I’ve seen some of the discussions surrounding the Lindsay Clancy case, and I’ve seen people defending her, excusing what happened, and even arguing that her husband was actually responsible.
So let me clarify something.
I don’t know what happened with absolute certainty.
I wasn’t there. I don’t have access to every piece of evidence presented in court. And ultimately, that’s what trials are supposed to determine.
But Lindsay Clancy is the person on trial.
Not her husband.
And while I’ll grant that her husband’s behavior has raised questions for some people—because, yes, some of his actions and reactions have struck people as unusual—that doesn’t automatically mean he killed those children.
Suspicious behavior isn’t the same thing as proof.
If Lindsay did it, which I personally believe she did based on the evidence and arguments I’ve discussed in my previous post, then she needs to be held accountable.
And if her husband did it, then he needs to be held accountable.
If they both did it, then both need to be held accountable.
And if somehow neither of them did it, then whoever actually did it needs to be held accountable.
The children deserve justice regardless.
And this is where I have a serious problem with people using mental illness as a blanket excuse.
Because if we start treating every horrific act committed by someone with a psychiatric condition as something that should automatically be forgiven or excused, we create another problem.
We make people with mental illnesses and disabilities even more heavily scrutinized.
We reinforce the idea that people taking psychiatric medication are somehow ticking time bombs.
We make people afraid to seek treatment because they don’t want to be associated with violent stereotypes.
And we give bad actors an excuse to hide behind a diagnosis.
That’s not compassion.
That’s stigma.
Mental illness should be taken seriously. Medication should be taken seriously. Postpartum conditions should be taken seriously. The medical system should be held accountable when it fails people.
But accountability and compassion aren’t opposites.
You can say someone was failed by the medical system while still saying they are responsible for what they did.
And that’s important because otherwise we’re basically telling people that privilege can become a shield from accountability.
That’s dangerous.
Because justice shouldn’t depend on whether the defendant looks sympathetic.
It shouldn’t depend on whether they’re a mother.
It shouldn’t depend on whether they’re white.
It shouldn’t depend on whether they have money, status, or a compelling medical history.
And it shouldn’t depend on whether the public finds their story easier to sympathize with.
The standard should be the same:
What happened? Who did it? What can actually be proven? And what accountability is appropriate?
I don’t know for certain what happened in that house.
Maybe Lindsay did it.
Maybe her husband did it.
Maybe both were involved.
Maybe the evidence ultimately points somewhere else entirely.
But I’m not going to turn either of the adults into the “real victim” while three children are dead.
The children are the victims.
And whatever failures happened before that tragedy—whether medical, familial, institutional, or otherwise—those failures deserve scrutiny too.
Justice for the children.
And justice for everyone who gets failed by a medical system that is supposed to help them.
That’s where my concern ultimately lies.
And Then There’s the Part We Don’t Talk About Enough: Privilege
There’s another part of the Lindsay Clancy case that I mentioned in my previous post, but I want to expand on it.
White privilege.
More specifically, what I would describe as suburban white woman privilege.
Or, in the language we’ve all become familiar with:
Karen privilege.
Now, before somebody gets mad at me, I’m not saying that being white or being a suburban woman automatically makes someone a bad person. Obviously not.
I’m talking about the way privilege can sometimes affect how society responds to someone when they’re accused of doing something wrong.
And that’s what I see when I look at the discussion surrounding this case.
To me, the whole thing sometimes comes across as:
“It wasn’t really her fault.”
“Someone else failed her.”
“The doctors failed her.”
“The medication failed her.”
“Her husband did it.”
“She was suffering.”
“She was the victim.”
And eventually, after enough excuses get stacked on top of each other, you can almost forget the most basic question:
What about accountability?
And that’s what makes me think of the stereotypical “Karen.”
Because how many Karen stories have we seen where someone gets confronted about their own behavior and immediately starts looking for somebody else to blame?
The employee.
The manager.
The neighbor.
The police.
The government.
The doctor.
The stranger.
Literally anybody except themselves.
Again, I’m not saying Lindsay Clancy is a “Karen” simply because she’s a white woman.
I’m saying the behavior we’re seeing in the public narrative reminds me of that pattern.
Someone does something wrong, and instead of asking whether they should be held accountable, the conversation becomes an endless search for an explanation that absolves them.
And that’s where privilege becomes relevant.
Because not everyone gets that luxury.
There are plenty of people who commit crimes and don’t get their entire life story turned into an explanation for why they’re actually the victim.
There are plenty of mentally ill people who don’t get the benefit of the doubt.
There are plenty of poor people who don’t get sympathetic narratives about how the system failed them.
There are plenty of people of color who don’t get treated as complicated human beings when they’re accused of something horrific.
And there are plenty of disabled people who are instead treated as dangerous because of their disability.
So when someone who already fits society’s image of a sympathetic victim receives an enormous amount of understanding and excuses, I think it’s fair to ask:
Would we be having the same conversation if the defendant looked different?
That’s the uncomfortable question.
And here’s the irony:
If we excuse horrific behavior by saying, “Well, she had a mental illness,” we’re not necessarily helping mentally ill people.
We might actually be hurting them.
Because now you’re reinforcing the stereotype that mental illness means someone is inherently unpredictable, dangerous, or incapable of responsibility.
That’s not what mental illness means.
People with mental illnesses are not automatically violent.
People taking psychiatric medication are not automatically dangerous.
People experiencing postpartum depression or postpartum psychosis are not automatically murderers.
And we shouldn’t treat them that way.
But we also shouldn’t pretend that a diagnosis automatically erases accountability.
Explanation is not the same thing as exoneration.
And privilege shouldn’t become a substitute for justice.
I don’t know exactly what happened in that house.
I’ve said that repeatedly.
If Lindsay did it, hold Lindsay accountable.
If her husband did it, hold him accountable.
If both were involved, hold both accountable.
If the evidence ultimately proves something completely different, then follow the evidence.
But whoever is responsible, don’t lose sight of the three children who are no longer here.
Because this shouldn’t ultimately be about protecting the reputation of a suburban white mother.
It shouldn’t be about finding the most sympathetic explanation.
It shouldn’t be about turning the accused into the victim.
It should be about finding the truth.
And getting justice for the children.