In Life’s Arena: Lessons in Courage from a Young Tennis Player
- Priscila Z Vendramini Mezzena
- 6 days ago
- 4 min read
To my little girl, with all my love
Last Friday was a day filled with learning — for our daughter Maria and us, her parents.
She has been taking tennis lessons for a few years but had never played in a tournament until now. When an opportunity arose in our city, we decided it was the right time for her to face a new challenge. We signed her up for the Women's B category — the only one available besides A. By comparison, the men's side had five categories: Special, A, B, C, and D.
Amateur women's draws are often particularly challenging. That's because — at least in Brazil — there are significantly fewer female players in competition. Women frequently have to enter men's draws when allowed, or they end up unable to participate since some tournaments don't form women's groups due to the low number of players. When there are enough women to create a draw, it often includes athletes with very different skill levels, experience, and ages. This reality is also seen in professional tennis and sports in general.
For parents, debuts like this are moments of great expectation and anxiety. At least for me, this was true in every performance Maria has had — whether solo piano recitals or group tap dance presentations. As someone who practices and loves tennis, I know how much psychological pressure this sport can generate, especially in its individual format. The exposure is total, with no one to fall back on: the result depends entirely on the athlete's physical and mental performance.
During the week, the tournament draws were finally released. When I saw Maria's opponent, my first reaction was concern, immediately triggering my protective instincts. Her opponent was older, taller, stronger, and clearly more experienced. Evidently, the match would offer virtually no chance of winning — perhaps not even of scoring a game. I shared my concerns with my husband and Maria's coach, who pointed out that there are often significant disparities among players, even in the male categories. We all agreed that it could still be an incredibly valuable experience — as long as expectations were aligned with Maria and the goals for her participation were clearly defined. The idea was for her to experience what it's like to compete against a more experienced, unknown player in a tournament — as a learning opportunity without any pressure to win. And above all, we hoped she would enjoy being on the court.
When Maria found out who her opponent would be, she hesitated momentarily and said she would be "crushed" but accepted the challenge. She stepped onto the court with energy, moved well, didn't get intimidated or embarrassed, and didn't give up — even fully aware of the mismatch. Her opponent also had a positive attitude and guided Maria in her on-court positions, game rules, and side changes. At times, she even seemed to ease her pace a little to allow for more rallies — some of which were really beautiful. Maria managed to hit some great points of her own.
After two sets, the expected result was confirmed: her opponent won all the games. Even so, I genuinely felt that Maria walked off the court as a winner — tired, but in no way defeated. She said she enjoyed playing and felt inspired to keep improving her game. We celebrated her attitude and presence on the court with great joy.
This episode reminded me of the inspiring book Daring Greatly by Brené Brown. In one of the chapters, she writes about raising wholehearted children who have the courage to dare, face shame and frustration, and practice self-acceptance. She shares an emotional story about her daughter, who, at the same age as Maria, was invited to compete in the 100-meter breaststroke, even though she knew it wasn't her strongest stroke (I won't spoil the ending!). Brené and her husband stood by her throughout the experience, which initially caused a great deal of anxiety. One sentence in that chapter truly stayed with me:
"If we're always following our children into the arena, quieting the critics and assuring their victory, they'll never learn that they have the ability to dare greatly on their own."
The chapter ends with the beautiful Wholehearted Parenting Manifesto.
Maria's experience in this tournament reaffirmed something important: winning doesn't always mean achieving the visible outcome. Often, it's an inner battle — challenging our beliefs, fears, and vulnerabilities and facing situations where conditions are far from equal. It's about being authentic, shifting our focus away from external judgment, letting go of comparisons, and living by the motto "Do Your Best," which is so meaningful in scouting. And this applies genuinely to every aspect of life — personal and professional.
May we have the courage to face the many challenges life presents. May we face them with more lightness, self-compassion, and firm belief in our strengths and our ability to grow and evolve. May we not be intimidated by pressure—whether internal or external—like the pursuit of unattainable perfection.
I feel immense happiness and pride in Maria, and I am grateful for all the lessons she taught me in this achievement and for teaching me every day. May this experience always serve as a reminder and an invitation to step into life's arenas with an open heart and a mind free from constraints.
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