I was always at peace because of the way my mom treated me.

Hear now the words of Martina Hingis, the champion of the courts, who declared with quiet strength: “I was always at peace because of the way my mom treated me.” Simple though they seem, these words open a door into the eternal truth of the bond between parent and child, between nurture and the soul’s unshakable calm. In this utterance lies the secret that the warriors of old, the poets of ages past, and the sages of temples long forgotten have all revered: the shaping hand of love grants the spirit its anchor.

For what is peace, if not the steady flame of the inner heart, unmoved by storm or shadow? And whence comes this flame? Not from riches, nor crowns, nor victories of the world, but from the cradle of care, from the voice of a mother that whispers, “You are cherished.” Hingis, who strode boldly into the arenas of the world, knew no trembling within, because her foundation was firm. The words of her mother were like cool water upon the fiery trials of life, and her presence was as a shield stronger than iron.

The ancients too honored such truths. Consider the story of Alexander the Great, whose mother, Olympias, though fierce and flawed, instilled in him the conviction that he was destined for greatness. From her, he inherited not only ambition but also the courage to walk where none had dared. Though his fate was far different from Hingis’s, the lesson is the same: the mother’s influence builds the citadel within, whether of peace or of fire. As the tree is shaped by the roots unseen, so too is the destiny of the child shaped by the unseen tenderness—or neglect—of the parent.

There are tales also of the philosophers. The Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius, whose Meditations still echo through time, often remembered the teachings of his family. Of his mother, he wrote that she taught him simplicity, reverence for the divine, and generosity toward the poor. These lessons gave him balance amidst the turmoil of ruling an empire. Thus do we see again: the mother’s treatment is not merely comfort for the child—it is the soil from which the fruit of virtue and peace is borne.

And yet, let no one think this truth belongs only to rulers, philosophers, or athletes. Even in the humblest homes, a gentle word or a loving gaze can lay the foundation for generations yet unborn. The way one is treated in childhood echoes throughout the years, shaping choices, relationships, and the very way one meets the trials of life. To be nurtured with respect is to learn self-respect; to be loved with constancy is to learn the rare art of loving without fear.

The lesson, therefore, is this: honor the power of your words and actions, for in treating another—especially a child—you are fashioning the architecture of their inner peace. Mothers and fathers alike must see themselves not as mere caretakers but as builders of unseen kingdoms within their children. Every moment of kindness is a stone placed in the foundation of resilience; every cruelty or neglect is a crack that may widen across the years.

And for you, O listener, who may not yet bear the role of parent, still this wisdom is yours: seek out the company of those who treat you with dignity, who restore your peace, and let their presence be as balm to your soul. And likewise, become for others what Hingis’s mother was for her—a giver of calm, a fountain of gentleness. For in doing so, you multiply the world’s peace, one soul at a time.

Let these words be inscribed upon the scroll of your heart: that the way we treat one another is no small matter. It is the origin of peace or the seed of turmoil, the shaping of champions or the forging of the broken. And if you desire to leave behind a legacy worthy of remembrance, let it be this—that you, like Hingis’s mother, cultivated such love that those who walked with you could say with certainty: “I was always at peace because of the way they treated me.”