I am lost, I have no idea. I am just a work in progress.
In the wake of her historic withdrawal from the Tokyo Olympics, Simone Biles — the most decorated gymnast of her generation — has quietly refused one of the roles the world most wanted to give her. Speaking in late 2021, she declined to become a mental health advocate, not out of indifference, but out of integrity: she is still inside her own struggle, still learning, and she will not offer as wisdom what she has not yet earned. In doing so, she may have offered something more valuable than expertise — the dignity of honest incompleteness.
- When Biles stepped away from Olympic competition citing the 'twisties' and mental health, the sports world held its breath — then exhaled in unexpected solidarity.
- Rather than the backlash she feared, she was met with a wave of recognition that moved her to tears, revealing how starved athletes and fans alike were for someone to simply tell the truth.
- But the world's gratitude quickly hardened into expectation, and Biles found herself being quietly assigned a role — mental health spokesperson — she never auditioned for.
- She pushed back with precision: gymnastics is her domain, mental health is terrain she is still navigating, and pretending otherwise would be a disservice to everyone still searching for their own way.
- Her refusal reframes the entire conversation — away from the search for an expert guide and toward the radical permission to say, openly, that we are all still figuring this out.
In the summer of 2021, Simone Biles withdrew from the Tokyo Olympics, naming mental health as her reason. She was experiencing the 'twisties' — a disorienting loss of spatial awareness mid-air that, in a sport where precision is survival, carries genuine danger. The decision sent a current through the sports world. Athletes recognized themselves in her choice, and saw that even someone at the absolute summit of her discipline had decided her wellbeing outweighed the medal, the moment, and the world's expectations.
What she did not anticipate was the response. Instead of judgment, she found grace — fans and fellow competitors meeting her not as a machine that had malfunctioned, but as a person who had made a hard and human choice. She wept, she said, not from shame but from the unexpected experience of being seen.
But Biles has since drawn a careful line around what that moment obligates her to become. When the world began casting her as the face of mental health advocacy in sport, she declined — directly and without apology. She knows gymnastics. Mental health is different territory, and she is still lost inside it, still learning what it means to put herself first. It would not be fair, she said, to position herself as a guide when she has not yet found her own footing.
What she is claiming instead is something quieter and more radical: the right to remain a work in progress. She will share what she is learning. She will help anyone who asks. But she will not perform certainty she does not possess. In an era that hungers for spokespeople and symbols, her refusal to step into that role may itself become the most instructive thing she offers — a model not of having arrived, but of staying honestly in the middle of the journey.
Simone Biles stepped back from the Tokyo Olympics in the summer of 2021, citing mental health as her reason. She was experiencing the "twisties"—a phenomenon where gymnasts lose their spatial awareness mid-air, a condition that can turn fatal in a sport where precision and control mean everything. The decision rippled through the sports world. Other athletes recognized themselves in her choice. They saw that someone at the absolute peak of her sport had decided that her wellbeing mattered more than the medal, more than the moment, more than what the world expected of her. It was a watershed moment, permission granted in real time.
What followed was something Biles did not anticipate. Instead of the backlash she braced for, she encountered something closer to collective recognition. Fans and fellow athletes responded with understanding rather than judgment. They saw her not just as a competitor but as a person making a difficult choice about her own life. That response moved her deeply. She found herself crying—not from shame, but from the unexpected grace of being respected as a human being, not merely as a machine that performs.
But Biles has since been careful to draw a line around what that moment means for her role going forward. In recent interviews, she has pushed back against the idea that she should become the face of mental health advocacy in sports. The distinction she makes is precise: she is an expert in gymnastics. She knows that sport inside and out. Mental health is different. She is not lost in gymnastics. She is lost in mental health, still finding her way through her own struggles, still learning what it means to prioritize herself.
When asked about becoming an advocate, Biles was direct. She said she is not an expert, that she is still navigating her own unique journey, and that it would not be fair to others for her to position herself as a guide when she herself is still figuring things out. She acknowledged that everyone wanted her to take on that role, to become the symbol and the voice. But she declined. She said she never got the chance to say no until she spoke up about it herself.
What makes her position notable is not what she is refusing, but what she is claiming instead: the right to be a work in progress. She is willing to help anyone who asks. She is willing to share what she is learning. But she will not pretend to have answers she does not have. There is something almost radical in that refusal—an athlete at the height of her fame choosing honesty over authority, choosing to stay in the question rather than move into the answer.
Her decision to step back from the Olympics, and her subsequent refusal to become a mental health advocate, may end up reshaping how athletes talk about their own struggles. Rather than waiting for someone to emerge as an expert who can tell them what to do, other athletes might find permission in Biles's example to simply say: I am struggling, I do not have it figured out, and that is enough. The conversation shifts from seeking a guide to acknowledging that we are all, in some way, still learning how to take care of ourselves.
Citações Notáveis
Everybody wanted me to be an advocate and the face for mental health. And I was like, no, I'm not an expert. I am still going through my own unique journey.— Simone Biles
I was crying, I was like whoa, they respect me, not only as an athlete but as a human. So to be viewed as a human I'm like, this is kind of nice for once.— Simone Biles
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
When Biles withdrew from the Olympics, did she know it would change how athletes talk about mental health?
I don't think she could have predicted it. She made a choice about her own survival in that moment. The larger shift came from how people responded to her honesty.
But now she's pushing back against being called an advocate. Why would she do that?
Because being an advocate means you have answers. She doesn't. She's still in the middle of her own struggle. There's integrity in saying that out loud.
So she's worried about misleading people?
More than that. She's protecting her own space to figure things out without the weight of being someone else's roadmap. She can be an example without being an expert.
Does that distinction matter to the athletes who look up to her?
It might matter more. It says: you don't need someone who has it all figured out. You need someone who is honest about still being lost. That's permission in a different form.