Snowboarding gold medalist Chloe Kim gets real about her mental health struggles and triumphs

Chloe Kim

When world champion gymnast Simone Biles opened up out about her struggles with mental health after dropping out of the Tokyo Olympics last summer, the world heard something we rarely hear from superstar athletes: I'm human, too.

It's easy to see someone who excels at the top of their field, doing things no one has done before, as superhuman. We even use that word to describe their feats sometimes, but it's important that we remember every person is a complex mix of mind, body and spirit. We know it takes an enormous amount of resilience and mental fortitude to make it to an international podium in any sport, but no one is immune to mental health ups and downs. And the top of the podium is sometimes where athletes feel those ups and downs the most intensely.

At 21, Chloe Kim just won her second Olympic gold medal for the U.S. in the snowboard halfpipe at the Beijing Olympics, becoming the first woman to take home back-to-back gold medals in the sport. But after she won in PyeongChang in 2018, she began to question if it was all worth it. In fact, at one point, she even threw her first gold medal in the trash at her parents' house.


“I hated life,” Kim told TIME. International fame had hit hard and fast. At 17, despite being known as a prodigy in the snowboarding world, Kim was used to living a normal teenage life. Suddenly, going to her favorite bakery to grab a bite to eat became an ordeal.

“The minute I come home, I can’t even go to my goddamn favorite place,” Kim said. “It makes you angry. I just wanted a day where I was left alone. And it’s impossible. And I appreciate that everyone loves and supports me, but I just wish people could understand what I was going through up to that point."

She did fish her medal out of the trash, but the mental toll of high-pressure competition and overnight fame remained.

And it wasn't just having all eyes on her that was the issue. Some of those eyes were accompanied by mouths spewing anti-Asian hate her way.

"I experience hate on a daily basis," Kim wrote in an ESPN op-ed last April. She shared that she sees maybe 30 hate-filled messages a day, such as "You dumb Asian b----. Kiss my ass."

Kim wrote that when she won her first X Games medal at 13, she started hiding parts of her identity—like the fact that she speaks Korean fluently—after people belittled her accomplishment because she's Asian. She felt embarrassed by her heritage due to people's responses, but now she feels guilty about how disrespectful that was to her dad, who came to the U.S. to give his family a better life.

In a recent powerful video produced by P&G Everyday, Kim shared the role her father played in helping shape the confidence and determination to become the Olympic champion she is today.

Being in the spotlight at such a young age put her in an uncomfortable position in dealing with the racism that came her way, both internally and externally.

"I was expected to speak up and be an activist," she wrote. "It was a lot of responsibility. I still don't know how to talk about all of this. It's difficult to talk about these things. In snowboarding, all my friends are white and no one had these conversations."

In addition to—or perhaps because of—the racism, the sudden fame and burn-out from competition, Kim felt "an emptiness" after her gold medal win in PyeongChang. That's when she decided to take a break from snowboarding to go to college at Princeton in the fall of 2019.

She couldn't escape her fame, however, and the first part of the semester was rough. She'd frequently call home crying. Soon she started making friends who didn't know much about her, which helped broaden her own horizons. Her time at Princeton also allowed her to see other driven, talented people struggling to succeed—and sometimes failing—which was good for for her, she told TIME.

“Everyone around me was falling apart when it came time to do an exam,” Kim said. “It’s a sh-t show. People are hiding away in the darkest part of the library until 3 in the morning, and then coming out like zombies at 7 and doing it all over again. That was great. It was just like, ‘I need this. I need to see other amazing people fall apart.’”

After the pandemic hit and in-person classes were canceled, Kim returned to snowboarding—and embraced therapy for her anxiety.

"It's been a big improvement in my mental health," she told Shape magazine. "I'm learning to open up more and communicate my feelings with people around me."

And that's part of what makes Kim's victory in the Olympics so significant. It's an inclusive victory for countless millions who work to overcome adversity, mental health challenges and the rigors of everyday life. Very few of us will stand as Olympic champions but we can all appreciate Kim's incredible journey as a person deserving of respect.

"Now I am so proud to be Korean American," she wrote on ESPN.com. "I was nervous to share my experiences with racism, but we need to hear more about these conversations. I've received so many messages from people saying they are inspired by me sharing what I've been through and that makes me feel hopeful, and like I can still do so much more."

Thank you Chloe Kim. Spoken like a true champion.

Moricz was banned from speaking up about LGBTQ topics. He found a brilliant workaround.

Senior class president Zander Moricz was given a fair warning: If he used his graduation speech to criticize the “Don’t Say Gay” law, then his microphone would be shut off immediately.

Moricz had been receiving a lot of attention for his LGBTQ activism prior to the ceremony. Moricz, an openly gay student at Pine View School for the Gifted in Florida, also organized student walkouts in protest and is the youngest public plaintiff in the state suing over the law formally known as the Parental Rights in Education law, which prohibits the discussion of sexual orientation or gender identity in grades K-3.

Though well beyond third grade, Moricz nevertheless was also banned from speaking up about the law, gender or sexuality. The 18-year-old tweeted, “I am the first openly-gay Class President in my school’s history–this censorship seems to show that they want me to be the last.”

However, during his speech, Moricz still delivered a powerful message about identity. Even if he did have to use a clever metaphor to do it.

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Photo by Heather Mount on Unsplash

Actions speak far louder than words.

It never fails. After a tragic mass shooting, social media is filled with posts offering thoughts and prayers. Politicians give long-winded speeches on the chamber floor or at press conferences asking Americans to do the thing they’ve been repeatedly trained to do after tragedy: offer heartfelt thoughts and prayers. When no real solution or plan of action is put forth to stop these senseless incidents from occurring so frequently in a country that considers itself a world leader, one has to wonder when we will be honest with ourselves about that very intangible automatic phrase.

Comedian Anthony Jeselnik brilliantly summed up what "thoughts and prayers" truly mean. In a 1.5-minute clip, Jeselnik talks about victims' priorities being that of survival and not wondering if they’re trending at that moment. The crowd laughs as he mimics the actions of well-meaning social media users offering thoughts and prayers after another mass shooting. He goes on to explain how the act of performatively offering thoughts and prayers to victims and their families really pulls the focus onto the author of the social media post and away from the event. In the short clip he expertly expresses how being performative on social media doesn’t typically equate to action that will help victims or enact long-term change.

Of course, this isn’t to say that thoughts and prayers aren’t welcomed or shouldn’t be shared. According to Rabbi Jack Moline "prayer without action is just noise." In a world where mass shootings are so common that a video clip from 2015 is still relevant, it's clear that more than thoughts and prayers are needed. It's important to examine what you’re doing outside of offering thoughts and prayers on social media. In another several years, hopefully this video clip won’t be as relevant, but at this rate it’s hard to see it any differently.

Joy

50-years ago they trade a grilled cheese for a painting. Now it's worth a small fortune.

Irene and Tony Demas regularly traded food at their restaurant in exchange for crafts. It paid off big time.

Photo by Gio Bartlett on Unsplash

Painting traded for grilled cheese worth thousands.

The grilled cheese at Irene and Tony Demas’ restaurant was truly something special. The combination of freshly baked artisan bread and 5-year-old cheddar was enough to make anyone’s mouth water, but no one was nearly as devoted to the item as the restaurant’s regular, John Kinnear.

Kinnear loved the London, Ontario restaurant's grilled cheese so much that he ordered it every single day, though he wouldn’t always pay for it in cash. The Demases were well known for bartering their food in exchange for odds and ends from local craftspeople and merchants.

“Everyone supported everyone back then,” Irene told the Guardian, saying that the couple would often trade free soup and a sandwich for fresh flowers. Two different kinds of nourishment, you might say.

And so, in the 1970s the Demases made a deal with Kinnear that he could pay them for his grilled cheese sandwiches with artwork. Being a painter himself and part of an art community, Kinnear would never run out of that currency.

Little did Kinnear—or anyone—know, eventually he would give the Demases a painting worth an entire lifetime's supply of grilled cheeses. And then some.

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