Down to the core, I'm just like you guys. I'm real.
Two years after stepping away from the Tokyo Olympics, Simone Biles continues in therapy — not as a concession to fragility, but as an act of sustained self-knowledge. Her withdrawal, once met with confusion and criticism, has slowly been recast as a turning point: a moment when one of the world's most celebrated athletes chose her humanity over the performance of invincibility. In doing so, she has quietly altered the language elite sport uses to speak about the inner life of its competitors.
- The 'twisties' stripped Biles of spatial awareness mid-air, turning the most controlled body in gymnastics into something suddenly, terrifyingly unmoored.
- Global criticism followed her withdrawal — questions about toughness, belonging, and whether a champion's mind had simply broken under pressure.
- Biles entered ongoing therapy not as a crisis measure but as a long-term commitment to understanding herself beyond the vault and the beam.
- Her plain, unapologetic naming of therapy has shifted the conversation in elite sport, giving other athletes permission to speak without shame.
- The 2028 Los Angeles Olympics remain a genuine open question — a '50-50' she is holding with patience rather than pressure, which is itself a form of progress.
Two years after withdrawing from the Tokyo Olympics, Simone Biles is still in therapy — and she says so plainly, without apology. In a recent interview with CNN Sports, she traced the arc of what happened: the disorienting onset of the 'twisties' during competition, the decision to step back, and the wave of public criticism that followed. What few grasped at the time was that Biles was making a choice about survival — not just as an athlete, but as a person.
The withdrawal forced a reckoning she had long deferred. 'Everyone thought I was a robot,' she reflected, 'but down to the core, I'm just like you guys. I'm real.' That recognition became the entry point to therapy — not a quick fix, but an ongoing commitment to understanding herself beyond sport. Her inner circle helped her see that what she was experiencing was not failure but ordinary human reality.
Perhaps most significantly, Biles has reframed the story itself. What once felt like weakness she now calls courage. That shift in language has rippled outward, changing how other athletes speak about their own struggles and quietly expanding what elite performance is allowed to look like.
Since Tokyo, she married NFL player Jonathan Owens and has built a life that extends well beyond gymnastics. The 2028 Los Angeles Olympics remain a genuine possibility — she calls it '50-50' — but she is taking her time with that decision, which is itself a kind of victory. The pressure to perform invulnerability has loosened its grip, and what remains is something rarer than a gold medal: the willingness to be human, to ask for help, and to come through it whole.
Two years have passed since Simone Biles stepped away from the Olympic stage in Tokyo, and she has spent much of that time in a therapist's office, working through what that moment meant and what it cost her. In a recent conversation with CNN Sports, the gymnast offered an unflinching account of her mental health journey—one that began the moment she felt the ground shift beneath her during competition and has continued ever since, week after week, in ongoing therapy.
What happened in Tokyo was both sudden and, in retrospect, inevitable. Biles withdrew from several event finals after experiencing what gymnasts call the "twisties," a disorienting condition that scrambles spatial awareness mid-routine, making it impossible to know where your body is in the air. For an athlete whose entire career has been built on precision and control, the sensation was terrifying. The decision to step back sparked confusion and criticism around the world. People questioned whether she was tough enough, whether she belonged at that level, whether her mind could handle the pressure. What few understood at the time was that Biles was making a choice about her own survival—not just as an athlete, but as a person.
In the interview, Biles described how the experience forced a reckoning she had been avoiding. "Everyone thought I was a robot, she's not real," she said, reflecting on how the public had come to see her. "But it's like, down to the core, I'm just like you guys. I'm real." That recognition—that she was human, not invincible—became the entry point to therapy. She credited the people closest to her with helping her understand that what she was experiencing was not a personal failure but a human reality. "I had a lot of help and my core group was really helpful in letting me know that it's OK people go through this and you're just human," she explained. The therapy that followed was not a quick fix but an ongoing commitment to understanding herself beyond the vault and the beam.
What makes Biles's account significant is how she has reframed the narrative around her withdrawal. Where once she might have seen it as weakness, she now describes it as courage. "Gymnasts aren't viewed as people who have weaknesses," she noted. "Now, I look at it as being courageous and not so much a weakness." That shift in language—from shame to strength—has rippled outward, changing how other athletes talk about their own struggles. Her willingness to name her therapy, to say it plainly and without apology, has given permission to others to do the same.
Since Tokyo, Biles has largely stepped away from competitive gymnastics. She married NFL player Jonathan Owens in May 2023, and the couple has built a life together that extends far beyond the sport that made her famous. Owens, now with the Indianapolis Colts, has been a steady presence through her recovery. Yet Biles has not closed the door entirely on the Olympics. When asked about the 2028 Summer Games in Los Angeles, she offered a measured response: the decision remains "50-50" for now. A return would require months of intensive training, a return to the pressure and scrutiny she has only recently begun to process. She is taking her time with that choice, which itself represents a kind of victory—the ability to sit with uncertainty rather than be consumed by it.
What emerges from Biles's account is a portrait of an athlete learning to live as a person first. The therapy continues. The questions about her future remain open. But the pressure to be superhuman, to perform invulnerability, has loosened its grip. In choosing her own well-being over the expectations of others, Simone Biles has done something that may ultimately matter more than any medal: she has shown that it is possible to step back, to ask for help, and to come out the other side not diminished but whole.
Notable Quotes
Everyone thought I was a robot, she's not real, but down to the core, I'm just like you guys. I'm real.— Simone Biles, in interview with CNN Sports
Gymnasts aren't viewed as people who have weaknesses. Now, I look at it as being courageous and not so much a weakness.— Simone Biles, reflecting on her withdrawal
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
When you say you're still in therapy two years later, what does that actually look like week to week?
It's not crisis management anymore. It's about understanding patterns—why I pushed so hard, what I was afraid of, how to separate my worth from my performance. Some weeks we talk about specific things. Other weeks it's just maintenance, like brushing your teeth.
Do you think you would have gotten there without Tokyo falling apart the way it did?
Honestly, probably not. I was operating on fumes and calling it excellence. The twisties forced me to stop and listen to what my body and mind were actually saying. It was the worst thing that happened and the best thing that happened.
The public reaction at the time was brutal. How do you sit with that now?
I had to separate what people thought from what was true. People were scared because I was breaking the image they needed me to be. That wasn't about me. Once I understood that, their judgment mattered less.
You said the decision about 2028 is fifty-fifty. What would it take to tip the scale?
Honestly, I'd need to want it for me, not because the world expects it. And right now, I'm not sure I do. That's okay. I spent twenty years proving something. Maybe the next chapter is about something else.
What do you want people to understand about what happened?
That being human isn't a flaw in an athlete. It's the whole point. We're not machines. We break. We heal. We change our minds. And that's not failure—that's growth.