Elizabeth Packard’s case is a wild ride and a stark example of how women could be railroaded in the 19th century. Born in 1816 in Massachusetts, Elizabeth married Theophilus Packard, a Calvinist minister, in 1839. They settled in Illinois and had six kids. Things seemed fine until the 1860s, when Elizabeth, in her 40s, started openly challenging her husband’s strict religious views. She’d begun leaning toward more progressive spiritual ideas, like those of the Methodists and Spiritualists, and wasn’t shy about debating him—publicly and privately. Big mistake in his eyes.

Theophilus, feeling his authority threatened (and probably embarrassed), decided she was unhinged. In 1860, he conspired with a doctor to have her declared insane. At the time, Illinois law allowed a husband to commit his wife to an asylum without a public hearing or her consent—just a doctor’s sign-off was enough. On June 18, 1860, he had her forcibly taken from their home and locked up in the Illinois State Hospital in Jacksonville. Her diagnosis? "Moral insanity," a vague term often used to punish women who defied norms. Her real crime: being outspoken and disagreeing with him.

Inside the asylum, Elizabeth endured three years of hell—overcrowding, poor food, and a system designed to break spirits. But she wasn’t your average Victorian wallflower. She kept her wits, documented everything, and even helped other patients. Her kids and some allies outside started pushing for her release, and in 1863, public pressure forced a review. The asylum’s superintendent, Dr. Andrew McFarland, initially backed her husband but later flip-flopped, declaring her sane after she wouldn’t stop challenging the system. She was released in 1863—but not before Theophilus tried to kidnap her back into confinement. She escaped that too.

Elizabeth didn’t just walk away. She turned her ordeal into a crusade, writing books like The Prisoners' Hidden Life (1868) and lobbying for legal reforms. Her efforts paid off: Illinois changed its laws in 1867 to require a jury trial before someone could be committed, and other states followed suit. She also took Theophilus to court over property rights (he’d tried to cut her off financially), winning a landmark case in 1864 that gave her back her independence.

Her story’s a gut-punch—shows how a woman’s voice could be weaponized against her, but also how she could fight back and win.