SOMETIMES THE PROBLEM ISN’T THAT YOU DON’T WANT IT ENOUGH. IT’S THAT YOU WANT IT TOO MUCH.

Kim Clijsters recently made a comment about Iga Swiatek that, in my opinion, every tennis player should stop and think about. Speaking about the former world No. 1’s difficult season, she said: “It almost feels like she wants it too much. It becomes such an obsession.” She wasn’t analyzing Swiatek’s forehand, her serve, or her tactical decisions. Instead, she was paying attention to something much more subtle: the way she walks between points, the way she returns to her chair, even the emotions she showed after winning her opening match at Wimbledon. To Clijsters, all of those small details were telling the same story—a player carrying the enormous weight of expectation.

What makes this observation so interesting is that it goes far beyond Iga Swiatek. It describes a psychological trap that countless competitive players eventually fall into. We are taught to believe that the more we want something, the more likely we are to achieve it. Want to win more. Want to improve more. Want to get back to your best level. It sounds logical. It sounds motivating. But the brain doesn’t always work that way.

There comes a point where desire stops being a source of energy and starts becoming a source of tension. Performance psychology has known this for decades. A certain amount of emotional activation is necessary if you want to compete at your best. Too little intensity leads to passive tennis and poor focus. But once your level of emotional activation rises beyond a certain point, the opposite happens. The body becomes tighter. Decision-making slows down. Vision narrows. Instead of seeing opportunities, the brain starts looking only for danger. The desire to perform well quietly transforms into the fear of not performing well enough.

This is one of the most common mistakes I see in competitive players. They step onto the court repeating sentences that sound motivating on the surface: “I have to win today.” “I need these ranking points.” “I have to prove who I am.” “I need to get back to my old level.” The problem is that every one of those thoughts adds another layer of pressure. Every point begins carrying far more weight than it should. Instead of simply playing tennis, the player starts carrying the responsibility of protecting an identity.

I believe that is exactly what Clijsters was pointing toward. She wasn’t describing a player who lacked commitment. Quite the opposite. She was describing a player who may be trying so hard to become the dominant version of herself again that the effort itself has become part of the problem. This is a trap many elite athletes experience after reaching the top. Once you’ve established yourself as one of the best in the world, your biggest reference point is no longer the future—it’s your own past. Every performance is compared to who you used to be. Every defeat feels like another step away from that version of yourself. Without realizing it, you stop building the player you’re becoming because you’re too busy chasing the player you once were.

That is an incredibly important distinction.

You cannot play your best tennis while constantly trying to return to the past.

You can only play your best tennis by building the player you are becoming today.

The past can be a wonderful teacher, but it becomes a terrible coach when it turns into the standard against which every match is judged. The brain interprets that constant comparison as urgency. It feels as though something valuable has been lost and must immediately be recovered. And urgency is one of the greatest enemies of high-level performance.

There are, in reality, two completely different ways to want to win.

The first comes from the love of competition. You enjoy solving problems, testing yourself, and discovering how good you can become. Winning matters, but it doesn’t determine your identity.

The second is far more dangerous. You don’t simply want to win—you need to win. You need the result to prove you’re still good enough. You need it to erase recent disappointments. You need it to convince yourself that the player you once were still exists. The moment winning becomes an emotional necessity rather than a competitive objective, the brain changes the way it performs.

Every mistake begins to feel threatening.

Every lost game increases tension.

Every missed opportunity seems to confirm a fear that was already there.

Little by little, tennis becomes heavier.

And that is the difference between ambition and obsession.

Ambition allows you to compete with freedom.

Obsession forces you to constantly defend your identity.

One of the most revealing moments Clijsters mentioned wasn’t even a defeat. It was Swiatek’s emotional reaction after winning her first-round match at Wimbledon. Those tears didn’t simply look like happiness after a difficult victory. They looked like relief. Relief that she had survived another match. Relief that she had avoided another disappointment. That difference may seem small, but psychologically it changes everything. The moment you feel more relief from not losing than joy from competing well, the result has started occupying too much space in your mind.

This is something I see constantly, even among club players and juniors. They arrive at tournaments thinking, “I can’t lose today.” “I can’t disappoint my coach.” “I can’t confirm the doubts I already have about myself.” But the moment you step onto the court desperately trying to avoid something, you stop seeing all the opportunities the match is offering you. Your attention shifts from creating solutions to preventing disaster.

That is why, after every tournament, I encourage my players to ask themselves a different question.

“Am I still chasing the player I used to be… or am I building the player I can become?”

Those are two completely different journeys.

One keeps you emotionally attached to the past.

The other allows you to keep growing.

Perhaps that is the greatest lesson hidden inside Kim Clijsters’ words.

Many players believe the solution is to want success even more.

Maybe the real solution is to want it differently.

Because tennis doesn’t ask you to become the player you once were.

It asks you to have the courage to become the player you have not yet discovered.

Federico Coppini
Mental Coach & Tennis Coach
Founder – Coppini Tennis Academy
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