Lindsay Clancy has admitted to killing her three young children. She confessed to strangling each of them with elastic exercise bands. There is no uncertainty about what happened, but her defense has emphasized that Clancy was suffering from postpartum depression and perhaps even postpartum psychosis. Some have suggested that these conditions explain her unspeakable actions. In some ways, we understand the possibility of that.
Yet what remains far more difficult to understand is the overwhelming wave of support for Clancy that has surged in recent weeks as more than 300 women, all dressed in pink, have descended on the courthouse to not only defend her murderous actions but to join with her by carrying signs and telling media reporters that they, too, could have murdered their own children. In the process, they are eclipsing the children whose lives she ended.
This is not just a local story of Boston-area moms who are rallying to support one of their own. It is an international story, as social media has made Clancy into a martyr who is being persecuted by a cruel justice system. Across TikTok, thousands of women around the world are posting videos in which they claim that they, too, could have killed their own children. There have been TikTok reenactments posted of Clancy’s attempted suicide.
Across TikTok, thousands of women around the world are posting videos in which they claim that they, too, could have killed their own children.Tweet ThisWhat began as a localized show of support has metastasized into a global circus of identification with Clancy as women repeat the same script. It all suggests that when women feel overwhelmed or unsupported, it is understandable—even inevitable—that they would be driven to kill their own children. In echoing these claims, these women are universalizing her murderous actions, turning a singular horror into a shared possibility.
It is not surprising that TikTok was used to spread this kind of moral contagion because it regularly rewards emotional confession, uniformity, and rapid imitation. Unlike other platforms, like Facebook or even Instagram, TikTok’s algorithm elevates short and emotional videos that present motherhood as a site of constant crisis. TikTok has always invited users to identify with whoever feels most victimized. A recurring TikTok trope seems to be some young woman—immaculate manicure, flawless makeup and hair—sitting in her car, crying on camera over one trauma or another. Motherhood is often presented as a site of constant crisis.
In this environment, young mothers on TikTok are encouraged to narrate their darkest impulses as a form of communal bonding. These narratives are repeated, inviting imitation. As a result, the claim, “I could have done the same,” spread because TikTok amplifies whatever emotional narrative generates the most clicks. The “women in pink” cohort includes people who have chosen to turn the trial into a participatory spectacle. Their concern emerged because they have become convinced that mothers are judged unfairly.
The first women who publicly forgave Clancy broke a moral taboo by pardoning a mother who killed her children. Once that taboo was broken, others were given permission to do the same. The more visible the forgiveness becomes in terms of the pink shirts, hashtags, rallies, and signs, the more it normalizes the idea that Clancy is a victim of a patriarchal society that demeans motherhood.
The act of choosing to wear pink is itself a statement on softness and motherhood. Pink is a classic marker of mimetic alignment, as it signals maternal virtue and demonstrates a collective performance of solidarity. Instead of condemning the murderous act, supporters elevate Clancy into a martyr-like figure and reinterpret her actions through a narrative of suffering or divine tragedy.
Sacralization is really an important part of social contagion because once a tragic figure like Clancy is symbolically purified, few are allowed to publicly dissent from this perspective without become social pariahs in their cohort. The narrative has redefined Clancy as the victim, and her precious children have been forgotten, just as the father of these children has become invisible—except for a few unhinged celebrities who are trying to suggest that it was actually the father who killed the children.
The narrative has redefined Clancy as the victim, and her precious children have been forgotten, just as the father of these children has become invisibleTweet ThisEven the language used by Clancy’s supporters—including “she was failed” by the medical system or “this could happen to me or to my sister”—spreads rapidly through social contagion because it offers a comforting narrative. It is a narrative that allows mothers to imagine Clancy and themselves as vulnerable rather than culpable. And as with all episodes of social contagion, support for Clancy and those who forgive her emerged from specific online communities of suburban mother networks. Contagion thrives in these types of tight clusters where emotional narratives spread quickly and facts are forgotten.
In the end, the Clancy tragedy shows how quickly an online community can turn a vicious crime into a shared emotional narrative. It is difficult to say exactly when this horrific crime stopped being about three murdered children. But it is clear that social contagion has now persuaded thousands of women that the one who killed those children is the one who needs protecting.
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