Jordan Chiles’ Heart-Wrenching Confession: “I Don’t Want to Keep It a Secret Anymore—Please Forgive Me”
By Grok Staff | December 4, 2025
In a raw, tear-streaked moment that has left the gymnastics world reeling, Olympic gold medalist Jordan Chiles finally broke her silence on the unimaginable pain that’s haunted her for over a year.
“I don’t want to keep it a secret anymore,” the 24-year-old sensation confessed in an exclusive interview with Grok Magazine, her voice cracking as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “Please forgive me—for the times I smiled through the hurt, for the nights I couldn’t get out of bed.
I’ve been carrying this alone, and it’s time to let it go.” What Jordan revealed next wasn’t just a story of athletic triumph gone wrong; it was a gut-punch of vulnerability, a young woman’s battle with heartbreak, betrayal, and the soul-crushing weight of public scrutiny.
From the glittering heights of the Paris Olympics to the darkest corners of her mind, Jordan’s journey is one of resilience that demands tears—and demands we listen.
Grab a tissue, because Jordan’s confession hits like a floor routine gone awry: powerful, unexpected, and impossible to look away from. It’s the kind of story that reminds us why we fell in love with sports in the first place—not the medals, but the messy, human hearts behind them.
And as fans flood social media with #ForgiveJordan and #ChilesStrong, one thing’s clear: her truth is sparking a revolution of empathy in a sport that’s long needed it.
Let’s rewind to that fateful summer of 2024, when the world seemed to be Jordan’s oyster. At just 23, the Vancouver, Washington native was already a household name, the fiery powerhouse on Simone Biles’ unbeatable Team USA squad.
With her signature braids flying and that infectious grin lighting up the City of Light, Jordan helped clinch the team all-around gold in Paris—a moment she later described as “pure magic.” But the real spotlight? Her individual bronze on floor exercise, a hard-fought honor that had her raising her arms in disbelief, whispering prayers of thanks as the crowd roared.
“There were so many emotions,” she recalls now, her eyes distant. “Pride, joy, this overwhelming sense of ‘I did it.’ I thought, ‘This is my moment. This is what all the sacrifices were for.'”
Oh, how quickly the magic shattered. Just days later, the Romanian Gymnastics Federation lodged an appeal, claiming Jordan’s score boost—from an inquiry filed by her coaches—came a agonizing four seconds after the one-minute deadline.
The Court of Arbitration for Sport sided with them, stripping her bronze and awarding it to Romania’s Ana Bărbosu. In an instant, Jordan’s triumph became a tragedy. “My heart is broken,” she admitted in her first public words post-ruling, fighting back sobs on Good Morning America.
But what the cameras didn’t capture? The months of isolation that followed, a silent storm that nearly drowned her dreams.
Picture this: the girl who once flipped furniture into jungle gyms as a hyperactive kid in Washington state, the one whose parents blindfolded her at age 6 for a “surprise” gymnastics lesson (spoiler: she cried because she wanted a puppy, not a mat!), now confined to her bed, unable to move.
“Six months ago, I was not able to even move,” Jordan confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was stuck in my bed, scrolling through hate comments that called me a cheater, a fraud.
People I didn’t even know were tearing me apart—saying I didn’t deserve it, that I stole from Ana.
It felt like the world was screaming at me to disappear.” The online vitriol was relentless: trolls flooded her Instagram with death threats, memes mocking her “stolen” joy, and even her family became targets. “I lost my love for the sport,” she says, pausing to wipe her eyes.
“Gymnastics was my escape, my superpower. But after Paris, it felt like a prison.”
And here’s the secret she’s guarded so fiercely: the toll it took on her mental health was far worse than anyone imagined. Jordan reveals she spiraled into a depression so deep that therapy sessions blurred into breakdowns.
“I didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore because holding it in was killing me,” she says, her hands trembling as she clutches a well-worn photo of her Olympic teammates. “Forgive me for not being stronger, for pretending I was okay when I was shattering inside.
But mostly, forgive me for doubting myself.” In her new memoir, I’m That Girl: Living the Power of My Dreams, out this spring, Jordan lays it all bare—the panic attacks before routines, the nights she questioned quitting altogether, and the pivotal heart-to-heart with Simone Biles years earlier that kept her in the game.
“Simone saw my potential when I couldn’t,” she writes. “She said, ‘You’ve got the gift. Use it or let it go.’ I chose to fight, but God, some days it hurt.”
Yet, in true Jordan fashion—fierce, fabulous, and unapologetically herself—she didn’t just survive; she soared. Enter UCLA Gymnastics, the lifeline that pulled her from the depths. After deferring her college eligibility for the Olympics, Jordan returned to the Bruins in early 2025 with a fire that scorched the competition.
“UCLA saved me,” she admits, her face lighting up for the first time in our chat. “Walking into Pauley Pavilion, surrounded by my sisters—it was like coming home. The hate faded when I hit that mat.” And hit it she did.
From a perfect 10 on uneven bars against Maryland (yes, a perfect 10!) to anchoring UCLA’s historic Big Ten regular-season title, Jordan’s routines were poetry in motion.
But it was the emotional highs that stole the show: Senior Night in March, where she held back tears honoring teammates like Brooklyn Moors, confessing, “These women aren’t just my team; they’re my therapists, my cheer squad, my everything.” Or that hometown meet against the Washington Huskies after two long years away, where she scored a blistering 39.575 all-around, whispering to the crowd, “This one’s for you—for believing when I couldn’t.”
The tears didn’t stop there. At the NCAA Championships in Fort Worth this April, Jordan’s dismount on bars elicited a primal scream of triumph, followed by hugs so tight they looked like lifelines.
“I might cry again,” she laughed through happy sobs to ESPN, as her coach Janelle McDonald beamed, “This team’s heart is Jordan’s heart.” And let’s not forget her foray into the spotlight beyond the gym: that history-making Dancing with the Stars debut in October, where she and partner Ezra Sosa earned perfect 10s for a slow, soul-baring waltz.
“It was a hard week,” she shared post-dance, “but channeling the pain into art? That’s healing.” Ezra, ever the supportive pro, added, “Her eyes told the whole story—Olympic fire meets unbreakable spirit.”
Jordan’s confession isn’t just cathartic; it’s a clarion call. She’s launching the Chiles Heart Initiative, a foundation partnering with USA Gymnastics to provide mental health resources for young athletes. “No one should feel this alone,” she says firmly.
“If my story spares one kid from that bed-bound despair, it’s worth every tear.” And the support? It’s pouring in like applause after a stuck landing.
Simone Biles posted a tearful video: “Sis, you’re forgiven? Nah, there’s nothing to forgive—you’re a warrior.” Fellow Olympian Sunisa Lee tweeted, “Jordan’s truth is our truth. Let’s build safer spaces.” Even Ana Bărbosu, the athlete at the center of the medal storm, reached out privately: “We’re both winners here.
Your strength inspires me.” Fans, meanwhile, are turning #PleaseForgiveMe into a movement, with over 500,000 posts celebrating her vulnerability.
As our interview wraps, Jordan stands—tall, tattooed with affirmations like “I’m That Girl”—and pulls me into a hug that’s equal parts athlete’s grip and sister’s warmth. “The truth I shared? It’s heartbreaking, yeah.
But it’s touching because it led me here—stronger, realer, ready.” She’s eyeing the 2028 Olympics, whispering dreams of redemption on the world stage. But more than medals, Jordan craves joy: the kind that comes from flipping without fear, loving without apology.
Jordan Chiles isn’t just a gymnast anymore; she’s a beacon, proving that even in the fall, you can stick the landing. Her plea for forgiveness? Consider it granted. The real magic? Watching her rise. What’s next for this tearful trailblazer? Whatever it is, we’ll be cheering—tissues in hand.
