Despite the action-packed start to the Australian Open, the moment that resonated with me most came the day before the Open began, after the women’s final of the Adelaide International.
Eighteen-year-old Russian star Mirra Andreeva had started the match shakily, dropping the opening three games. But what followed was nothing short of a masterclass.
Calm, composed and ruthless, she won 12 of the next 13 games to claim the title. It was impressive tennis from someone so young, but what struck me most came after the final point.
As she always is, Andreeva was humble, gracious and classy in victory. She congratulated her opponent, thanked the tournament organisers, sponsors and fans, joked comfortably with the crowd, and expressed gratitude to her team and family.
All standard, all well-mannered. What followed, however, genuinely caught me off guard.
“Thanks to me,” she said, before going on to thank herself for the sacrifices she made, the work she put in, the perseverance she showed, and the belief she maintained when things were tough.
What made Andreeva’s words even more striking was that this wasn’t a one-off moment of self-recognition – she mentioned it was part of her routine.
She didn’t shy away from thanking herself, and she even wore a jacket that boldly quoted her saying, “I want to thank myself.”
I’ll admit, I was taken aback. This felt strange, even jarring, coming from someone whose humility had always been so evident.
It made me wonder whether, over the course of my life, I had built up a false understanding of humility in my own mind – one that I think many others share – where it meant denying compliments, downplaying your gifts, pretending you’re not good at anything, and constantly doubting yourself.
To acknowledge one’s own effort or strength has felt dangerously close to pride.
But the more I listened, and the more I thought about it, the more I realised Andreeva hadn’t violated humility at all.
In fact, she showed me something closer to what true humility and self-love actually looks like.
There was no false modesty, no attempt to hide or minimise her routine self-gratitude. Instead, it felt deliberate, disciplined, and reflective – a small, intentional way of acknowledging her own effort, perseverance, and growth.
It showed that self-recognition and positive self-talk aren’t about ego. They can be a routine, prayerful practice of honesty about the gifts God has given us and the work we’ve done to nurture them.
For many Christians, the idea of loving yourself can feel selfish, even contradictory. We’re called to a love that is merciful, sacrificial and outward-facing.
Yet in the Gospel of Mark, Christ tells us to love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength, and then adds, “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.”
Without turning this into an exegesis, Jesus clearly presumes something important: that we already know we are meant to love ourselves.
So, what do Andreeva’s words teach us about loving ourselves properly?
I’ve come to realise over time that many of us live with deeply negative self-talk. It’s almost ironic. Some of the harshest, most brutal things we would never dare say to our enemy, we say to ourselves daily.
We tell ourselves we’re no good, that we’ve failed too often, that we’re undeserving of love, mercy or forgiveness. Then we wonder why, at times, we feel so unlovable.
By thanking herself, Andreeva wasn’t inflating her ego or placing herself above others. She was being honest.
She acknowledged the sacrifices she made, the discipline she showed, the courage it took to keep competing when momentum wasn’t on her side. That kind of self-reflection requires humility, not arrogance. It means recognising the good that is truly there.
From a Catholic perspective, that matters deeply. Affirming what is good in us is not self-worship; it is truth-telling.
Any real goodness we possess is not self-generated, but God-given. To recognise it is not to steal glory from God, but to acknowledge His work within us.
True humility and self-love start with telling ourselves the truth about who we are: beloved children of God, created with purpose and dignity, worth the price of the cross in his eyes, and destined for eternal glory.
