Okay, I’m going to come right out and say it: I am NOT and will probably NEVER be into Star Wars. I’ve watched A New Hope (IV) and saw The Force Awakens (VII) in theaters last year, and I genuinely disliked both movies. It was nothing against the actors or the writing—it just wasn’t for me. I saw the movies to appease my friends and my dad, but I figured I was done with Star Wars and all it had to offer after seeing Episode VII.

But then Carrie Fisher died on Tuesday, and my perspective shifted.

I found out that the Princess Leia of the Star Wars movies was gone from this world while I was on an airplane heading back home from a beach vacation. I didn’t even recognize that it was THE Carrie Fisher at first—the woman who had inspired so many children and adults alike with her role in this franchise. Princess Leia was technically even a Disney Princess (though I refuse to mush Star Wars characters with my treasured Mulan and Aladdin ones). But aside from all the fame and glory that Fisher had gathered in her 60 years, I found out that she was also a mental health advocate afflicted with Bipolar Disorder and an alcohol addiction.

The fact that Carrie spoke so openly about her mental illness was and most definitely still is incredibly inspiring. It is estimated that about 2.6% of Americans will suffer from Bipolar Disorder in a given year. That’s millions of Americans dealing with severe mood shifts that have them going from manic super-highs to depressive super-lows. But like all other mental illnesses, Bipolar Disorder can make a person feel isolated and alone in their struggles. That is why Fisher’s open discussion of her own struggles that she’s dealt with since her 20’s was so important.

It’s so hard to talk about an inner battle like a mental illness to a friend, let alone to the entire American public. I don’t think it’s possible to understand how much courage it took for Fisher to even admit that she had such a debilitating illness, and then go on to advocate for the disorder and its sufferers. This is the disorder that had as many as 1 in 5 of its sufferers completing a suicide attempt. It is a treatable but severe mental illness that many people are very uninformed about. For example, I’ve seen many people who think that the mood shifts happen quickly and suddenly multiple times a day, when in fact only 10-20% of those with Bipolar Disorder are susceptible to four or more manic, hypomanic, or depressive episodes in one year. We need to stop the misinformation and stigma and start learning and accepting one another. That is what Carrie Fisher would have wanted for our society.

I do not have Bipolar Disorder, but I’ve had fairly severe mood problems at multiple points in my life. To know that someone out there was speaking about her own mood disorder in such clear terms has given me a feeling of camaraderie, of not being so alone—even if this feeling has only arisen after this woman’s untimely death.

And I’m not the only person feeling this way. Fisher’s fans and admirers have been “coming out” with their own mental illness stories on social media. We are all working together to create the open-discussion environment for mental illness that Carrie Fisher had worked so hard for during much of her life. One doctor pointed out the honest truth: “Rather than just saying ‘R.I.P. Carrie,’ it is much more powerful to take a courageous step oneself to honor the memory of someone famous who also struggled with what you have.” I wholeheartedly agree.