"I did it, so you can too!" and the downsides of Olympian inspiration

American track and field Olympian Noah Lyles tweeted, "I have asthma, allergies, dyslexia, ADD, anxiety, and depression. But I will tell you that what you have does not define what you can become. Why Not You!" Oh, I know they say never read the comments, but when something rubs you the wrong way but you simply cannot put your finger on it, it's particularly tempting. The responses were varied: some denied the existence of depression and cited Noah's achievements as evidence; many with the same diagnoses claimed that they felt inspired; several mocked him for naming such seemingly innocuous disabilities as barriers; and others remarked that "this generation is just mad they don't have an excuse anymore."

It's true that humans cannot be defined by any one thing, for sure, and many who are dealt an adverse hand do internalize so much direct ableism (a la "You'll never be able to XYZ") that they are uplifted by stories of folks with similar identities who have achieved their goals in spite of it all. But there's a difference between this and "inspiration porn," or media that objectifies disabled people for the benefit of non-disabled people.

The benefit I'm referring to is the comfort of glossing over some tough realities: that the world is inequitable, that some people can't do things others can do, and that able-bodied and neurotypical folks do benefit from unearned privileges. It's tough to sit with the cognitive dissonance of having a moral responsibility to contribute to the leveling of the playing field and not taking action to do so. So often, people run from that by denying it, and inspirational stories that seem to disprove disability help. At the same time, stories that inspire disabled people often overlap with those that benefit non-disabled people, so nuance is key in assessing what is helpful or unhelpful and what is harming the most marginalized.

The Instagram account @femalequotient shared an image of gymnastics medalist Suni Lee soaring through the air with this caption: "Just over a year ago, Suni Lee was told she wouldn't be able to compete in gymnastics again due to her kidney diseases. Against all odds, she won her fifth Olympic medal and is now the most accomplished Asian American gymnast in history." Comments expressing admiration for Suni's resilience came from a mix of those with their own kidney disease stories and those without. Many others were concerned about the impact of the generalization of Suni's story to all people with kidney disease, like this commenter:

Let's normalize that many folks choose to alter their dreams/goals/ambitions when receiving a life-altering diagnosis, which is absolutely great too. There is zero shame in changing course.

ADHD and "making excuses"

I saw my first client with ADHD as an intern on a youth mobile crisis unit. She was a 12-year-old with low self-esteem whose mom was concerned that her knowledge about her neurotype was the culprit, as she had seemed to stop trying as hard socially and academically shortly after receiving a diagnosis. The ableist phrase "using it at a crutch" was thrown around. I have seen many ADHDers since then whose well-meaning families were reluctant to put a label on their experiences because they worried it would be de-motivating, would lead them to believe they weren't capable, or would contribute to long-term learned helplessness. It's true that our core beliefs about ourselves and our abilities do sometimes play a role in whether or not a self-fulfilling prophecy holds us back when we set out to tackle a challenge (and whether or not we set out in the first place). As Henry Ford said, "If you think you can or you think you can't, you're right." But Ford only talked about this singular element of success. If your attitude toward a challenge is the only thing that determines whether you'll succeed, you have every privilege in your corner. This is just not the full picture for most people most of the time.

At the time, I didn't know I was ADHD myself and from the outside in, it was perfectly plausible to me that what this child was lacking was inspiration: a role model, a source of hope, a reason to believe that she could both have ADHD and be successful. It hadn't occurred to me that perhaps she would in fact need to learn to shift her expectations, shift her behaviors, shift her direction in a way that better suited her brain than the path to "success" that had been assigned to her at birth. I, like this child, had been indoctrinated with the "If you can dream it, you can do it" mindset that hyper-individualistic "bootstraps" culture is built on. By this, I mean that the cost of believing we can do anything with enough effort is that we take on the full blame, rather than appropriately assigning it to the barriers set up by society's power structures, when we don't meet its expectations. This is a setup for low self-esteem. Societies whose individuals blame themselves for perceived shortcomings are never compelled to make accessible system changes.

My supervisor suggested I bring in the stories of celebrities and historical figures who "overcame" ADHD to show her what she was capable of. This positioned my client as hero in her story against the villain, ADHD, and challenged her to battle her own brain to come out as neurotypically-presenting as possible. It sounds nice and uplifting on the surface, just as Suni Lee vs. her kidney disease. "You have to jump over hurdles that aren't your fault, and that's not fair, but you can do it, see? Look at all these people who have done it. It's possible." We don't know what a person can do until we ask them and problem-solve with them and work through the grief that comes with the un-solvable.

What I wish I had done in retrospect is to share those stories to normalize ADHD in the context of exploring my client's own ADHD, and to emphasize that no two people, even with a shared neurotype, experience their brains exactly the same. I wish I had given her the space to describe what is hard, what makes her feel different from her peers, how to present this to her family to maximize their understanding and support, discussed what areas of daily functioning she'd most like to strategize around, and whether the motivation for that was coming from an intrinsic place or from a desire to please others and to compensate for perceived flaws. There was a ton of real work to do, a lot of opportunities that ended up on the back burner in favor of the "inspiration porn" shortcut.

The one message I'd stand by from that experience, however, is that my client's differences are not her fault. However, I'd shift the second part of that narrative, one we hear in eating disorder work all the time, too: "But it is your responsibility to do something about it." A) Who says? We need to let people find their own "whys" instead of shaming them into compliance. And B) The assumption that this is possible causes more harm than good.

"Healing is possible for everyone, trust me."

This well-intended microaggression is not contained to one particular diagnosis and/or neurotype. My first job in eating disorders was with a treatment center that prided itself on hiring "fully recovered" clinicians to serve as role models for clients. And don't get me wrong - I've been asked more times than I can count whether recovery is possible, whether the ED voice ever goes away, whether recovery is worth shooting for when it feels impossible in the present, and I don't take for granted how impactful my lived experience is in my therapeutic alliances with those who ask these questions. However, because they are very nuanced, I have never been and will never be able to answer it for any individual without a crystal ball. But I have learned through years of work with people from all walks of life that the likelihood of someone's recovery looking one way or another is predicted by their positionality, their privileges and lack thereof, and their access to support and resources. So when, as a bright-eyed new graduate, I was asked to tell a treatment milieu full of people pursuing recovery in all different stages of motivation and capacity, that I did it so surely they could too, I did so happily, as I was eager to make meaning of what I perceived to be a hard-won, and earned, battle with my eating disorder. I wasn't yet ready to face the idea that much of what had "worked" for me wasn't actually attributable to any particular personality trait, decision, value, or strength but rather things like insurance, thin and white privileges, and good old fashioned luck.

Goodbye stigma?

Therapist Facebook groups have been filled with celebrations of our field after Simone Biles shared that she met with her therapist the morning she won gold in the gymnastics final and a photo of her seemingly meditating mid-competition went viral. I love the sentiment of shouting out your mental health professional and normalizing both therapy and coping skills - don't get me wrong - but I feel that some responses implied that the therapist is due any amount of credit for their client's success and that seeing a therapist and deep breathing are the Cures to mental illness. Those who still hold disbelief about the validity of mental illness in 2024 are, in my experience, most likely to fall prey to such over-simplification, potentially projecting it onto others: "You're anxious? So was Simone Biles, and she just breathed about it" or "You went to therapy; shouldn't you feel better now?"

Photo: Jamie Squire/Getty 

Simone is famously in her "comeback era" after a shaky 2021 Tokyo Olympics in which she chose not to compete due to mental health issues, lauded by some as normalizing discussion of this and reviled by others as "making excuses." I can't speak to which crowd was louder overall, given that in my "radical bubble" of mostly progressive colleagues, her decision was seen as part of what makes her such a great role model. And I don't disagree. Mental health author and influencer Nedra Tawwab posted this takeaway to Instagram in regards to Simone's outstanding performance in Paris:

Simone Biles is teaching us to take a break when needed. Pushing yourself when you need to rest and recover is not best for you. If something is for you, when you return, it will still be yours."

Absolutely. We can hold this truth alongside the truth that not all people who struggle with their mental health will be able to achieve whatever they put their minds to. Who doesn't love a good dialectic?