Interview with Mimi Harlow Robinson

With abortion rights continuing to spark fierce political debate across the world, How Can a Body Withstand This? offers a deeply personal perspective on the human stories often lost behind the headlines. Inspired by true events following the overturning of Roe v. Wade, the play explores friendship, grief, healthcare and the lasting impact of political decisions on ordinary lives. Ahead of bringing this powerful new work to the stage, we spoke to writer and performer Mimi about transforming lived experience into theatre, navigating difficult conversations, and why compassion remains at the heart of the story.

What first compelled you to tell this story on stage?

Back in 2022, Roe v. Wade, the 1973 Supreme Court decision that had protected a constitutional right to abortion in the US, was overturned. It was a devastating moment, and I remember thinking about just how much suffering was inevitably going to follow because of that decision. I knew then, even if I didn't yet know what form it would take, that I would eventually write about it.

As I began developing the play, I spent a lot of time researching the history of abortion in the US and around the world because I wanted to understand how we had arrived at that moment. One of the biggest surprises was discovering that, for much of history, abortion was neither as heavily regulated nor as morally contentious as I'd assumed. It was really the last century and a half that marked a significant shift in attitudes and laws. That completely changed the way I understood the issue and made me even more motivated to create a piece that explored that history through a deeply human story.

More than anything, I wanted to open up conversations about abortion in the way theatre uniquely can – not by shouting people into agreement or trying to win an argument, but by creating enough space for people to sit with the complexity of the issue and arrive at a more empathetic understanding of its place in all of our lives.

How closely does the play reflect your own experiences and those of your friend?

It's interesting – I always say that the play isn’t necessarily "real," but it's still true.

The events themselves aren't autobiographical. I'm not originally from Tennessee, I don't have a loved one who's become the centre of a viral political media storm, and the "best friend" in the story isn't based on one real person. People are often surprised to hear that after seeing the show, which is actually exactly what I hope for. I want the story to feel real because the stakes behind it are real, and the circumstances I’m depicting are happening to real people.

To write the piece, I spent a lot of time researching reproductive rights and the state of abortion in the aftermath of Roe v. Wade’s overturning, speaking with experts and community leaders in both the US and UK about abortion access, pregnancy complications, and the mental health impacts surrounding abortion care. Many of the circumstances in the play are drawn directly from stories, patterns, and realities I encountered through that research.

At the same time, I want the emotional life of the piece to feel deeply personal. While the plot isn't my own, I've woven in qualities, memories, observations, and dynamics from my own life and from people I love. I think specificity is what ultimately makes something universal, so I was always trying to balance careful research with emotional truth.

I actually took a lot of inspiration from Margaret Atwood's approach to writing The Handmaid's Tale. She has spoken about not inventing acts of oppression that hadn't already happened somewhere in history when she was creating her story. That felt like a really important north star for me. I wanted every event in the play to be grounded in something that has already happened to real people, even if the characters themselves are fictional.

The play focuses on friendship as much as politics. Why was that relationship your starting point?

Yeah, I knew the friendship had to be the core of the piece because (most) people would tune out if it just became a lecture on politics and abortion. It was always a question of what the most effective way was to reach people. As obsessed with politics as I am myself, I know most people don't want to sit through facts and figures about judicial decisions or legislation. If they did, they could just tune into a podcast, watch the news, or read the laws themselves at home.

But we go to the theatre to be moved by life, and to be close to real, tangible depictions of particular experiences. I wanted to personify the facts and figures we hear about around abortion in the hope that people might leave the theatre reflecting on them differently. It seemed to me that the most vivid way to do that was to write about two young women navigating an impossible situation together while also trying to keep their friendship intact. My hope, really, is that the politics aren't separate from the friendship but experienced really viscerally through it.

Why was it important that audiences see the person behind the headline rather than simply the political debate?

I think because of the media age we live in, it's become incredibly easy to feel disconnected from the actual people behind the issues we're reading about. We literally carry a rectangular brick in front of our faces all day that feeds us more information than most people throughout history would have encountered in an entire lifetime. That's an extraordinary thing. It's made us aware of so much happening in the world, but it's also made it much easier for people to become headlines, statistics, or political talking points rather than human beings.

That's where theatre feels so important to me. It asks us to slow down and spend time with one particular life. Following someone, step by step, through the realities of healthcare, abortion, friendship, and media attention asks us to engage differently than endless scrolling ever can. It exercises a muscle of empathy and reflection that I think we're in danger of atrophying.

The piece moves between Tennessee and London. What does that contrast allow you to explore?

From the outset, I knew it would be an opportunity to explore both the fascination with and the stereotypes about the US (particularly the American South) that I've encountered while living in London.

I've noticed that strangers often feel surprisingly comfortable sharing their opinions with me about America. Sometimes it's lovely – they'll tell me about a holiday to New York City and how much they loved it, Trader Joe's bag over their shoulder or Yankees cap on their head. Other times it's a cutting remark about how loud, dangerous, or insane they think Americans are. Or they'll almost quiz me to see if I'm aware of some US policy detail they heard about on The Rest Is Politics or discussed at the pub the night before.

I'm fascinated by that dynamic. There's sometimes an assumption that Americans don't care about or understand what's happening in our own country, while people thousands of miles away feel they know it better. At the same time, there's this interesting contradiction where American culture is constantly consumed and embraced while America itself is casually (or intensely) dismissed. I wanted to write something that gently called attention to that dissonance without being angry or spiteful about it. The truth is, I completely understand the frustration, irritation, and anger people feel towards my home country. I share a lot of it myself, and I think America absolutely deserves to be challenged and held accountable. But there are moments when I feel the commentary misses the mark, or when I can tell a deeper point or pattern is being overlooked beneath the jokes or the pub chat. That’s what I’m interested in exploring, artistically. I have a perspective that lets me illustrate some of those contradictions from the inside, and my hope is that the work can invite people into a more nuanced conversation, one where we can reduce harm, grieve together, and maybe even arrive closer to the same page. It's probably a very earnest ambition... but I am American, after all…

It's important for me to say, too, that making this piece in London has given me both perspective and, quite literally, safety. The political temperature around abortion in the US is no joke, and throughout my research and development process, multiple people told me that making work like this carries genuine risk back home. It's hard to know exactly what that risk looks like, but it felt important to acknowledge it. That's not to say there aren't considerations around making politically challenging work in the UK as well, but I'm incredibly grateful to feel that I can say what I need to say here without the same level of fear. I definitely don't take that lightly, and I think it has made a real difference to the work.

How did your perspective on America change after moving to the UK?

Speaking of nuance...!

Hm. I would say my perspective has evolved rather than changed. I've always had quite a reverent but critical relationship with America, even as a kid. I was raised by two really wise, whip-smart lawyers (one of whom served in the military) and while they raised us to be patriotic, they also impressed upon my brother and me that America is an imperfect, incomplete, ever-striving project. It really was a live topic of discussion in our house. It's very The West Wing-coded, and as idealistic as it sounds, I genuinely grew up with that sense that loving your country also meant asking difficult questions of it.

Moving to the UK didn't fundamentally change that so much as clarify it. It sharpened the things that make me proud of where I come from, and it sharpened the things that cause me grief. It's a bit like pulling the newspaper further away from your face so you can read and process what's actually on the page.

The script captures both humour and heartbreak. How important was it to include lighter moments?

Oh man, so important. You really need people to stay on the ride with you in something like this. And if you've ever experienced grief, heartbreak, or overwhelm, you know those moments are often so heightened that you can't help but notice the hilarity alongside the obvious horror. The boundary between joy and pain, life and death, can feel incredibly thin. I think you need both humour and heartbreak to fully understand either one. They give each other shape. I also wanted to humanise this story with lighter moments because I knew people would come in expecting unrelenting heaviness given the subject matter. I wanted to surprise people with moments of levity, because that feels much closer to how life actually unfolds.

The title, How Can a Body Withstand This?, is incredibly evocative. Where did it come from?

I'm so glad you think so! It's actually from a poem I love called The Thing Is by Ellen Bass. It's a beautiful poem about grief, what it feels like in the body, and how, even under its immense weight, we somehow keep living. I've returned to it during different periods of loss throughout my life.

When I first started writing the play and processing my own grief around the overturning of Roe v. Wade, I found myself constantly asking questions that began with "how": How are we going to get through this? How is this happening? How can this be okay? That eventually led me back to Ellen Bass's poem.

When I reached the line, "How can a body withstand this?", it completely stopped me. It suddenly felt like the question the play had been asking all along. It's both an emotional question about grief and survival, and a literal one about what women and pregnant people are being asked to endure in a post-Roe America. I loved that it could hold both meanings at once. It felt like the right question for this play.

The play asks audiences to think about abortion as a human experience rather than an ideological argument. Why was that distinction important to you?

Theatre is uniquely good at reminding us that political issues are, first and foremost, human experiences. I wanted audiences to begin there, because that's also where I think we best understand abortion as healthcare.

We hear slogans like "Abortion is healthcare," and I genuinely think a lot of people on both sides hear that as an opinion or a rhetorical argument. But I don't think many people realise just how factual that statement can be. Abortion is sometimes the medical treatment that's needed during pregnancy complications, it's the treatment for many miscarriages (even if it's called something different in practice) and it's allowed countless people to safely have children later in life.

We can get so caught up in the ethical and political arguments around abortion as an idea that we lose sight of the fact that pregnancy has always been a deeply personal, unpredictable, medical experience. Every pregnancy, every body, and every set of circumstances is different.

I wanted audiences to walk through those realities step by step rather than debate them in the abstract. I wanted the play to ask what happens when it's your body, your pregnancy, your friend, your family… when it's no longer an idea, but a lived experience. I genuinely believe that if we could start from that place, we'd have a much more humane conversation about abortion.

What has this process taught you about grief and friendship?

For me, one of the biggest things this process has taught me has been about the relationship between grief, friendship, and the creative process.

I've experienced a lot of grief and bereavement in my life, and over the years I've often tried to write directly about those losses. What I kept running up against was how difficult it is to step outside the facts of what really happened and shape them into something that's both dramatically satisfying and emotionally truthful. Early on as a writer, you're constantly wrestling with the question: How could anything be more moving than what actually happened to me? Because to you, it is.

I think this process has finally taught me that fiction can sometimes get you closer to the emotional truth than autobiography. Once you're no longer trying to faithfully recreate your own experiences, you actually have more freedom to be honest. Ironically, the more I was able to step away from my own need for release, the more honestly I could write about grief. You can bleed more elegantly on the page while also leaving enough space for the audience to bring their own lives and feelings into the piece. I think that's where theatre becomes most powerful.

When it comes to friendship, I've also been amazed by how many of my friends have quietly made their way into Leda. She's one fictional person, but she carries qualities, memories, gestures, and moments from so many of the women I love. At different points in the play, she becomes each of them somehow. Making this piece has genuinely felt like carrying all of my closest female friendships with me into the room. That's felt like one of the most unexpected gifts of the creative process.

How do you hope the production contributes to wider conversations around healthcare?

Overall, I'm hoping the play gives new, tangible meaning to the phrase "Abortion is healthcare." It would be really exciting to me if the story cracked open a door for people who see themselves as anti-abortion, or perhaps more anti-abortion than pro-choice, to consider that, at a fundamental level, there are circumstances in which abortion is simply a necessary part of healthcare and pregnancy management. If the play can create space for people to recognise that, then I think there's a lot more common ground to be found than we sometimes imagine.

I'm also hoping the piece offers London audiences a little more insight into the American healthcare system. It really is a very different world from the NHS, and while I could probably write an entirely separate play about that, I hope this one gives people a glimpse into the realities Americans are navigating every day (and at particular moments of crisis).

After audiences experience How Can a Body Withstand This?, what do you hope stays with them?

I hope audiences carry the experience of the journey with them. Abortion is something most people don't like to think about unless they absolutely have to, and I think that avoidance means we often engage with it through fear, shame, anger, or ideology rather than through an understanding of what it can actually look and feel like to live through it. And in turn, so many people don’t give others grace or understanding when others are navigating it.

My hope is that after spending time with these characters, people find it a little harder to think about abortion as an abstract thing that they hope they won’t have to address. Instead, I hope they remember the lived experience behind it and the ordinary humanity of the people navigating it.

People are always going to arrive at their own personal moral or political conclusions, and that's their right. But I think those conclusions are better informed when they're grounded in a fuller understanding of what abortion actually is, the many circumstances in which it happens, and the real people whose lives are shaped by it. If the play leaves audiences with a little more empathy, curiosity, and compassion than they arrived with, I'd feel it had done its job.

I also hope London audiences leave with a slightly deeper understanding of the complexity and pain surrounding the state of the US right now – around abortion, sure, but so many other things, too. So many of us are grieving what's happening there while also trying to figure out what to do with the genuine love we have for people (our neighbours, our families, our communities) who we fear are also making the world worse. That's an incredibly painful and confusing place to exist, and it’s anything but simple. I don't think there are easy answers, but I do think repair has to begin with a genuine willingness to keep reaching for one another, to listen, and to believe that another person is still worth trying to understand.

Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me, Mimi. How Can a Body Withstand This? Will play at Riverside Studios from 29-30th August at 5pm as part of the Bitesize festival. More information can be found via https://riversidestudios.co.uk/whats-on/ER-how-can-a-body-withstand-this/