In an era dominated by social media and reality television, few personalities have shined as brightly as Gemma Collins. Known affectionately as the GC by her millions of fans, Collins has carved an indelible niche for herself in the entertainment world, transcending her initial claim to fame via the reality show The Only Way Is Essex. As a social media sensation and astute businesswoman, she embodies the quintessential modern celebrity—glamorous, larger-than-life, and unapologetically authentic. But as she embarked on an emotional journey in her episode of Who Do You Think You Are?, Collins sought to delve beyond her public persona into the hidden chapters of her family history, particularly regarding her mother’s past.

Growing up in the bustling borough of Romford, Essex, Collins’s early years were filled with the vibrancy and chaos that characterises many young lives. Raised in a close-knit family with her older brother Russell and parents Joan and Alan, Gemma’s childhood was coloured with creativity. “I always loved singing and dancing and performing,” she confesses, recalling how her mother would often summon her to entertain the family around the fire. This emphasis on creativity and performance led her mother to enrol her in various drama schools, tap dancing classes, and ballet lessons. It was a nurturing environment that undoubtedly laid the groundwork for Gemma’s future endeavours in show business.

But beneath the glittering surface of Collins’s early life lingered questions that weighed heavily on her heart. “I know a lot about my dad’s family history, but nothing about my mum’s side,” she stated, revealing a gap in her understanding of her own identity. The painful mystery of her mother’s origins—a past shrouded in neglect and abandonment—prompted a yearning within Collins: “All I know about my mum is that she was born and left at the hospital.” The depth of her inquiry signalled a growing desire to unearth the roots of her familial tree, to know more about her mother’s beginnings, and to piece together the narrative that shaped their lives.

The pivotal moment of this journey came when Collins sat down with her mother, Joan, for an open conversation about her childhood. This was the first time they would confront the shadowed aspects of their family history together. “How are you feeling about this? We’ve never really spoken about your past,” Collins asked gently, creating a safe space for her mother to share. She began, acknowledging the complexities of her own upbringing as she revealed that she was left at the hospital shortly after her birth.

As the conversation deepened, Gemma learned that her mother had entered foster care at just two weeks old. It was a revelation that left her grappling with the stark reality of her mother’s early life. “I was a baby,” Joan explained, detailing her experiences with both her foster family and a children’s home where she later found herself. “It was like hell,” she admitted, recalling the day she was taken to the children’s home. The emotional turmoil of that experience resonated deeply with Gemma, who listened intently as her mother shared her truths.

Joan’s story was marked by questions about her birth mother and the uncertainty of why the separation occurred. “Did you ever meet up with your real mum? Did she ever try to contact you?” Gemma inquired, seeking answers that seemed to echo in her own life.

Joan remembered a moment from her childhood, the fleeting interaction with her biological mother also called Joan, who came bearing gifts of sweets. The exploration of a family’s past is rarely straightforward, and for Joan, it was riddled with stories of brief encounters that offered little solace. “I did try to get in touch with her,” she remarked, discussing her attempts to connect with her mother but sadly, she learned that Joan had passed at the age of 60.

Collins wants to uncover the circumstances surrounding her grandmother’s life, particularly her periods of hospitalisation. As she visits Epsom, meeting historian Kirsty Arnold at a heritage centre built on the former hospital site of St Ebba’s and Long Grove, Collins was eager to piece together the puzzle of her family’s roots. “I knew that my grandmother was here in these hospitals, St Ebba’s and Long Grove—that’s all I know. So please tell me everything you have,” she urged Arnold. The response was both enlightening and disquieting as Arnold began to unpack her grandmother’s history.

The Long Grove Hospital, Collins learned, was one of several psychiatric facilities constructed in the late 19th century to accommodate the influx of individuals suffering from mental illness. Her grandmother’s records revealed that she had been admitted on multiple occasions, the first time in 1951 at the tender age of 13. The labels of “voluntary” and “certified” used in the documents indicated a spectrum of circumstances surrounding her stays, yet Collins could not escape the ominous overtones that “asylum” evoked.

“What does ‘voluntary’ mean?” she inquired, wrestling with the idea that her young grandmother might have chosen to seek care. Arnold clarified that while she may have submitted herself for treatment, it was likely dictated by her parents, a reflection of societal norms that often confined women’s choices. The conversation was unsettling, revealing that the expectations of the time played a crucial role in how one’s mental health was treated, or in many cases, mishandled.

As Collins absorbed the details of her grandmother’s admissions, she was struck by a haunting realisation—the same age at which her grandmother was institutionalised was also the age at which her mother had gone into a children’s home, and, not coincidentally, the age at which Collins herself had faced emotional challenges. “Schizophrenia is such a scary word. It scares me, even saying it is scary, you know. And aged 13, just thinking back, my grandmother was diagnosed as schizophrenic. Then my mum said when she was 13, she went into the children’s home for playing truant from school. And then when I was 13, I went through a period of self-harm.” The uncanny parallels laid bare reverberate through time, creating echoes of earlier struggles that were often unspoken.

The conversation shifted as Collins learned that her grandmother’s second admission came just after Gemma’s mother was born, a context that couldn’t be overlooked. “It’s a shame,” Collins reflected. “She was just 17, having a baby.” The weight of the expectations placed upon young mothers at the time must have been immense, and as Arnold explained the circumstances surrounding her grandmother’s deteriorating mental health, the harsh realities of life for women became painfully apparent.

To dig deeper into her grandmother’s diagnosis, Collins travelled to the esteemed Royal College of Psychiatrists in London, eager to meet psychiatrist Dr. Claire Hilton. She hoped to gain insight into the complex web of her ancestors’ mental health struggles. Much like her prior encounter with Arnold, Collins’s conversation with Dr. Hilton revealed how historical perceptions of mental health could often lead to misdiagnoses. “Her first admission was at 13, with schizophrenia noted as the principal condition,” Dr. Hilton recounted, feeling the burdens of that label. Dr. Hilton reassured her: “In the 1950s, many adolescents were hastily assessed and diagnosed during times of crisis, often leading to a cascade of assumptions that might not align with today’s understanding of mental disorders.”

As the interview progressed, the psychiatrist illuminated her perspective: “Young teenagers are rarely diagnosed with schizophrenia now. Back then, many developmental or social problems were channelled through that label.” Each clarification chipped away at the stigma surrounding her family’s past, exposing layers of misunderstanding that had plagued women for generations—Joan’s story was, in essence, a commentary on societal norms that enforced silence over conversation.

In retrospect it might be found that stealing, truanting, screaming attacks and behaviours sometimes involving court appearances, have marked the onset of a disorder that subsequently is diagnosed as schizophrenic.

The Psychoses of Adolescence

“This seems like normal behaviour to me for a teenager,” Collins reflected, drawing from her own rebellious periods when playing truant, pushing boundaries and expressing herself felt almost intrinsic to her youth. The connection to her own life only added depth to her understanding; she wasn’t just exploring her family history—she was wrestling with the legacy of mental health and resilience that coursed through the veins of the women in her family.

But Collins’s exploration grew more emotional still, as she discovered the various records about her mother’s experiences within the foster care system. One document revealed her grandmother’s efforts to reconnect: “Her contact with the foster home, although maintained fairly regularly, was erratic,” it noted. “Does this mean her mother visited her?” Collins probed.

Dr. Hilton affirmed the reality that Joan desired to establish a relationship with her daughter, unravelling the myth that she had abandoned her daughter. It was another confirmation of the love that resided beneath the stark realities of their past—a connection that had been obscured by the societal stigma surrounding single motherhood and mental health. “It makes me feel better to know she wanted to see my mum,” Collins said softly, her thoughts moving toward her mother and the love that had persisted against the odds.

Yet, even amid the newfound understanding, a sense of anger brewed in Collins’s heart. “Their actions left my mum feeling like she was never good enough,” she lamented. With her heart full of newly unearthed insights, Gemma Collins departed the Royal College of Psychiatrists with a profound sense of responsibility—to bridge the gaps that had formed among the women in her family, to nurture understanding, and to celebrate the ties that bound them. This journey through armed history was not merely an investigation into the past; it served as the necessary foundation for healing and reconciliation within her family.

Reconnecting through Family History

The excitement built as she learned that her mother’s cousin, Christine, was not only still alive but had agreed to meet her—an unexpected opening to her maternal family she had never before encountered. Collins spoke with buoyant enthusiasm. “I might have cousins… this is better than meeting the King and Queen!” Her excitement was palpable, as was the anticipation of discovering familiar connections that she had longed for throughout her life.

Collins greeted Christine with heartfelt joy, expressing how surreal it felt to finally connect with her mother’s side of the family. “This is blood,” Christine reassured her, as Gemma immediately felt like part of something larger than herself, something she had yearned for. As they began to share their family histories, Christine revealed photographs that told a story of shared familial ties and childhood friendships. “Your mum, Joanie, was my best friend when we were little,“ Christine fondly remembered. Through their conversation it became evident that despite the years and distance, the bonds of family had weathered challenges, echoing the importance of connection and understanding.

The revelations continued as Christine dug deeper into the family’s past, revealing that Gemma’s grandmother had three sisters—Rene, Winnie and Dolly—who grew up in Tower Hamlets with their parents, William and Daisy Williams. This newfound information sparked a fire within Collins to explore further, driving her to meet historian Fiona Lou at the local archives in search of her great-grandparents and beyond.

Arriving at the archives, Collins was grateful to have Fiona’s expertise at her side. Together, they pieced together information from the 1901 census, revealing the existence of her great-grandfather William Williams and his family, confirming their residence at a notorious address—Dorset Street. As the story of her ancestors unfolded, the startling reality of their living conditions became clear. “So, there were 35 people living at 37 Dorset Street in 1901,” Fiona explained, revealing the overcrowded and squalid nature of their environment. “Your great-great-grandfather, a bricklayer, and great-great-grandmother likely struggled to make ends meet.”

This stark revelation didn’t deter Collins; rather, it grounded her understanding of her family’s resilience amid adversity. Historically steeped in hardship, the street—often associated with tales of Jack the Ripper—had not only borne witness to crime but also to the relentless spirit of its inhabitants. “There’s no shame about it,” she asserted defiantly. “At the end of the day, where you’re from doesn’t define your worth.”

Her curiosity became increasingly piqued when Fiona unveiled a connection to the infamous Jack the Ripper murders, as three victims had ties to Dorset Street. The chilling coincidence made Collins shudder, but she pushed through with an inherent fascination for the rich tapestry of her family’s narrative.

With a determination to uncover more, Gemma sought out historian Dr. Emma Butcher at Spitalfields to look into the family’s health records, aiming to connect more dots within her family history. There, she discovered a heartbreaking truth: her great-great-grandfather, William Williams, had been admitted to the White Chapel workhouse infirmary in 1902 and later passed away. The diagnosis? Lumbar issues that were typical for someone of his age and circumstances but may have been exacerbated by the poor living conditions of the time.

As she learned about the drastic realities of her great-great-grandfather’s struggles—suffering in a workhouse infirmary with inadequate care and what may have likely contributed to his death—Gemma felt a profound sense of empathy for her ancestors, who had endured so much hardship. “This is really sad,” Collins reflected. “I feel touched.” Her journey had begun as a pursuit of self but had transformed into a deepening appreciation for the resilience and struggles of those who came before her.

“Looking at all these records, the conditions were horrid, overcrowded, with no real sense of privacy. It’s a reality check,” she said, understanding that those struggles fashioned the lineage from which she came—instilling within her a sense of pride and respect for her family’s history.

With each new discovery, Collins gained clarity on the plight of her ancestry; she began to appreciate the complexity of her family story—not one limited to despair but also marked by strength, survival, and resilience amidst socioeconomic challenges. “Even when times were tough, they fought for their rights. There’s beauty in that,“ she asserted confidently.

Gemma’s revelations ushered in a new phase of understanding, healing, and connection with her family’s past. As she prepared to share her findings with her mother and explore the landscape of her family’s legacy, one truth stood clear: understanding one’s roots can illuminate the shadows of the past, creating paths to healing for future generations.

As Gemma Collins continued her quest to understand her family’s history, she delved deeper into the life of her great-great-grandmother, Thirza. Gemma’s heart ached as she reflected on Thirza’s life, left alone with three children under the age of ten after the death of her husband, William. The struggles of single motherhood, especially in such difficult times—without financial support or social safety nets—created a sense of urgency in Gemma to uncover more about this formidable woman.

“Alongside that terrible loss, my great-great-grandmother was left with three children,“ she pondered, feeling the weight of her ancestor’s burdens. “What the hell did she do?” It was clear that Thirza’s spirit and resilience were qualities that defined the women in Gemma’s family line, and as she uncovered baptism documents for her great-grandfather’s sisters, Nora and Julia, Gemma became increasingly fascinated with her great-great-grandmother’s determination to provide for her family.

The discovery that Thirza had gotten her children baptized to secure their enrollment at Crispin Street School—a place of refuge and education for impoverished children—spoke volumes about her fierce dedication as a mother. “It just shows the determination of things,“ Gemma reflected, recognising that Thirza’s motives were rooted in the desire for a better life for her children, seeking not just to survive but to uplift them.

“It brings tears to my eyes,” Gemma confessed, feeling an emotional connection to the struggles and triumphs that had been passed down through generations. Just like Thirza, her own mother had been a powerhouse in their family, continually pushing for better outcomes for her children. These parallels illuminated the legacy of strength that resided within Gemma—an undeniable thread connecting her to her forebearers and a beacon of empowerment for future generations.

Her research journey revealed even more, as Gemma uncovered Thirza’s birth certificate, which led her to discover the name of her great-great-great-grandfather. Gerard Moore, a hairdresser by trade, significantly piqued Gemma’s interest. She imagined him as a creative force in the community, perhaps even a stylist to the affluent—a possibility that brought a lightness to her heart. “Please tell me Gerard was the Nicky Clarke of the 1800s!” she laughed.

The notion of her ancestor as an artist in his own right added depth to the narrative of her family’s identity. Meeting cultural historian Dr. Sean Williams and hair and makeup artist Helen Casey further brought this image to life as they explored the artistry involved in hairdressing and how these professions evolved. Learning about the prestige that came with being a hairdresser during Gerard’s time revealed the societal shifts that often went unnoticed—a world brimming with personal expression and entrepreneurial spirit.

From the artistry of hairdressing to the economic realities of life in the 1800s, Gemma began to stitch together the fabric of her family’s narrative. “Gerard must have had charisma—a character,” Dr. Williams remarked. This connection forged a link between past and present, culminating in a deeper understanding of her heritage and its influence on who she had become.

Excited by the prospect of her roots, Gemma turned her attention to Foulness Island, where her great-great-great-grandmother came from. Access to this isolated location, owned by the Ministry of Defense, was restricted, but Gemma was granted a special invite to meet one of its residents. This visit became a pivotal moment in her exploration, allowing her to connect directly with the land her ancestors had inhabited.

As she walked through the island’s heritage centre, she was struck by the tangible link to her heritage, examining family trees and discovering how her lineage had persevered through isolation and hardship. The spirit of resilience shone brightly as she learned the histories of those who came here to hide or to work the land, revealing a community built on survival, hard work, and determination.

The narrative of her great-great-great-grandmother’s upbringing on a farm painted vivid pictures of laborious days spent ploughing fields and caring for children while cultivating land that offered sustenance. “It was cold and exposed,“ the resident explained, emphasising the tenacity required to thrive in such an environment.

As Gemma absorbed these stories, a wave of emotion washed over her. It became increasingly clear to her that much of her own character stemmed from this rich lineage, where the women before her cultivated the strength to endure hardships head-on. She felt invigorated, proclaiming, “I am so connected to my bloodline. I’ve got family out there that I never knew!”

Reflecting on the values instilled in her through the lineage of strong women—those who laboured tirelessly for their families—Gemma found depth in her understanding of herself. “My family weren’t shy of hard work,” she noted proudly. “They were grafters. I’ve done well; we’ve all done well.”

The emotional journey concluded with an affirmation of the legacy passed down through generations. “The standout character in my family history is Thirza,” Gemma reflected with gratitude. “She rolled up her sleeves when William Williams died. That spirit, that’s where I get my fire from.”

As she prepared to return home, it became clear to Gemma that her exploration of her family’s history had ultimately transformed her perspective on her identity. She not only unearthed stories of hardship but found strength and empowerment to face her own challenges. With a renewed sense of connection to her lineage, she felt better equipped to embrace life and share these experiences with future generations.

This exploration has been a powerful testament to the enduring nature of family ties and the remarkable histories that shape who we are, even when we stand at a distance from those who came before us. As Gemma Collins’s journey draws to a close, she walks away not just with the stories of her ancestors, but with a profound appreciation for the legacy of resilience that defines her family.