I always worry about letting my thoughts out. I mean, I write in a journal, but even here, I find myself being careful about what I put down. Sometimes I think I’m almost too careful.

One of the reasons I don’t usually talk much about the news or current events is because I’m very cautious about sharing my opinions with other people. I worry about how my thoughts will be received, whether someone will misunderstand what I mean, or whether I’ll face some kind of backlash for saying the wrong thing. I know that not everyone is going to agree with me, and I understand that disagreement is a normal part of having conversations. But I’m sensitive, and I tend to take criticism personally, even when it isn’t necessarily meant that way.

Because of that, putting myself out there can be really difficult. Sometimes it feels safer to stay quiet, listen to everyone else, and keep my thoughts to myself. There’s a certain comfort in not saying anything because, if I don’t share my opinion, no one can criticize me for it.

But at the same time, I sometimes worry that staying quiet creates a different problem. If I never tell people what I think, they might assume I don’t have anything to say. They might think I’m uninterested, uninformed, or that I simply don’t have opinions about the things happening around me. And that isn’t true at all. I have plenty of thoughts. I notice things. I think about what’s happening in the world. I just don’t always feel comfortable letting people see what’s going on inside my head.

I suppose that’s the frustrating part. I want to be able to express myself without constantly worrying about how other people will react. I want to be able to have an opinion without feeling like I have to defend it perfectly or prepare myself for someone to challenge me. I know I can’t control how other people respond to me, and I know that being willing to speak honestly means accepting some degree of disagreement or criticism.

Maybe the bigger challenge for me is learning that being careful and being silent aren’t necessarily the same thing. I can be thoughtful about what I say without hiding everything I think. I can be sensitive and still have a voice. I can express an opinion without needing everyone else to agree with me.

I think that’s something I’m still learning: that my thoughts are worth sharing, even when they aren’t perfectly formed, even when someone might disagree, and even when putting them out there makes me feel vulnerable.

This is a case that has really stayed with me. I’ve looked into the Lindsay Clancy case because several people have asked me about it, and it’s such a difficult and heartbreaking situation.

I feel compassion for Lindsay and what she was experiencing with postpartum depression and the mental-health crisis surrounding it. At the same time, my heart breaks for the children and for everyone affected by what happened. I also have a lot of questions about the role of the medical team and whether Lindsay’s condition was taken seriously enough or whether more could have been done to help her.

I can also understand why people have questions about her husband and whether he failed to protect his children. That is a much more complicated question, though, and I think it’s important to separate what we feel should have happened from what can actually be established as responsibility or legal guilt.

A friend recently pointed out to me that he has since moved on, remarried, and had another child. That made me think about how we interpret someone’s behavior after an unimaginable tragedy.

But does moving on, remarrying, or having another child actually make him look guilty? I don’t think we can fairly say that it does. People process grief in radically different ways, and rebuilding a life doesn’t necessarily mean someone feels less grief or remorse. At the same time, I understand why some people might find it difficult to watch someone seemingly move forward while the tragedy is still so emotionally raw.

This is one of those cases where sympathy, accountability, and questions about other people’s responsibility can all exist at the same time. The jury is hearing closing arguments and is beginning deliberations today. This is such a hard case for these jurors. I’m interested to see what they decide.

My view of Lindsay

I have sympathy for Lindsay without excusing what she did.

The strongest argument for compassion is that there appears to be substantial evidence that she was experiencing a profound psychiatric crisis. She had been struggling with depression, anxiety, insomnia, suicidal thoughts and disturbing thoughts involving her children. She sought professional treatment and had even been hospitalized shortly before the killings. A defense expert testified that she was experiencing postpartum psychosis and command hallucinations.

That’s important because postpartum psychosis isn’t simply “being depressed” or “being overwhelmed.” In its most severe form, a person can lose contact with reality.

But I also understand the prosecution’s argument. There is evidence suggesting she was capable of organized, purposeful behavior that day: she took the children to a doctor’s appointment, played with them, and prosecutors say she arranged for Patrick to leave the house before the crime. Their experts argue this doesn’t look like someone completely detached from reality.

That’s why I think the insanity question is genuinely difficult. It’s not simply:

“Did she kill them?”

She did.

The much harder question is:

“What was happening inside her mind at the exact moment she killed them, and did that mental state eliminate her legal responsibility?”

Those are very different questions.

My view of Patrick

Based on the evidence publicly presented so far, I don’t think there’s a factual basis for saying he’s equally criminally responsible for the children’s deaths.

But I do think it’s reasonable to scrutinize his decisions.

He knew Lindsay was having serious mental-health problems. He testified that she had talked about thoughts of harming the children and that she had expressed suicidal thoughts. She had also received inpatient psychiatric treatment shortly before the killings. Yet he said nobody specifically told him that he shouldn’t leave her alone with the children. But he knew that she was having thoughts of harming them. So why would he leave them alone with her with knowing that she was having thoughts of harming the kids? Did he not take her seriously? It’s hard to believe that he took her seriously and then leave the kids alone with her.

That creates an uncomfortable question:

At what point does a spouse’s responsibility for protecting a vulnerable partner and children become more than simply being a supportive spouse?

I don’t think we have enough evidence to answer that with “Patrick was equally guilty.” He wasn’t the person who committed the crime, and the evidence presented publicly doesn’t establish that he knew she was about to do the crime.

In fact, there’s evidence pointing in the opposite direction: Patrick apparently believed she was improving, and he described the hours before the crime as one of her better periods.

And there’s something else I think is important: Patrick has subsequently sued the mental-health providers, alleging that negligent treatment contributed to the deaths. That doesn’t prove his position is correct, but it makes the situation more complicated than the simple internet narrative that he just “didn’t care.” I still ask the question of why did he leave the kids alone with her, even after thinking she was improving but had no proof of that.

My view of the mental health system

I actually think the most interesting question isn’t Lindsay vs. Patrick.

It’s the question of how much responsibility belongs to the mental-health system surrounding them.

Lindsay was apparently repeatedly signaling that something was seriously wrong. She sought treatment. Her medications were changed. She reported disturbing thoughts. She was hospitalized. People around her knew she wasn’t herself.

And yet somehow the system didn’t prevent the catastrophe.

That doesn’t necessarily mean her doctors committed malpractice or that Patrick should have known exactly what was coming. But it does suggest a terrifying failure of multiple safeguards.

That’s also why I don’t find it contradictory to say:

“Lindsay committed an absolutely horrific act, and I feel compassion for the person she apparently was before and during her psychiatric deterioration.”

Those two statements can coexist.

And if the jury ultimately finds her not criminally responsible because of insanity, that wouldn’t mean “she didn’t do it.” It would mean they found that her mental state met the very high legal standard for removing criminal responsibility. She would still be subject to psychiatric commitment rather than simply walking free.

If she’s found criminally responsible, I also wouldn’t interpret that as meaning “mental illness had nothing to do with this.” It could simply mean that the jury concluded her illness didn’t reach the legal threshold required for an insanity defense.

This is one of those cases where I think it’s possible to feel compassion and disbelief for Lindsay, enormous grief for the children, and anger at the medical system all at once. I think it’s hard to identify one person as the sole explanation for an incredibly complicated tragedy.

And if you are wondering how I’m feeling today, I’m feeling good. I felt a little lost this morning, but I started the laundry and began studying. I also rode the bike today. I feel a little more in control of myself today. And I don’t feel irritable right now, though I was this morning. On Saturday, I take the whole pill of Ritalin instead of half of the pill that I’ve been taking this week. I’m a little worried about that. How will this make me feel?

I got six emails from Classmates.com about someone going to my profile and Kevin’s profile. I even got a private message from the person. It’s so weird. I don’t know her and I don’t recognize the name. But I’m not paying Classmates.com to read the message. I’m curious, but not that curious. I’ll ask on FaceBook if anyone recognizes the name.