Warning: This article contains discussions and descriptions of family violence that some people might find confronting. 

At the age of 11, Jelena Dokic arrived in Australia as a refugee and quickly emerged as a force in professional tennis.

Jelena’s talent and grit on the court were thrilling to watch, but media coverage often focused on her father’s aggressive behaviour as much as her tennis achievements.

In her 2017 memoir, Unbreakable, Jelena revealed the painful truth that from the age of six, her father physically and emotionally abused her.

Since then, Jelena has been thriving and has forged a successful career in sports broadcasting.

Despite facing online abuse and body-shaming, Jelena has become a fierce advocate for body positivity and mental health awareness.

This is Jelena’s story, in her own words, as told to Sarah Kanowski on ABC Conversations.

Falling in love with tennis

Two months after my sixth birthday, I had my very first tennis lesson, and I loved it.

I loved hitting balls. I loved having targets to aim at and, straight away, I loved competing.

My father saw that tennis could be a good sport for me very quickly.

He saw my talent and that I was competitive.

Tennis is a sport where there is so much money and so much fame.

Anything that brings a lot of money, especially sports, creates a disaster within families — even coaches and support staff — because everyone wants a part of that.

Very quickly my father really saw tennis as a way out for the family.

We didn’t have very much growing up. We grew up in poverty.

Tennis triggers father’s abuse

I had some good memories with both my mum and my father early on, but the day I had my first tennis lesson was the day that he beat me the very first time.

My mother would be upset about it but she never interfered. She never stopped him. 

She wanted to have a family and she was not going to let it fall apart. She always wanted to keep it together, no matter what the cost was.

Before we left Yugoslavia, my grandfather was always looking out for me. 

He was my favourite person.

When he would see my father being abusive towards me he would step in aggressively and go up against him.

Then, when I was eight years old, we fled Yugoslavia, and I never saw him again. He was killed in the war a year later.

The violence accelerates

Every single year, my father got more violent and brutal.

I think the fact we were refugees, he really didn’t adjust, and he didn’t like that he couldn’t speak the language.

Outside of that, he became an alcoholic and I was called the most insulting and vile names.

At the age of 11, I was kicked. I was beat up constantly.

I was hit with a leather belt to the point of bleeding, at times.

I was afraid to look at those bruises in the mirror, but sometimes I would, and there was not a centimetre of skin that was not bruised.

It was tough.

I was under a lot more pressure with tennis the older I got, even though I was actually winning. 

I won the 18s Nationals at the age of 11, but my father was getting worse. 

He was actually unravelling, and alcohol played a big part because his drinking got worse.

‘I felt so worthless’

I remember the very first prize money I won was at a Women’s Tennis Association (WTA) tournament in Asia.

I was at the Bangkok airport, and he was on the phone asking how much I earned.

In the middle of the airport, I had to take out the cash, count it and let him know how much was there.

It was all about money. I really was like an ATM machine.

Then when I was 17, in 2000, when I was at Wimbledon, I made it to the semi final.

It was such a massive breakthrough moment for me, but when I lost the first set I knew things were going to be horrific.

After the match, I couldn’t find him for a little while. 

When I reached him on the phone, he was screaming what a loser and embarrassment I was, and not to even dare come home to the hotel.

I knew what that meant, because if I did, who knows what the next beating would look like?

Because already before that, right before the US Open, he kicked me and punched me in the head so hard that I was left unconscious.

I felt like I was just nothing and so worthless.

Being made to play for Yugoslavia

In 2001, 24 hours before stepping on court for my first round at the Australian Open against Lindsay Davenport — the world number one — my father decided I had to change nationalities and play for Yugoslavia.

Having to walk out in front of people bullying me, I literally just wanted the ground to open up and for me just to disappear and never come back.

I still get emotional talking about this.

I have said this to a few people, and I see a shock on their faces, but I would take all the abuse — and even more — just for that moment not to have happened.

I think that explains just how much that situation has left a mark on me, and how much I love Australia and playing for Australia.

You could see the passion I had especially playing in front of my Australian fans.

I don’t necessarily forgive him, but I don’t hate my father, but at that moment, he really took a lot from me.

He took playing for the country that I loved from me.

He took my fans from me and everyone who I loved and was so thankful for supporting me.

I had no choice. I had to do that because if I didn’t, he threatened me so badly.

I remember thinking, “This is just going to be horrific. I’m going through this because of you, in fear that, if I don’t, when I come back to the room, you might literally beat me to death.”

Escaping her father

By the time I was 19, I had already felt for a while that I wanted to leave.

Imagine someone who is so scared of her father that by just the sight of him, or even hearing his voice on the phone, you’re just shaking.

I decided to escape at two o’clock in the morning.

Everything went downhill from there.

My father showed up at the next tournament.

I had security around me for the next couple of years, on and off, 24 hours a day.

He would threaten me and anyone who was around me.

I left all of my winnings and prize money and sponsorship money — which was millions — to him.

I thought that would be enough because that’s what he was motivated by.

Nothing was enough.