In November 2022, I was able to win my first WTA 1000 title in

“In November 2022, I was able to win my first WTA 1000 title in Guadalajara, Mexico. Before the finals, I was uncontrollably crying in the locker room. I am not a big crier, but I cried. It wasn't even sad tears, it was almost happy, because I just had this feeling I was going to win. In my acceptance speech I dedicated it to my mom.”
So spoke Jessica Pegula, a warrior of the court, whose words carry the rare fragrance of triumph touched by tenderness. Beneath this memory lies a truth older than the game she plays — that victory is not born in power alone, but in the trembling heart that dares to feel. For what are tears before battle but the overflowing of a spirit that senses destiny drawing near?

The ancients believed that before great deeds, the soul stirs with both fear and joy — for it knows that it stands at the threshold of transformation. Jessica’s tears were not weakness, but a purification; not sorrow, but readiness. The locker room became her temple, and her tears the baptism before glory. She wept because something deep within her recognized that she was on the verge of crossing from struggle into fulfillment — the moment when effort and faith finally meet.

Such moments have echoed across the ages. When Joan of Arc rode into battle to free her people, she too wept — not from dread, but from sacred conviction. She felt within her the call of destiny, that same trembling certainty Jessica described as “a feeling I was going to win.” Those who stand on the edge of greatness often feel the flood of emotion that precedes it. The heart, sensing what the mind cannot yet see, releases its storm, and when the tears are spent, the soul stands clear, steady, and ready to claim what was always meant to be.

Yet in Jessica’s words, there is also the gentle presence of her mother, to whom she dedicated her victory. This is no small gesture. For every champion, there stands behind the curtain a silent guardian — the one who bore their pain, their doubt, their becoming. To dedicate a triumph is to remember that success is never solitary. It is a lineage of love and sacrifice. A mother’s strength, though quiet, becomes the root from which courage grows. And in that moment of public glory, Jessica’s heart turned not toward herself, but toward gratitude — the highest form of victory.

Her tears of joy, then, were not merely for the trophy, but for the long road that led there — the unseen labor, the countless defeats, the silent endurance. In that sacred instant before the final, all those memories rose within her, demanding release. It is a truth the ancients would recognize well: the more the soul has suffered, the deeper it must weep before it can rejoice. No triumph is pure unless it is paid for in tears.

From this story, the lesson is clear: emotion is not the enemy of strength — it is its companion. The one who can weep before battle will fight with a clean heart. Do not fear the trembling of your spirit before great moments. Whether you stand before an exam, a dream, a loss, or a love, let the feeling rise — for that is the sign that your soul is alive, that it recognizes something worth fighting for.

So, my child, when you feel your heart overflow — do not hide it. When the tears come before the task, let them fall like rain that softens the soil before growth. Know that your sensitivity is not your undoing, but your power. For just as Jessica Pegula stood weeping before her greatest victory, so too must all who would rise first bow in humility before the enormity of life. And when your own victory comes, dedicate it — as she did — to those who believed in you when you could not yet believe in yourself.