school nurse said to me: 'Mrs Hashiguchi, your son is truly pure-hearted and such a good boy. But all the various things that happen at school, all those difficulties – isn't your son himself really struggling with them?' 'This child is truly pure and such a good boy. But if this child is struggling, we need to work together to solve it' – and what she showed me was a picture book about ADHD.

And in 02/2001, you know, what did Japan know know about ADHD? Like, have you heard about it before?

Yes. Well, at that time ADHD was – I could say it was completely unknown. So specialist doctors were very limited, and moreover, to reach a specialist you had to go through various routes – through child guidance centres, for instance – or if you tried to book directly, you'd be waiting a year, two years. So yes, at that time in Japan, I think it's fair to say there was no knowledge about ADHD – people didn't even know the word.

Nearly ten years later, you sat your son down and told him about it. What happened?

What happened was that my son participated in a University of Tokyo research project – one where he participated knowing and recognising that he had ADHD. And at that time, I told him – I disclosed to him that he had ADHD. And when we had that conversation, I had always felt that one day I wanted to apologise to him properly. So at the moment I disclosed it, I apologised for everything I had done up to that point – including going to that mountain and attempting a parent-child suicide. But this is something I always think about –

Parents somehow try to love their children conditionally. Perhaps it's because of their position in society, or what people might think. But children love their parents unconditionally. And at that moment I truly felt his greatness, the magnitude of his being. When I said, 'I'm so sorry for doing such terrible things,' he said: 'It's okay – just don't do the same thing to my sister.' I have a son, and then ten years later I had a daughter. At that time she was still in first year of primary school – nursery or first year – so when he said that, it was a real opportunity for me to understand his presence, to know his greatness. Yes.

It's... And how's he doing now? What's he doing now?

So now he runs two companies. The first one – he's the managing director of a recruitment advertising agency. And the other is a company that supports after-school childcare programmes, where he serves as an officer. Recently I've been thinking – perhaps when they're under twenty, or in adolescence – when I was raising him, adolescence was the hardest time. Even though we were both Japanese, it felt like Japanese didn't get through to him. It was as if he was speaking some alien language – we couldn't communicate at all. We clashed constantly, we argued, and there were times when he wouldn't speak to me.

But now he's thirty-two, he's an adult, and we can talk about all sorts of things. And when he was small – under ten or so – it was very difficult for him to put into words what had just happened, or what had happened at school that day. But now that he's grown up, he can say things like, 'Actually, back then the teacher said this and that's why I got angry,' or 'There was a reason for that behaviour.' And now I have a really comfortable relationship with him. I can truly say I'm glad I raised him. That's how I feel these days.

The... Between 2007 and 2023, five hundred and forty nine children died in Japan in in parent child Hey. By the suicides. And I know that's what you're looking to... Why you talk about what happened is to try and reduce that or stop that. And you've said that the line between you and those mothers is paper thin. What do you think is the... What would you like to see changed? Like, what do you think needs to change to reduce those numbers to take them to zero?

Yes. In Japan, parent-child suicide is classified as abuse. That's only natural, isn't it? Killing one's own child is the ultimate form of abuse. So laws have been put in place – child abuse prevention laws – and protecting children is, of course, rightly considered very important. But what I want people to consider is that parents who commit abuse – especially parents like me who attempt parent-child suicide – we know in our heads that it's wrong. We know it's something we must never do.

But why do such things happen? I think society needs to understand much more about the reasons behind it. Not just 'abuse is wrong,' but understanding the background of why abuse happens – understanding the parent's position, the parent's situation, the parent's feelings. Without a society that does that, I believe we cannot fully prevent abuse or parent-child suicide.

You are extraordinarily brave to talk about what happened. It this is a moment no one otherwise knew about, and you've put yourself forward for extraordinary stigma and to tell people about it, to try and stop it from happening. For that, that's obviously very important. Last question for you, and then we're out of time. If you could sit in the passenger seat of that car next to that 29 year old woman driving in the mountains. What would you say to her?

It's difficult. Yes – 'It was hard for you, wasn't it? You were suffering, weren't you?' Yes. 'You were twenty-nine years old, and you'd only been a mother for six years.' 'You felt you had no choice.' 'But I understand your feelings, I understand your suffering – let's think about this together.' I might say that. And also – this isn't quite an answer to the question, but I'd like to end with something my son said, which has encouraged me to share this story. He's really blessed with wonderful people around him now, and apparently people often ask him, 'What's your mother like – the one who raised you?'

And he answers, 'Monkey D. Dragon.' Monkey D. Dragon is a character from One Piece – which is famous in Japan and around the world – he's the father of the main character, Monkey D. Luffy. Now, I'm not very familiar with One Piece, so I thought, 'Monkey D. Dragon?' And I thought, 'That's a terrible comparison.' At the very least, if you're going to compare me to someone, I wanted it to be a woman. So I was rather irritated and cross about it. But then my husband said, 'No, when your son called you Monkey D. Dragon, that's the highest praise and the greatest encouragement he could give you.' He explained that Monkey D. Dragon is a revolutionary – someone who blazes a trail forward.

So my son – well, he's often told he looks just like Luffy, that he resembles him – and that's why he tells people around him that I'm Monkey D. Dragon. The fact that he says that means he's really supporting my work, supporting me in sharing this message. And that's why I'm here today. I know that's not quite an answer to the question, but I'd like to leave it there as my final response.

It's it's your answer. It's therefore a good answer. Like it's Akiko, thank you so much for your candor. Thank you for sharing your story. Thank you for being part of the conference, both in in the previous group and in this, where you've shared your story and what happened, is incredibly important. We have to go now. We're running. We've run over time. Akiko, you are amazing. Thank you very much. Thank you for being part of the conference. I hope we've been doing a bit of a seat preparation. I don't think that's quite appropriate here.

We'll say goodbye to you in the more normal way. So Akiko, thank you. Have a great rest of your day, and thank you so much for being part of your conference and for part of this conference and for your breakthrough. Goodbye.

Thank you. Thank you all so very much.

Goodbye. Thank you.