She stood silently in court on Tuesday morning, 57 years old, a blank stare emanating from her round, watery eyes, accused of the unthinkable: shooting1 two attorneys outside the Wake County, North Carolina courthouse.2 The judge discussed bond. Attorneys discussed proceedings. Some mentioned competency. And so in the midst of that legal machinery, the question of her mental state surfaced…again.
But this time, after violence.
And I can’t stop thinking about the terrible timing of our compassion.
Because this is how it so often works, isn’t it?
We wring our hands after the fact. We ask what signs were missed. We debate treatment, mental faculty, danger, responsibility—but those questions arise only when someone is pushed to the brink. When they become suicidal, homicidal, incarcerated, or shattered enough to make the news.
I believe we have this wrong.
There has to be something between doing nothing and catastrophe.
In that middle space—the place where people are clearly unraveling, but not yet legally dangerous—there is a lot of talk, but very little action.
Families see it. Friends see it. Neighbors see it. People post about it on social media. Coworkers whisper about it. Everyone quietly acknowledges that something is “off,” while simultaneously feeling powerless to intervene in any meaningful way.
And yes, there are valid reasons we became cautious.
We learned hard lessons from the past. Institutions dehumanized people. Power was abused. People’s rights were trampled. Mental illness was misunderstood, stigmatized, and, at times, brutally “treated” with all manners of over-invasive interventions and torture. Nobody wants a return to the horrors portrayed in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
But how did our answer become the opposite extreme?
How did we arrive at a system where families, friends, coworkers and neighbors are often told, in effect: Come back when they’re actively dangerous? In most states, there’s often little anyone can do until someone meets a very high legal threshold for intervention.
Why must we wait for an even horizon to ask for help? Why is it so impossible to seek intervention? Why does it frequently come only after someone loses everything—or someone else does?
Surely there is a wiser middle.
There has to be something between neglect and catastrophe!
Compassion doesn’t have to materialize into stripping people of dignity, autonomy, or rights. I believe we are smart enough as a society to create systems that allow earlier intervention, stronger support, and meaningful treatment.
All before tragedy becomes the thing that finally gets everyone’s attention.
Because waiting until someone harms themselves—or someone else—is not prevention. It’s aftermath.
And, preventive help is moot when the damage is already done.