In the summer of 2021, Simone Biles stood atop the world—not on a podium, but on a precipice. The most decorated gymnast in history, with 37 Olympic and World Championship medals, had just done the unthinkable: she withdrew from the Tokyo Olympics team final, citing mental health struggles and the dangerous “twisties,” a disorienting condition that could have left her paralyzed mid-routine. For a 24-year-old Black woman who’d carried America’s hopes through gravity-defying flips and unshakable poise, it was a moment of raw vulnerability. The world paused, expecting empathy to follow. Instead, a chorus of cruelty erupted, led by conservative firebrand Charlie Kirk, who branded her a “national shame” on his podcast, accusing her of abandoning her country for weakness. Those words, sharp as blades, sliced into Biles’ already fragile psyche, leaving scars she’s only now, in October 2025, begun to unpack after Kirk’s tragic assassination. Her response—quiet, unflinching, and radiant—has transformed a wound into a global rallying cry for resilience, proving that true strength isn’t in medals, but in surviving the darkest storms.

Tokyo was supposed to be Biles’ coronation. At 24, she was the GOAT—her quadruple-twist Yurchenko vault a feat no other gymnast dared attempt. But behind the glitter of her leotards and the roar of the Ariake Gymnastics Centre, she was unraveling. The pressure of global expectations, compounded by the trauma of surviving Larry Nassar’s abuse and a pandemic-warped Games with no fans, had fractured her mental fortress. “I wasn’t in the right headspace,” she told reporters post-withdrawal, her voice steady but eyes distant. “I didn’t want to go out there and hurt myself.” The twisties—where a gymnast loses air awareness mid-flip—weren’t just a performance glitch; they were a physical manifestation of her mind screaming for rest. Her decision to step back, prioritizing safety over gold, was hailed by many as revolutionary. Mental health advocates cheered; fans on X posted #ProtectSimone, with 1.2 million tweets in 48 hours. But the backlash was swift and vicious, and no voice cut deeper than Kirk’s.

On his July 27, 2021, podcast, Kirk—then 27, a Turning Point USA founder with a knack for polarizing soundbites—unloaded: “Simone Biles is a national shame. She quit on her team, her country, because she couldn’t handle the pressure. We don’t celebrate weakness in America.” The clip, amplified across Fox News and right-wing X threads, racked up 10 million views in days. Kirk doubled down, framing her exit as a betrayal of “American grit,” contrasting her with WWII soldiers who “didn’t get to quit.” For Biles, already grappling with self-doubt and the weight of representing Black excellence, the words were a gut-punch. “I felt like I was letting everyone down,” she later told NBC’s Hoda Kotb in 2022, admitting she’d spiraled into thoughts of disappearing. “When someone like that says you’re a shame to your nation, you start believing it.”

The public pile-on wasn’t just Kirk. Piers Morgan called her “selfish”; radio hosts mocked her as “fragile.” But Kirk’s megaphone—his podcast reaching 2 million weekly, his X followers at 3.5 million—gave his words unique venom. To Biles, a Black woman from Spring, Texas, who’d risen from foster care to global icon, the label stung with a particular cruelty. “It wasn’t just about me,” she said in a recent October 2025 interview with The Cut, her first since Kirk’s death on September 10. “It was about every Black girl watching, every kid told they’re not enough if they show they’re human.” She described locking herself in her Tokyo hotel room, scrolling X, seeing her name trend alongside “quit” and “disgrace.” Therapy, she says, saved her: “I had to unlearn that my worth was tied to performing.”

Kirk’s death—a sniper’s bullet at a Utah Valley University rally—cast a long shadow over Biles’ silence. The 31-year-old’s assassination, amid a contentious election cycle, shocked the nation, with Trump mourning his “son-like” ally and a viral hospital video of Kirk’s daughter pleading, “Daddy, wake up,” racking up 500 million views. Biles, now 28 and fresh off a triumphant 2024 Paris Olympics where she won four medals, including team gold, could have stayed quiet. She didn’t owe Kirk’s memory her words. Yet, in a poignant Vogue cover story, she chose to speak—not with vengeance, but with a clarity that’s left the world in awe. “I kept quiet because I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire,” she said, her voice soft but steely. “But the truth is, I was broken. ‘National shame’ hit me like a weight I already carried. I thought maybe I was everything they said—weak, a failure. I wanted to disappear.”

She paused, eyes glistening, then continued: “Time taught me my worth isn’t medals or critics who don’t know my heart. It’s in being human, in getting help, in showing kids it’s okay to not be okay. If my story helps one person feel less alone, it’s worth every tear.” Her words, delivered in a quiet Houston studio, have exploded online, with #WeStandWithSimone trending globally at 4.7 million mentions. Athletes like Serena Williams (“You’re the blueprint, Simone”) and LeBron James (“Real strength is speaking your truth”) amplified her message. Parents flooded her Instagram, sharing stories of kids inspired to seek therapy. A Chicago mom wrote: “My daughter saw you cry on TV and told me she’s not scared to talk about her anxiety anymore. Thank you.”

Biles’ journey since Tokyo is a masterclass in reclamation. She returned to competition in 2023, dominating the World Championships with five golds, including a historic sixth all-around title. In Paris 2024, her floor routine to Beyoncé’s “Cowboy Carter” became a cultural moment, earning a 14.666 score and cementing her as the oldest Olympic all-around champ at 27. Off the mat, she’s leaned into advocacy, funding mental health clinics in underserved communities through her Simone Biles Foundation and partnering with BetterHelp to destigmatize therapy. Her 2025 memoir, Unstoppable, details her therapy sessions, her marriage to NFL player Jonathan Owens, and the quiet nights she spent rebuilding her self-worth. “I had to forgive myself first,” she writes. “Then I could forgive the world.”

Kirk’s “national shame” jab, in hindsight, was less about Biles and more a reflection of his brand—provocation as currency. His supporters framed it as a defense of “toughness”; critics saw it as bullying a young Black woman at her lowest. Posthumously, his legacy is a tug-of-war: a conservative hero to millions, a divisive figure to others, humanized by a leaked video of his toddler’s grief. Biles’ response sidesteps this divide. “I don’t hold anger,” she told Vogue. “Words hurt, but they don’t define me. I hope his family finds peace.” Her grace has disarmed even skeptics, with conservative X accounts like @PatriotVoiceUSA conceding: “She’s stronger than we gave her credit for.”

The public’s response is a tidal wave of empathy. On Reddit’s r/Olympics, threads dissect her resilience: “Simone took the worst moment of her life and turned it into a beacon for mental health.” TikTok videos pair her Vogue quotes with clips of her Paris flips, amassing 50 million views. A viral X post from a London therapist reads: “Biles just gave every patient permission to heal out loud.” Even Kirk’s base has softened; a TPUSA chapter leader posted: “We didn’t get it then. Respect to her for rising above.” The hashtags #CourageNotShame and #SimoneSpeaks have sparked a movement, with 10,000+ mental health pledges on her foundation’s site.

This saga transcends gymnastics or politics—it’s a mirror to our collective wounds. Biles’ story echoes others who’ve faced public shaming: Monica Lewinsky, hounded for decades, tweeted support: “You turned pain into power, Simone.” It’s a reminder that words, like Kirk’s, can wound invisibly, but healing can resonate louder. Biles’ legacy—32 Olympic medals, seven of them gold—is monumental, but her true mark is etched in the kids who see her cry and dare to speak, the parents who listen, the world that pauses to feel. “I’m still here,” she said, smiling through tears. “And I’m enough.”

As October 2025 unfolds, with Kirk’s death still raw and suspect Tyler Robinson’s trial looming, Biles stands as a quiet giant. Her truth—forged in the crucible of 2021’s cruelty—isn’t just survival; it’s a revolution. She’s not the girl who “quit”; she’s the woman who redefined victory. And in her voice, millions hear their own: broken, yes, but brilliantly, beautifully whole.