Parents the world over struggled to grasp how or why Lindsay Clancy could kill her beloved kids. I, however, have insight. Within weeks of becoming a new mum, I couldn’t even look at my beautiful girl. This is my story of postpartum mental illness…

There are few crimes more shocking than a mother taking the lives of her children. It overturns one of our most fundamental human expectations: that a mother protects her child.

So it’s no wonder the world is transfixed by the Lindsay Clancy case, which sensationally was declared a mistrial last week.

Obviously, there is no dispute about what happened inside the mother of three’s Massachusetts home in January 2023.

The 36-year-old strangled her children – Cora, five, Dawson, three, and eight-month-old Callan – before attempting to take her own life by jumping from a second-storey window, leaving her paralysed.

But what also seems impossible to dispute is that she was suffering at the time from postpartum psychosis – a severe illness that can cause delusions, hallucinations and a devastating loss of contact with reality.

And that is why I find it so disturbing that, after a week of deliberations, the jurors could not all agree on what seems so painfully apparent.

The case has captured attention far beyond America, not least because it raises deeply uncomfortable questions about how we understand postpartum mental illness.

Those questions may be particularly stark in the US, which, unlike Ireland and Britain, has no specific infanticide law recognising the impact childbirth can have on a mother’s mental state.

But the lack of comprehension and the stigma of suffering from poor postpartum mental health exposed by the Clancy trial is certainly not confined to America.

For women the world over, this case is deeply triggering – particularly for those of us whose first weeks of motherhood bore little resemblance to the fabled baby bubble we were expecting, and was instead overshadowed by something akin to hell on earth.

When my first daughter was born in December 2014, following a traumatic labour and emergency Caesarean, I initially felt deliriously happy. 

I remember clearly how I could not sleep on the first night; my thoughts racing with excitement and this new, all-consuming love for my beautiful little girl.

Two weeks later, they were still racing – only now they were flooded with terror.

A fleeting thought – what if I dropped my baby? – would spark a relentless carousel of horrific scenarios. 

A fleeting thought – what if I dropped my baby? – would spark a relentless carousel of horrific scenarios. Almost any ordinary household object or scenario suddenly held sinister undertones. A bath, a blanket, a kitchen knife.

What if somehow, I harmed this tiny baby I adored?

One case I had read about two years earlier, involving a mother who killed her two young children, lodged itself in my brain and replayed endlessly.

I was so frightened I couldn’t sleep. I felt physically sick with fear. I couldn’t even look at my daughter. And perhaps most worryingly of all, I was too ashamed to tell anyone. Because what sort of mother has thoughts like that? Was I some kind of monster?

And perhaps most worryingly of all, I was too ashamed to tell anyone. Because what sort of mother has thoughts like that? Was I some kind of monster?

Thankfully, I confided in my husband, and eventually found myself sitting opposite psychiatrist Dr Anthony McCarthy at Holles Street, whose expertise and compassion saved my life. 

He explained how thoughts are not intentions. I had postpartum OCD and my thinking pattern was completely opposed to who I was.

I retained insight. I knew these thoughts were horrifying and irrational (that is importantly different from psychosis, where delusions or hallucinations are experienced as reality).

I was treated with medication, but it didn’t work straight away, and those six weeks remain among the darkest of my life. 

I remained suspended in fear; unable to truly bond with my baby. And worst of all, I thought I was an anomoly, that no other new mothers could ever have suffered this. 

I felt completely, terrifying alone – because nobody talked about this particular version of new motherhood.

Proper mental-health checks during the so-called fourth trimester should be a given, not something a woman accesses only when she reaches breaking point. We monitor babies relentlessly after birth – their weight, feeding, nappies, sleep and development – while too often asking new mothers little more than whether they are ‘doing OK’.

Proper mental-health checks during the so-called fourth trimester should be a given, not something a woman accesses only when she reaches breaking point. 

Ireland may be better equipped legally to understand mental illness in cases such as Clancy’s, but we still have much work to do. Initiatives such as the Year of Care campaign – founded by mum-of-two Aolish Gormley, following her own experience of delayed postnatal depression – calls for publicly funded postnatal support to extend from the six-week check to one year postpartum, with mental-health screening and treatment, physical recovery services and community-based support. 

Ireland may be better equipped legally to understand mental illness in cases such as Clancy’s, but we still have much work to do. 

Initiatives such as the Year of Care campaign – founded by mum-of-two Aolish Gormley, following her own experience of delayed postnatal depression – calls for publicly funded postnatal support to extend from the six-week check to one year postpartum, with mental-health screening and treatment, physical recovery services and community-based support. 

But perhaps the hardest thing to shift is the stigma around postpartum mental health; the lack of general understanding that new maternal love and mental illness can and do at times coexist.

In a perfect world, no mother would have to suffer such darkness, but life is rarely straightforward. What would help immeasurably is ensuring no woman believes she is alone in it.