With the Olympics underway in Paris, the world has a front seat to something truly magical: the gravity-defying skills of US gymnast Simone Biles. And although I'm, of course, looking forward to watching her attempt the Yurchenko double pike vault -- a jump she is the only woman to even attempt in competition, and which she smashed during practice in Paris last week -- I'm really just glad to see her back in a leotard, beaming while high-fiving her teammates.
The 27-year-old athlete (and Presidential Medal of Freedom winner) is showing up with a newfound mental fortitude that carries lessons for all of us. It's the embodiment of a tattoo that sits on her collarbone, "And still I rise," a nod to Maya Angelou.
The whole world watched as Biles found herself in crisis at the previous summer Olympics in Tokyo. She fumbled terribly in practice and again during her first run on the vault. She was experiencing what gymnasts call the "twisties", a jarring discord between body and mind. It's also dangerous. Biles performs the toughest, most death-defying flips in the sport -- some of which have been named after her. If she got lost midair, she risked seriously injuring herself. A broken bone. Paralysis. Death.
And so she famously walked away from the event. While some hailed her decision to prioritise her own well-being, Biles also faced a raft of abuse. People said she'd failed her team and her country, that she wasn't a real leader. Mental health seemed to live in air quotes in those critiques, suggesting that real champions muscle through adversity.
It's taken Biles years of hard work -- in the gym, of course, but as important, in therapy -- to let go of those voices and trust herself again, a process she detailed in a new Netflix documentary. That work meant confronting the trauma of abuse by former gymnastics team doctor Larry Nassar, as well as her early years in foster care.
Her openness about that process after Tokyo matters for other gymnasts -- after all, what could be more relatable to aspiring young tumblers than the GOAT admitting to moments of deep self-doubt? But it also matters to those of us who struggle to even land a cartwheel.
Biles is one of a growing chorus of elite athletes who have brought needed attention to mental health, including fellow Olympians Michael Phelps and Naomi Osaka, as well as New York Jets defensive tackle Solomon Thomas. (I was hugely impressed with the EQ on display from Thomas, whose sister died by suicide and who has struggled with his own mental health, at a recent panel on the topic. He has started a nonprofit devoted to ending youth suicide.)
When such high-profile people share their health struggles, it can have a real impact on the rest of us. A decade ago, Angelina Jolie revealed her choice to undergo a preventative double mastectomy after learning she carried the BRCA1 gene, an inherited trait that put her at high risk of breast and ovarian cancers. Studies later suggested her decision to go public had prompted many more women to seek out tests to see if they, too, carried the gene.
Katie Couric famously underwent an on-air colonoscopy to highlight the importance of screening following her husband's death from colon cancer. One study found the number of colonoscopies performed per month rose in the nine months after her public procedure, and the message of prevention seemed to particularly have resonated with women.
More recently, tennis great Serena Williams brought attention to the dire state of black maternal health in the US by sharing her own near-death experience after childbirth. Her story cracked open an overdue conversation about racial inequalities in medicine, one that hopefully empowered more women to advocate for themselves while also encouraging policy change.
Biles's impact might be harder to quantify. Will more people feel comfortable reaching out to a professional for help if they need it? Hard to say. But at a time when so many in the US are suffering from depression and anxiety, even small effects count.
And the advocacy of athletes like Biles, Phelps and Osaka has already had a direct benefit to the athletes in Paris: During the games, US Olympians reportedly have access to more than twice as many mental health providers than they did in previous years. And the International Olympic Committee is providing broader support through access to a counselling helpline both during and after the games. The committee also last year adopted a mental health action plan intended to foster "psychologically safe and supportive sporting environments".
That support is needed. According to an AP report, the head of psychological services for the US Olympic and Paralympic Committee said that half of the athletes participating in the past two games had experienced some sort of struggle, ranging from anxiety and depression to substance use disorder.
To the rest of us, these elite athletes make it all look easy -- Biles in particular. Yet Biles has said that she's wracked with fear each and every time she walks up to the vault. Somehow, she's found a way to move past that fear to keep body and mind connected.
By letting us in on her reality, she's normalising the lifelong process of maintaining the health of not only our bodies, but our brains. As she said in her documentary, "Don't get me wrong, I don't have it all together. But I can be there with you guys every step of the way, while we figure this out together."
Her openness is helping to redefine what resilience looks like. Swallowing one's demons rather than confronting them comes at a great personal cost. Biles showed us that one can work through them and come out the other side stronger and more joyful. I'd say that's a pretty good example not just for a generation of aspiring gymnasts, but for everyone doing our best to muddle through.
Whether or not Biles wins gold in Paris, we should all revel in watching her step back into the spotlight. Still she rises -- and this time, she's lifting the rest of us, too. ©2024 Bloomberg
Lisa Jarvis is a Bloomberg Opinion columnist covering biotech, health care and the pharmaceutical industry. Previously, she was executive editor of 'Chemical & Engineering News'.