If you haven’t noticed the seemingly endless parade of white women doing choreographed dances or expressing emotional rants while holding a baby—and all tagging it with “Same Lindsay”—then where have you been? Seriously, it’s hard to escape.
But really? If you’re relating to “Same Lindsay” while cradling a child, maybe it’s time, I think, to consider adding some demographic info to your video. Just so, you know, authorities can be alerted. These women, they call for a deeper look. Their kids need checks. I mean, if a mother connects herself to someone who harmed their own children, it’s raises serious concerns, not empathy.
I’ve mentioned this previously, but let me reiterate: while hitting my 40s isn’t my favorite thing, I do appreciate being part of a generation that still values accountability and basic kindness.
I feel fortunate for that guidance. Growing up, I witnessed significant events like the Oklahoma City bombing, Columbine, and September 11th. By the time I turned 22, I had developed a solid sense of empathy, along with a strong belief in accountability and justice.
The details still linger in my mind: “Houston woman drowns her five children.” I had just finished college when I heard that news, and I remember gasping. Pictures of Andrea Yates’ deceased kids were showcased, followed by video of her being led away by police—her kids first, then her. She appeared worn down, exhausted, looking very much like someone capable of such horror. No one stood up for her. Not even she did. She confessed with little emotion. While experts recognized her mental health struggles, they also saw a vacant stare—a glaring emptiness.
There weren’t T-shirts for her. No coordinated dances. No videos of support. Even back in 2001, before social media dominated, I can’t picture my Gen X peers crying for her instead of her children.
Fast forward over two decades, and we’re now making extensive arguments in favor of Lindsay Clancy. There’s a never-ending stream of justifications. Somehow, she’s portrayed as the victim. Her demeanor even starkly contrasts with Andrea’s. Clancy has been seen smiling alongside her lawyer, breaks into tears in court—it’s almost like a performance. Unlike the vacantness of Yates, Clancy shows something different.
This wave of misguided sympathy feels very much like a Gen Z phenomenon. I observed it closely in a master’s program for mental health counseling. These were going to be the therapists of tomorrow—the same individuals who believed that America deserved 9/11 or celebrated the tragic events of October 7th. They often treated evil as if it were just the misunderstood, poor sibling and tried to dismantle anyone who disagreed.
Now, we’re expected to believe that Lindsay Clancy should be set free because “the mental health system failed her.” Seriously?
I’ve spent years alongside those being trained to manage that very system. Many of them share the same worldview as her: viewing everyone as victims, labeling accountability as abuse, and always looking to blame others. Clancy suggests the mental health system failed her. From my perspective, they appear to resonate with each other rather than fail.
This isn’t just about students. Licensed professionals are openly voicing similar sentiments. One recently defended Clancy, stating “many of us see ourselves in Lindsay” and that “many of us know we could have been just one step away from [taking our children’s lives].” When those set to safeguard vulnerable individuals begin to identify with someone who harmed their children, well, that indicates a major issue. The expectations have plummeted; it’s alarming how often those educated women stumble over it. Self-awareness? Zero. Logical reasoning? Zero. Displaying disturbing behavior? Perfect score.
Back when Andrea Yates drowned her children, the focus was on the children. We recognized their faces. We knew their names. We understood who had lost everything.
Today, three more children are gone, and it feels like the narrative has shifted. Cora, Dawson, and Callan Clancy have become side characters in their tragic story, while others dance, mourn, and proclaim “Same Lindsay.”
This illustrates the shift from then to now. Andrea Yates suffered from mental illness, and we still mourned for her children. Lindsay Clancy may have her own struggles, too. But somehow, we’ve moved from recognizing mental illness as a factor to transforming our sympathy, our attention, and even the label of “victim” from the deceased children to their mother.
No amount of choreographed routines, tearful videos, or “Same Lindsay” posts can alter that reality. The children still lost their lives. And we’re left with a decision: make excuses for those responsible or finally recognize who the real victims are.
Do I support Lindsay Clancy? Absolutely not. And neither should you.
