Nick Robbins: Lessons learned in prison fuel nonprofit Returning Home

When Nick Robbins was 17, he committed armed robbery in a paycheck loan store in Iowa that had declined his loan application because of his age. Around a month later, he tried to do it again -- same store, only, this time, he took no pains to hide his identity. Police were at his door by that evening.

"I just told them, 'Yep, it was me,'" says Robbins, who is the chief executive officeer and founder of Springdale's Returning Home, a prison ministry nonprofit that seeks to help previously incarcerated people re-integrate into society. "I said, 'Both times, it was me.' They said, 'What?! Two times?' I said, 'Yes. I'm done. I'm done disappointing people. I'm done being a burden.' I didn't fit anywhere, so maybe I should just go away, was my thinking. I remember telling the police officer that, and he said, 'Well, good luck with your choice,' and shut the police car door. I was left with my 'What did I get myself into?' thoughts."

Robbins may have felt like he had hit rock bottom at that moment, but there was farther yet to fall. At the time, he says, in Iowa's criminal justice system, you were an adult at age 15. At 17, Robbins knew he would be going to prison. He was a small kid, too, around 135 pounds, and even though he had been a wrestler in high school, he knew his size would be a problem in prison -- so he did something he had seen in a movie: He walked up to the biggest guy there and punched him in the face. An emergency room visit and several staples later, he was thrown back into his cell.

"I decided that I was going to create the person I wanted people to think I was, because I never felt like I was accepted," he says. "But now I had a place -- and I'm gonna make a name for myself."

As you listen to Robbins, it's difficult to reconcile the story of his life as a hardened criminal to the clean-cut, family man he is today. Happily married, Robbins has two stepsons and is the head of a successful nonprofit. Returning Home has continuously grown in the time it has been in operation. Today, its residential center has the potential to house more than 50 men, while its program works with nearly 600 recently incarcerated each year (though covid-19 has lowered that number somewhat). He's served on the boards of multiple area organizations, is active with his church and is a sought-after public speaker. He's learned to manage his social anxiety in ways much healthier than the drugs and alcohol he sought out in his youth -- for example, he leans on his pup Sophie, a fluffy white charmer who is listed on the Returning Home website as its "security director." In short, as someone who hit rock bottom but found the will, motivation and desire to climb back up, Robbins and his current life embody the mission of Returning Home, making him a perfect example and ideal mentor for the clients he works with on a daily basis.

"I think that in order to really lead an organization like that, you have to be able to relate to the people that you're trying to help," says Returning Home Board member Jim Koenigseder.

"His own story of incarceration and how long it took him to 'see the light' so to speak, provides instant credibility," says Returning Home Board member Maxie Carpenter.

"Nick is a perfect example of what happens when we invest in the lives of those struggling to re-enter society after incarceration," says Britt Gjeruldsen, director of operations for Returning Home. "Nick's passion is driven by his life experiences. He allows his experience to be an example our clients can follow. His willingness to share his story with every client we serve, opens a door of hope for so many that would not have it otherwise."

"What I never hear is, 'You just don't understand,'" says Robbins. "We clear that up from the very beginning. 'Hey, there's nothing I'm going to ask you to do that I haven't done, and the hope is that you're willing to see it through with me, because you deserve it.' Until we start to love ourselves and start to believe in ourselves, we're just going to continue on with that self-sabotaging lifestyle. No one wants to do the things they're doing to send themselves to jail. They hate themselves. They see no hope. They just do not believe, in their heart of hearts, that they deserve better."

Bad input, bad outcome

Robbins' own path to hope was a long and troubled one. His childhood existence was nomadic: His father was in sales and was transferred frequently from city to city, forcing Robbins and his three siblings to switch schools on a regular basis.

"Some of the moves were in the same town, but I moved 17 times in 17 years," says Robbins.

The moving was particularly hard on Robbins, who experiences social anxiety and found it difficult to make new friends.

"My older brother is very social, and, everywhere we went, he had lots of friends," says Robbins. "I was always the kid trying to find one. If I could just find one friend, I'd at least have someone to talk to, and I wouldn't feel so awkward. Whatever space I'm in, I feel like I don't fit, or belong, in that space. It was really tough. I was a very tiny kid, so getting picked on was an everyday occurrence."

Discovering wrestling was a bit of a relief for him. His size wasn't an issue since there were different weight classes, and it helped him find a crowd that accepted him. But the constant moving still hampered his attempts to find friends. When he was 12, yet another move took him to a new neighborhood where he discovered a group of high school kids that intrigued him.

"They were doing drugs and drinking, so I ended up being the little kid that would come around and, at the age of 12, started drinking and doing drugs with high schoolers," he says. "They would welcome me in, and there was no judgement. And so, wherever we moved from that point on, that was immediately the crowd that I sought out."

Robbins says the alcohol and drugs helped ease him into social situations and made him feel more comfortable with the world. But as a very young teenager, the rest of his world soon started to crumble around him.

"I was so defiant -- I was like, 'I'm not going to pretend I'm not doing drugs, I'm not going to pretend I'm not drinking,'" says Robbins. "'It is what it is. You're not going to tell me what to do.' 'But you're a kid -- that's literally my role in your life.' So it was a constant, constant battle with my parents.

"It was just this anger, this confusion, not understanding why I felt the way I felt, why I didn't meet the expectations of my family or why I was different. So, ultimately, at 15 years old, my parents told me I did not meet the expectations at home. I wasn't who I needed to be to be able to be in their family, and I was asked to leave."

"It was just sad," says older brother Shay Robbins of this time. "I don't think I was fully aware of how badly it could go for him. And when he left -- this was before cell phones, and being connected was not a thing in our lives -- it was a big question mark, like, 'What's he doing? Where's he going?' He moved in with an aunt and uncle for a while, and, after a short time, that didn't work out. And, after that, I literally didn't even know where he was living and how he was making a living."

After leaving his aunt and uncle's home, Robbins tried a variety of alternative schools, environments designed to hold on to vulnerable students by making school days flexible: one high school that required half days; one that required half-weeks; one that required just a day and a half of attendance.

"In my mind, I knew the outcome, so why put in the effort?" he says. "I knew I wasn't going to make it. I was struggling. Fell into depression. When I moved out of my aunt and uncle's house, I was around 16, and I was just kind of floundering. I was homeless, sleeping in a car, staying on buddies' couches as long as their parents let me and then finally ended up living in a trailer with a couple other dropouts. Three of us in a small little trailer, not doing well in life."

Robbins says that now he recognizes the signs of depression and understands that the drug and alcohol abuse was an attempt to self-medicate. But he says that mental health wasn't something that was openly addressed at that time in his life, and it's difficult to ask for help with a problem you can't properly describe.

"The few people I knew and who I felt kind of understood me, when I dropped out, they were still going to school," he says. "So then I decided, 'Well, I'll just sleep a little bit more and not wake up until they get back from school.' And then I see these people are pulling back, saying, 'Wow, this dude is a disaster.' And so I'm sleeping 18 hours a day, getting up and just being miserable, feeling miserable. I was just really, really isolated at the end there."

He hadn't paid rent in months and the threat of eviction was breathing down his neck when he approached the paycheck loan store. Desperation and depression fueled his first armed robbery. Hopelessness fueled his second.

"I just got to the point where I had decided I was going to go to prison instead of wondering where my food is, wondering if I was going to have a place to sleep and disappointing my family, every day," he says.

His life continued to spiral as he bounced from one prison to another, investing in a big, braggadocio persona meant to protect him. He spent months in solitary confinement and continued to question his self-worth. What saved him, he says, was a faith-based program at the Newton Correctional Facility in Newton, Iowa, run by Prison Fellowship International. Though Robbins agreed to enroll in the program for cynical reasons -- he was being hassled at his previous placement and needed to transfer out -- he says the program ultimately impacted him in a way that changed the trajectory of his life.

"Being the guy that's always in my head, super awkward, standing by myself almost always, I would stand outside after supper, and I would watch these [ministry] volunteers walk across the prison yard," he remembers. "And, in my mind, I'm trying to understand -- 'Why are you coming in?' Because, in my mind, somebody that lives in addiction, that lives the life of using, you see relationships as transactional -- always trying to get something from this relationship. So I'm trying to understand: 'What are these people getting out of this?' Because in a transaction, you're trying to get something, and I have nothing to offer."

Unconditional love

Two weeks went by under Robbins' watchful gaze, and he finally got up the nerve to approach two of the volunteers -- Simon and Corinne, an older couple, retired farmers from Pella, Iowa -- and ask them why on earth they were volunteering to minister to prisoners.

"[Corinne] kind of smiled and chuckled and said, 'Nick, we're here because we love you,'" remembers Robbins. "And I said, 'You're lying. Because you didn't know me before you walked in the door, and you haven't known me long enough for me to earn your love. So I need to ask you to tell me the truth.' And she smiled and said, 'Nick, Jesus Christ died on the cross for our sins, knowing the worst thing we would ever do, and he loved us in that moment and gave up everything. The only thing I ever knew about you before I walked in that door was the worst thing you had ever done, and I loved you in that moment. And I gave up my freedom, and I'll continue to give up my freedom to be in this prison to love you.'

"That absolutely shattered my world. I had never experienced unconditional love before. They loved me so much for two years that I started to love myself. I started to have a small glimpse of what they saw in me. ... I told myself, 'One day, I want to be able to love somebody enough that they can love themselves.'"

He was 24 when he was released from prison, after spending seven and a half years there. Released to parole in Branson, Mo., Robbins took the healing he had experienced in prison straight to his family relationships, where the intense emotional work he'd done for two years was immediately evident.

"One benefit that Nick had was that he had a family that loved him," says Shay. "From the day he was born through every move, through all the rebellion, to the incarceration -- that was never wavering. We were his 'Returning Home.' We were waiting for him. These guys that he is caring for in your community -- many of them don't have that. It's kind of awesome to think that Nick has re-created that for them. When he got out, our whole family was there. It was a celebration. I remember going out to eat, and he couldn't make a decision. He was looking at the menu, and he was overwhelmed by being able to choose what to eat, because for seven years, he never made that choice. And we were there to help him. I think I might have chosen his breakfast for him. We were his people. We didn't look at him as an ex-con. We looked at him as, 'Oh, our son has come home.'"

"My family rebuilt our relationship," Robbins says. "When I started to see my issues, it became so easy to see how much my parents loved me and see that they had to make a decision, because they loved their three kids so much, and I was just dragging everything down. They had to make the decision to ask me to move on. Before I even got out, my family were my greatest supporters and were so excited to see me get out. It started with these volunteers, and then I started receiving that love from my family, and then I truly did believe I could do something with my life."

But it wasn't easy. Finding good jobs for ex-offenders is notoriously difficult, and un- and under-employment is one of the primary reasons behind recidivism. When he openly shared his story with a family friend, he got a phone call the next day from Shelterwood, a residential program for teens.

"They said, 'You'll be in this room, sleeping on a bunk bed with three "littles" -- you're the big brother -- and they have to be within five feet of you at all times,'" says Robbins. "'If they get into trouble, you'll do the disciplinary with them, because we never ask them to do something you're not willing to do yourself. You'll be helping them with their school, and you're going to make sure they don't climb out of the window in the middle of the night.' I said, 'It sounds like prison. I'm really good at this. You guys are going to be super impressed.'"

The job uncovered and emphasized Robbins' unique ability to translate his own experiences into support and education for those who were in the midst of the same kind of crisis he had found himself in nearly a decade before. A public speaking gig garnered him a job offer from the prison ministry program, Pathway to Freedom. By this time, he had gotten married and was helping raise two young boys, and life was busy. Because of his parole requirements, he wasn't allowed to relocate to Northwest Arkansas for his job, so he was driving around four hours, round trip, every work day. But life was also stable and fulfilling. In 2016, he decided it was time to take the leap to do something he had been dreaming of: start his own nonprofit.

Paying it forward

"In Northwest Arkansas, there is a women's prison in Fayetteville, a men's prison in Springdale, and you have two of the largest county jails in Benton and Washington counties," he says. "So we have a very large incarcerated population for the size of our area. And so that was my initial thought -- that we were going to come in, do some classes, but it started to change pretty quickly."

The Returning Home founders were approached about a potential space for rent, central to Springdale on North Thompson Street, and the organization took off from there. Now it houses Returning Home and its partner organizations, all under one roof. Robbins' skillset doesn't end at his ability to communicate effectively with clients, say those who have worked with him; he has developed into a savvy fundraiser and negotiator with a head for business.

"When he goes to visit with people, whether it's the city, the county, another board member, a group of people, he is able to lay out his vision," says Koenigseder. "He can put a very clear idea in front of the people that he's talking to. And that makes him very effective."

"He's the right guy in the right place," says Paul Dubbell, who helped start Returning Home with Robbins. "He is so connected within the whole prison system. He knows everybody. He is well respected. You could call a lot of people in Northwest Arkansas who have the same passion about Nick that I do. Hundreds of them."

"First, of course, is that he's been there," says Carpenter of Robbins' nonprofit success. "Second, he understands the difference between grace and accountability. The work he does at RH requires a very disciplined structure that relies on leadership that understands that difference. Most nonprofits, especially faith-based [ones], do not. Third, he's a very quick study. He's able to see the organizational components required and how they connect and overlap. His understanding of operations, process improvement, human capital and, most importantly, the financials, is as good as anyone I've worked with. Finally, he's really good at developing relationships, especially in the communities he serves and those he relies on for support and funding. He's not afraid to go anywhere and talk with anyone."

"Returning Home is a one-stop shop for those who have encountered the criminal justice system," says Gjeruldsen. "So many adults leaving incarceration are left to fend for themselves. Our clients arrive to facility without personal identification, without clothing or money and very little hope. Our clients are struggling with addiction, mental illness, physical illness, and societal stigmas associated with incarceration. Returning Home has created a haven for those in need of support and resources that will help them get back on their feet and become contributing members to our community. Through these partnerships we provide trauma-informed counseling, relapse prevention programming, Cognitive Behavior Therapy, motivational interviewing, medication management, health & wellness goals, housing, employment, case management, healthy relationship classes, and other various services."

Partners in delivering those services include Goodwill, Phoenix Recovery, TCIY ministry, Credit Counseling of Arkansas, and Celebrate Recovery. Robbins says local companies -- specifically ATCO Rubber, George's and Tyson Foods -- have been instrumental in helping previously incarcerated men and women find employment. Area police departments, says Robbins, have been supportive, and Returning Home partners with Washington County to offer an alternative program that can be assigned in lieu of jail for certain low-level charges. The city of Springdale has helped fund the organization, including a $12,000 grant awarded this past April. In five short years, Returning Home has become an integral part of the community.

"I think it far exceeded any of the original founders' imaginations, and it's continuing to grow and offer more in the years ahead," says Dubbell.

The first thing each client does at the beginning of the program is have a long talk with Robbins.

"I share with them my story and explain to them that the only thing that you will put on your application to come here was the worst thing you've ever done," he says. "In that moment, we loved you, accepted you and are so, so excited to be a part of your life. And, ultimately, we care about you so much, we can't stand for you to continue to walk in the path that you've walked. Instead, we're willing to be a small part of your big journey to get you where you want to go in life. To me, it's fulfilling that example that somebody else did for me so many years ago. We're just blessed to be able to do this work in this community."

The most powerful thing about Nick Robbins and his willingness to share the darkest points of his life is how, as his sphere of influence widens, it positively impacts not only the clients he works with, but also family members, community members, church members, everyone.

"Nick's story is a story of redemption in the darkest of places," says Shay. "A lot of times, redemption happens when you walk into sunshine, whether it's a person or an experience or an organization in your life, where they offer hope and kindness. The thing about Nick is that God met him behind prison doors -- his redemption and his life change came in prison. It's just so rare that you hear those stories. Because of Nick, our family went into the prison, and we met these people who were outcasts of society, the kind of people you might avoid when you're walking down the street. [That exposure] just gives you a heart of compassion. Our family, we just look at people differently -- I think we see the best in people, and we know that if God can change Nick's life, he can change anybody's life."