There are stories that break your heart, and then there are stories that reach into places you thought you had already healed. The Lindsay Clancy case has been one of those stories for me. Not because I believe I can know exactly what happened inside her mind, and certainly not because I want to minimize the unimaginable loss of her children, but because it has brought something incredibly uncomfortable to the surface for me as both a therapist and a mother: the question of what it means to lose control of yourself during postpartum, and the terrifying thought so many women who have experienced severe postpartum mental health struggles may have quietly asked themselves—what if that had been me?
I think that is the part of this case that has been difficult for me to articulate. As a mother, I look at my children and cannot imagine intentionally hurting them. The thought is almost impossible for me to comprehend. I know the depth of the love I have for my children, and I cannot imagine a version of myself that would ever want to cause them harm. But I am also a mother who experienced severe postpartum depression. I know what it feels like to love your children completely while simultaneously feeling like you are losing pieces of yourself. I know what it feels like when your mind does not feel like a safe or familiar place anymore. And because I have experienced that, I understand why this case has triggered such a complicated response in me.
It isn’t that I look at this case and think, I could have done that. I don’t. Instead, I look at it and remember how powerless I felt when I was struggling postpartum. I remember what it was like to be responsible for another human being while feeling like I could barely regulate what was happening inside of me. I remember the exhaustion, the emotional heaviness, the overwhelming responsibility, and the strange experience of knowing that I loved my children deeply while not feeling like myself. There is something about postpartum that can make you feel as though your life, your body, your sleep, your identity, and sometimes even your thoughts no longer completely belong to you.
That feeling is difficult to explain to someone who has never experienced it. We talk about postpartum depression so casually sometimes, as if it simply means a mother is sad. We say things like, “Make sure you watch for postpartum depression,” as though the warning sign is simply crying too much. But postpartum mental health can be so much more complicated. It can be depression, anxiety, panic, rage, obsessive thoughts, intrusive thoughts, hopelessness, numbness, disconnection, or a feeling that you are failing at something everyone else seems to be doing naturally. It can be feeling trapped in your own life and then feeling guilty for even thinking that because you love your baby so much.
And then there is the sleep deprivation. We underestimate this piece tremendously. Sleep is not a luxury when you are postpartum. It is a basic biological need, and yet new mothers can go days, weeks, and months without anything resembling restorative sleep. Your body is recovering from pregnancy and childbirth while your brain is operating on fragments of rest. You may be breastfeeding or pumping around the clock. You may be listening for every sound your baby makes. You may be waking up multiple times a night only to start the day again a few hours later. Eventually, exhaustion becomes more than being tired. It affects your ability to think clearly, regulate emotions, make decisions, and cope with stress.
I know this because I was living it and I am also a therapist. That is one of the strange contradictions of my own postpartum experience. I knew the terminology. I knew the warning signs. I knew what I would tell a client sitting across from me. I understood that postpartum depression was a medical condition and not a reflection of someone’s ability to be a mother. I knew that asking for help was important. But knowing something intellectually does not make you immune to experiencing it. Being a therapist did not give me some magical shield against hormones, sleep deprivation, anxiety, depression, or the enormous identity shift that comes with becoming a mother. If anything, sometimes knowing what you are supposed to be doing adds another layer of guilt when you cannot seem to make yourself do it.
That is why I think so many mothers have had an emotional reaction to this case that may be difficult for other people to understand. For women who have experienced severe postpartum depression, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive symptoms, or other postpartum struggles, this story can take us back to a version of ourselves that felt incredibly vulnerable. It can remind us of the fear of not feeling like ourselves. It can remind us of thoughts we didn’t ask for, emotions that felt too big, and moments when we wondered when we were going to feel normal again. It can make us look at our children and think, I cannot imagine hurting you. And then, in the quietest and most frightening part of our minds, ask, But what if I had gotten sicker? What if I had lost more control? What if someone hadn’t noticed?
That question does not mean we believe we would have done what happened in this case. It means we understand something about being psychologically overwhelmed that perhaps we did not understand before we became mothers. We understand that mental illness can take away the sense of control we assume we will always have. We understand that there are moments when you can know something rationally and still feel completely consumed by something emotionally. We understand how frightening it can be to realize that you don’t recognize yourself.
And that is why postpartum mental health needs to be taken seriously long before a crisis occurs. A mother does not have to be suicidal or psychotic to deserve help. She does not have to be unable to care for her baby. She does not have to be crying every day. Sometimes the first sign is simply that she isn’t herself anymore. Maybe she has stopped sleeping even when someone else offers to take the baby. Maybe she is constantly anxious and cannot turn her brain off. Maybe she is increasingly irritable or angry. Maybe she has become withdrawn. Maybe she keeps saying that something terrible is going to happen. Maybe she is experiencing intrusive thoughts that terrify her. Maybe she feels completely numb. Maybe she tells you, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I don’t feel right.”
Listen to her.
Partners and family members have an enormous role here because the person experiencing postpartum mental illness may not always be the person who recognizes how serious it has become. Sometimes she is too exhausted to recognize it. Sometimes she thinks this is simply what motherhood feels like. Sometimes she is ashamed. Sometimes she is terrified that admitting she is struggling will make people think she is a bad mother. Sometimes she may know something is wrong but feel too overwhelmed to figure out what to do next.
This is why “Let me know if you need anything” is not always enough. A woman who is barely functioning may not know what she needs. She may not have the energy to delegate tasks. She may not know how to explain what is happening. Instead, help her. Bring her dinner. Take the baby so she can sleep. Do the laundry. Handle the visitors. Cancel plans. Make the appointment. Sit beside her while she calls her doctor. Ask her specific questions. Tell her what you have noticed. Most importantly, don’t assume that because she is caring for her baby, smiling for pictures, showering, or showing up to appointments that she must be okay.
Pay attention to significant changes. If she suddenly cannot sleep, even when the baby is sleeping, that matters. If she becomes unusually energized despite getting very little sleep, increasingly agitated, paranoid, confused, or disconnected, that matters. If she begins saying things that don’t make sense, hears or sees things other people don’t, or seems to have lost touch with reality, that matters tremendously. Postpartum psychosis is rare, but it is a psychiatric emergency. In those situations, she needs immediate professional help and should not be left alone with the baby.
But even before it reaches that point, believe her when she says she isn’t okay.
One of the things I wish we talked about more is that a mother can be deeply in love with her baby and still be deeply unwell. Those things can exist at the exact same time. You can look at your child and feel an indescribable amount of love while also desperately wishing you could disappear for a few hours. You can be grateful for your baby and hate what your life currently feels like. You can want motherhood and struggle with motherhood. You can be a wonderful mother and need medication. You can be a wonderful mother and need therapy. You can be a wonderful mother and need someone else to take the baby while you sleep.
None of those things make you a bad mother.
The Lindsay Clancy case has brought some of the most devastating possibilities of postpartum mental illness into the public conversation. I don’t pretend to know every detail of her circumstances, and I don’t believe understanding postpartum psychiatric illness erases the devastation experienced by her children and family or answers every question surrounding the case. But I do think it has reminded us that postpartum mental health cannot be treated as an afterthought. We cannot wait until a woman is in crisis before we decide her mental health matters. We cannot assume that love will protect her from illness. And we cannot leave mothers and their partners to figure this out on their own.
My own experience with severe postpartum depression changed the way I see motherhood. It changed the way I see women. It changed the way I practice as a therapist. Most importantly, it taught me that there is an enormous difference between understanding something clinically and experiencing it personally. I knew postpartum depression existed. I understood it professionally. But experiencing it taught me what it actually feels like to be a mother who loves her children more than anything and still feels completely overwhelmed by her own mind and body.
That is why this story has stayed with me.
Not because I look at it and think, that could have been me.
But because I look at it and remember a time when I did not feel completely in control of myself, and I understand why so many mothers are quietly asking themselves the same terrifying question.
What if that had been me?
And maybe instead of judging mothers for having that thought, we should use it to start a more honest conversation about postpartum mental health. About how vulnerable women are during this period. About how much support they actually need. About how important sleep is. About how partners need to be watching, listening, and participating. About how providers need to communicate. And about how a mother saying, “I am not okay,” should never be met with dismissal, shame, or the assumption that she simply needs to try harder.
Because postpartum is not just a season of sleepless nights and learning how to change diapers. It is a massive psychological, physical, hormonal, and emotional transition. Sometimes it is beautiful. Sometimes it is brutal. Sometimes it is both in the same hour.
And sometimes the woman who loves her baby more than anything is the woman who needs someone to look at her and say, “I see you. I know this isn’t just being tired. You don’t have to do this alone.”
I know now that asking for help does not make you less of a mother.
Sometimes asking for help is exactly what makes you the mother your baby needs.
