The beginning of my nonprofit and why Robin Williams gets the credit
The beginning of my nonprofit and why Robin Williams gets the credit
In May of 2016, I showed up at a cattle ranch in Texas — on the verge of a social anxiety panic attack and unreasonably worried about scorpions.
This was all because of something I wrote the day Robin Williams died.
But let’s rewind about thirty years. When I was 14, I was hired to play Robin’s daughter in Mrs. Doubtfire. I was a Mork & Mindy fan so I knew who Robin was, but I had already been a working actor for a decade and knew plenty of famous people — so this was just another job. I had no idea how much Robin (and the movie, but that’s another story) would change my life.
Robin was caring and kind and treated me like one of his actual kids. He was open when he talked to me about mental health — both mine and his. He showed me that I didn’t need to feel ashamed of my anxiety and depression. He listened and made me feel that I was not alone. He modeled what it was to be generous of spirit.
Yeah, he was funny, too, but that is never what I think of when I remember him.
When Robin died, I wrote, because that’s what I do when I’m processing painful emotions. I wrote about loss and how people can impact your life forever by showing up when you need them. I shared a story about when Robin went out of his way to stand up for me when he really didn’t have to.
That article went viral and eventually found its way to a man named Carl, who ran a nonprofit for Veterans. He saw that I was teaching, writing, and speaking about mental health — and invited me to Texas to teach a class on writing to process emotions.
He asked if I had worked with Veterans before.
No. Definitely no.
I knew nothing about the military and was incredibly intimidated. What the hell was some former child actor going to say to a bunch of Veterans, many of whom had been through absolute hell? Why would I matter at all? What could we possibly have in common?
But I was writing my second book about mental health and figured it would make good content. Some vegetarian, Canadian hippie chick who couldn’t get through the first ten minutes of Saving Private Ryan — was going to make a fool out of herself in front of these American heroes. At least this clusterfuck would make for an amusing story.
So, eight years ago, I showed up to a 3000-acre cattle ranch and pulled open a massive barn door — which had a sign on it telling me to check my shoes for scorpions.
That experience shifted the trajectory of my work and my life. It wasn’t easy, and I did make a fool out of myself at times, but it became clear that working with Veterans was my path. I felt a sense of camaraderie I’d desperately missed since leaving the film industry. There was connection and compassion that went much deeper than the differences on the surface. I met some of the Veterans I still work with — those Veterans helped me co-create my own non-profit that is thriving today.
In a couple of weeks, I get to take Mission Flexible to that same 3000-acre cattle ranch. That ranch is where I showed up, a clueless civilian, and learned important things about how Marines eat crayons and that the Air Force doesn’t really count.
This will be our ninth Mission Flexible retreat, and it’s a full-circle moment. I’m in awe at what we have created with this organization.
Over four days in September, we will do yoga, meditation, therapeutic writing, archery, equine therapy, art therapy, cold plunge, and spa night. We’ll meet new friends and reconnect with old battle buddies. We will talk about loss and shame and moral injury and healing—and we’ll laugh about absolute nonsense. We’ll paint each other’s nails, wear animal onesies, and learn to breathe again.
It’s a weird form of suicide prevention. But it works.
I’ve seen the pain that suicide leaves behind, and while I’m not delusional enough to think I can solve this problem — I know I can do something.
I can’t promise that their darkest days are over. But I can promise that they don’t need to walk through those dark days alone anymore.
On a retreat last year, one of the participants asked how I got into this work. I told this whole story and talked about Robin. I rambled on about the synchronicity — he was so passionate about supporting the troops. Robin did six USO Tours to Iraq, Afghanistan, and 11 other countries, and often required his films to hire unhoused Veterans as background actors. And because of his impact on my life and my public grieving for his death — that directly led to my work with Veterans.
I always get teary when I tell this story, so I sat at the front of the room with 18 Vets staring at me, and I wiped my nose on my sleeve.
Then one of them broke the silence and said “So, Robin sent you to us.”
And I burst into tears.
Because that’s what happens when someone says something that feels profoundly true.
Here’s a little update on our organization
We are getting ready for our upcoming retreats!
September 12 - 15, 2024: Rising Star, TX
November 10 - 15, 2024: Kripalu, Stockbridge, MA
February 6 - 9, 2025 - Austin, TX
May 15 - 18, 2025 - Madison, VA
July 17 - 20, 2025 - Colorado Springs, CO
September 7 - 12, 2025 - Kripalu, Stockbridge, MA
October 16 - 19, 2025 - Rising Star, TX
November 20 - 23, 2025 - Houston, TX
Applications for retreats are posted here. Retreats are free of charge for Veterans, so please share if you know someone who could benefit from our program!
And if you’re looking to share the MF love, maybe check out our logo merch and our beloved Peace, Love, and Spite merch collection! All proceeds go to funding retreats.
If you would like to support our work with a donation, please know that 100% of your contribution goes to providing this vital mental wellness and suicide prevention work. Retreats cannot happen without your contributions - of any amount - to help those who sacrificed so much. Thank you.
A newsletter update: I mentioned last time that there might be some changes around here. I am giving myself a little grace with this letter, sending it when it feels ready, rather than sticking to an arbitrary schedule. I was sick last week, so there was no letter on Friday. I figured no one would notice. But um…. many of you noticed!!
Thank you for checking on me and for reading and loving this letter. It will continue to show up in your inbox, in its own time.
Thank you for reading, friends. I’m so grateful you are here.
Much love,
~Lisa