WATCHING THE LINDSAY

Watching the Lindsay Clancy trial as a mother makes me fucking furious. Postpartum depression and postpartum rage. I have felt deprivation, hormone isolation, and having tiny humans need fucking second can do to your brain. And I had help. Involved husband who actually parents his children. And I still struggle. Of my village, crickets guys. And that's the part nobody wants to talk about. We have dismantled while keeping every single expectation to help women carry. Now one woman is supposed to be the entire village. And patriarchy fucking loves this. Be the primary parent, run the house, carry the mental load, sacrifice your sleep, your identity. And call it the most beautiful job in the world. But don't you dare struggle with it. Don't you dare resent it. And fuck better not. Because then the same society that told you a good mother sacrifice everything, suddenly wants to know what's wrong with you. Postpartum psychosis is different than what I have experienced personally. It can involve losing touch with reality. And Lindsay Lohan's mental state is exactly what this trial is deciding. But if she truly did not understand reality when her children, what exactly are we accomplishing by making the lucid mother sit there now and absorb every horrific detail of what she did? Her. She woke up. She woke up from a nightmare. She remembers that she had three babies has to live knowing they're gone because of her own hands. You couldn't design a crueler punishment. I don't need our society to become better at punishing broken mothers. I need it to become better at catching them before they fucking break. The village. And now we blame the mothers for drowning without said village.