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*Editor’s Note: Elephant Journal articles represent the personal views of the authors, and can not possibly reflect Elephant Journal as a whole. Disagree with an Op-Ed or opinion? We’re happy to share your experience here.
As women, our strongest innate desire is to be seen and heard.
To be truly valued. Not just in the workplace, our families or relationships, but by the world. And perhaps this is still a left over generational wound from the time that we were only seen as wombs, housekeepers, and child care providers, but just maybe it’s because in many ways we still are.
We can tout all the reasons why as women we are so much better off. Yet, these reasons are often spoken to us by those who make it seem that we should be grateful we can work, vote, or own our homes; after all, it’s our fault for the male loneliness epidemic, is it not? But in truth, telling anyone they should be grateful because they have basic needs is gaslighting them from what they actually deserve.
Those who condemn the upwelling of world wide support for Lindsay Clancy mention the multiple reasons or viewpoints of her supporters as being a reason why it’s ridiculous and unfounded. Yet, that actually is the point. As women, as heartbreaking, and triggering as it may be, we see ourselves in Lindsay Clancy.
What makes this case, and situation, so unique is that there isn’t just one theme present. This isn’t solely about her mental health, it’s not just about what her marriage was like, nor is it all about the epic failures of her medical team.
It’s about what she actually represents to women, because no matter what view point we take, we can all see ourselves in her.
We know very well about the “boys trips” and “business trips” that our partners take.
We know what it feels like to be the woman that’s tolerated in their life because they have to come to prefer the company of another.
We know what it’s like to feel that we are the only one that can keep it all together.
We know what it means to feel like we’re screaming into the abyss to be seen and heard and still expected to function as a normal human being.
We know what it’s like to be ignored by doctors, to be told that we’re okay, and that all it takes is a new prescription to make us feel better.
We know what that time post-partum feels like, the many ways we don’t feel like ourselves and how isolating it can be.
We know what it feels like to be utterly alone in our struggles.
Yet, we also know what it feels like to be manipulated by a man with narcissistic tendencies.
We know how it feels to be ignored, made to be the scapegoat of all that is difficult or challenging.
And we also know what it means to begin to question our own reality because of our romantic partner.
This isn’t about what Lindsay Clancy did or didn’t do—although I think for many, the details and what has come out in this trial doesn’t actually make logical sense, at least for those willing to still question what we’re told.
It’s about how this case that has gotten so much attention actually speaks to the fact that still in 2026, women are not seen or heard. Still in 2026, postpartum mental health conditions are not listed alone in the DSM-5, the manual for diagnosing and treating depression or psychosis. It’s about the lack of research, care, and community for women.
Because the secret to improving how things are isn’t found in a pill, but in all of us knowing we’re not alone.
It’s about no matter how many basic rights that we’ve been given as women, we still aren’t truly seen or heard. Not by the doctors in our lives, family, and many times even our partners. This is why her case speaks to us, and why that support has become overwhelming in recent weeks. And why we can all see ourselves in Lindsay Clancy.
Like so many, I too can see myself in what has come out about her story. The video of them at the children’s museum could have been my life at one point. I have had three pregnancies, and two daughters. I’ve had to struggle to say I know something is wrong, and still be turned away. I’ve sat and watched on a monitor an embryo that stopped developing, being told the words miscarriage, alone as my partner was at his weekly golf league. I’ve been the one getting up in the middle of the night, pumping at work, and figuring out how to do it all and somehow still not lose myself. But I’ve also been on the receiving end of manipulation and abuse. Coercive control. Being told that I must have schizophrenia like my biological father, because why else would I want to leave. That I should check myself into a mental health facility. And then the overwhelming weight of being the only one who actually is showing up, knowing there is no other option even if I don’t know how I’ll actually do it.
And I am just one woman, one voice, just as Lindsay is.
But when so many of our stories start to sound the same, when our experiences start to feel similar, then we can see this isn’t about the outcome of a trial, but how we are going to improve post-partum care, our community standards, and awareness of the many shades of abuse. Because if a cis, relatively affluent, educated white woman isn’t being seen or heard by her medical team, then what does that mean for those who don’t fit that type? Our black and brown sisters, and the fact that the mortality rate for them in pregnancy and post-partum is even higher. This conversation may have started in a small seaside community in New England, but it’s one that effects every corner of our country—and even world.
Women are whole all on our own.
Not only do we not need others telling us what we can or can’t do with our bodies, but we also need to be seen and heard about what it is we do need. We need to remember that historically women came together to birth and raise our children. That we were never meant to do this all by ourselves, cut off from the bonds that bring support. We deserve better care, and to also understand that we’re also worthy of truly healthy relationships. And it shouldn’t depend on the melanin in our skin or our level of education in order for us to receive all of that. Because it’s not just one type of woman that is whole and deserving, but each one of us.
And that is why we can see ourselves in Lindsay Clancy, and why our hearts break for her story; because we know it could have also been ours.
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