*****

After four years of almost daily 12-step meetings, I started drifting away from Alcoholics Anonymous. I wanted to find out what recovery looked like for me independently of heavy Program involvement now that I had some solid ground under my feet. I was only going to one meeting a week, which also happened to be a meeting Robin Williams attended.  

It was a big speaker meeting, and everyone tried to be cool about the fact that one of the world’s most beloved movie stars was there. Anonymity is, after all, kind of the point. So when I saw him, I’d smile, give a waist-high wave, and continue to my seat. The other attendees did the same. 

He always waved back with a knowing smile, like he knew you recognized him and were probably freaking out a little, and appreciated you not making it a thing. He kept a low profile, but was unfailingly kind. 

Sometime around 2012, people from the meeting were organizing a comedy event to raise money for an underfunded 12-step group nearby. Everyone was uncomfortable with the idea of asking him to do a set — it was too “we know who you are.” So week after week, the organizers politely asked for volunteers.

I, like most people, assumed he wouldn’t perform. He was Robin Williams. When the comedy night came around, several people did sets. After what we thought was the last performer, Robin came sprinting out of the back room and leaped onto the stage. Everyone lost their minds; we jumped, we cheered, we gave each other can you fucking believe this?? looks.

Onstage, he transformed from the shy guy we all awkwardly waved to every Tuesday night into comedic genius Robin Williams; he was electric and hilarious — talent and personality radiated off him like heat off the sun. He talked about addiction, recovery, depression, and the challenges of being sober in a shitty world.

There were maybe 50-100 people in the room — an unthinkable venue in which to see Robin Williams perform. We all left in a delirious haze. Had that really just happened? Half of us were giggling like little kids who’d heard an adult say something scandalous.

His death hit hard. Some asshole sold pictures of him in that meeting looking “grumpy,” which tabloids ran with the way tabloids do. (Whoever sold that picture sucks as a person, and I hope they spend the rest of their life stepping barefoot on Legos.)

But his death inspired me to do something I’d been hesitant to: Write and publish something personal about my recovery, which I did for The Bold Italic.

Whether you watched him on a movie screen or knew him in real life, I think he was that kind of person — so creative, smart, and expressive that he made you want to be that way too. 

I won’t pretend that I knew Robin personally, but I still miss him. I wish he were alive, healthy, and as vibrant as the day he surprised us by sprinting out of the back room of that church. I will always be grateful to him for the unknowing role he played in my life. For reminding me that creativity and truth have never been mutually exclusive, and that all I had to do was pick up a pen and get to work. 

*****

Katie MacBride is a journalist, writer, researcher, and librarian. She writes the Ask a Sober Lady newsletter and would love for you to subscribe. 

MORE FROM KATIE MacBRIDE:

“Sometimes when my boyfriend texts me to tell me he’s on his way home from work, I type back, ‘my legs are broken.’ I don’t know why I insist on this code when we both know what it means. It’s embarrassing to be so plagued by my thoughts, especially because I’m 11 years sober. I’m supposed to be out of my own head, serviceable to others, and placatingly serene. Instead, I get a voice that says, “You are a useless piece of shit.” It might just be a symptom of depression, but it never feels like it. It always feels like the truth.”

But The Drugs Keep Me Sober [TSB]

If you want more long-form, you’ll probably dig Sundays because we have more like the one you just read (usually written by me or Ben Gaffaney) and also a complete recovery rundown full of books, and poems, and workout routines, and self-reflection, and self-flagellation, plus the occasional dreamy song added to the revolving TSB playlist.

But if you don’t want any more extra email and just want to support us because you love what we do, you can just leave a TIP right here.