07/30/2026
As a mental health therapist, I've been following the Lindsay Clancy trial closely. Like so many others, my heart has broken over and over again for those three beautiful children and the family left behind. There are no winners in this case. Only unimaginable loss.
What has stayed with me almost as much as the testimony has been the public reaction. Reading comment after comment has reminded me how much work we still have to do in helping people understand mental illness—especially severe mental illness and maternal mental health.
One of the most common misconceptions is that if someone can smile, carry on a conversation, drive a car, make plans, or look "normal," they couldn't possibly be experiencing psychosis or profound mental illness. But that isn't how the brain works.
I've sat with people who looked composed while describing emotional pain so overwhelming they could barely survive it. Mental illness doesn't always look chaotic from the outside. Sometimes it hides behind routines, responsibilities, and conversations that seem completely ordinary. The suffering is real even when it isn't visible.
My heart will always ache for those children. Nothing about understanding mental illness changes that.
But I also believe we can hold compassion for a woman who, according to the evidence presented, was desperately ill, sought treatment, and is now living with consequences that no punishment could ever erase. Compassion is not the same as excusing someone's actions. It is recognizing that profound suffering existed long before tragedy struck.
One moment from the trial has stayed with me more than any testimony. Watching her attorney sit beside Lindsay, emotional, quietly holding her hand, reminded me that compassion can still exist even in the darkest circumstances. It was a simple act of humanity in the middle of unimaginable heartbreak.
This case challenges all of us—not just mental health professionals, but physicians, attorneys, family members, friends, and communities—to ask difficult questions.
Did we truly hear someone when they said they weren't okay?
Did we understand the seriousness of what they were experiencing?
What more can we do to recognize suffering before it reaches a point of no return?
I hope this case leaves us talking more openly about maternal mental health, taking psychiatric symptoms seriously, investing in better treatment, and replacing assumptions with curiosity.
We don't have to choose between grieving for innocent children and acknowledging the devastating reality of severe mental illness. Both can be true.
In my work, I've learned that compassion isn't a limited resource. We don't run out of it by extending it to more than one person. Sometimes the hardest cases are the ones that remind us of that the most.