The Hidden Force Behind Every Victory

The air was thick with tension as I stood beside my friend at the Albert Park Table Tennis Centre, scanning the notice board. The familiar sounds of bouncing balls and squeaking shoes filled the massive tin shed, but all I could focus on was the list of names. While searching for our next opponent in the Victorian Open, my friend turned to me and said “If one of us wins this tournament, it’ll push our ranking into the top 5.” A part of me wanted to believe it was possible, but almost immediately, a louder voice in my head whispered: ‘You’re not good enough.’

As I stepped up to the table, doubt crept in, tightening my grip and slowing my feet. Sure enough, my belief (or lack of it) turned out to be true, and I lost the match. While doubt held me back, my friend’s belief propelled him forward as he won his next match. Then the next. And the next. In fact, he went on to win the entire tournament, propelling his ranking into the top 5 in Victoria.

At that moment, I realised it wasn’t just skill or practice that held me back—it was my mindset. While I had been training physically, I hadn’t been preparing mentally. My friend’s victory was a testament to the power of belief. Watching him take risks and stay composed under pressure made me see that confidence wasn’t about ego, but about trust—trust in your preparation, in your abilities, and in yourself. As I watched him lift the trophy, I couldn’t help but wonder: If I had believed in myself more, could I have won that tournament?

That question lingered with me for days. I realised that belief wasn’t unique to my friend—many players that day shared a quiet confidence. But was belief alone enough to change the outcome of a match? Reflecting on my performance, I saw the real issue: doubt had weighed me down long before I stepped up to the table. Hesitation in table tennis can mean the difference between a winning shot and a costly mistake. My doubt didn’t just cloud my mind—it weighed on my body. My legs felt heavy, my grip tight, and every shot lacked conviction. In those moments, it felt like I was fighting against myself rather than my opponent. This internal battle only intensified as the match wore on. Every miss or hesitation fueled more doubt, creating a cycle that became harder to break. Even when I knew I had the skills, doubt whispered that maybe I didn’t belong at this level, that perhaps this was as far as I could go.

Looking back, I now understand that doubt often creeps in silently. It starts with small, subtle thoughts—'What if I miss this shot?' or 'What if my opponent is just better today?'—and these thoughts quickly multiply. In the heat of the moment, those doubts can feel like facts rather than passing thoughts. Recognising this was crucial for me. To overcome doubt, I began focusing on my breathing between points. A deep breath reminded me to centre myself, stay in the present moment, and trust my training. I also started using positive self-talk during matches, replacing doubt with phrases like 'You’ve got this' or 'Next point.'  It wasn’t easy at first. However, over time, these small actions helped shift my mindset from one of fear to one of confidence. This was a pivotal shift in my thinking. I knew I needed to stop letting doubt dictate my performance and start cultivating the same belief that had carried my friend through each match.

Years later, I found myself in another decisive moment playing in the semi-final of the Victorian Open against this very friend where in the deciding set I was leading 20 to 19 with a match point. I went for a big forehand and the ball hit the edge of my racquet and flew miles out of the court. Instead of doubting myself, I thought to myself, “that was the right play, even though you missed the shot. Keep playing like you are. Next point.” It helped me stay grounded, and I played two strong points to win the match and advance to the final.

My friend’s journey to winning the tournament that day wasn’t just about his skill. He had something I didn’t: belief in his own ability. He stepped up to the table with the quiet confidence that he could go all the way. And that belief allowed him to take risks, stay composed under pressure, and keep pushing, even when the competition got tough. Watching him triumph illuminated a truth I had long overlooked: skill and practice build the foundation, but belief is the fuel that ignites potential. Without it, even the best-laid strategies falter before they have a chance to succeed.

How many times have you stepped up to the table and felt that same doubt? Imagine what might change if you trusted in your preparation instead. Confidence isn’t just about knowing you can win—it’s about knowing you’ve done the work, learned from setbacks, and grown from every rally, win or lose. What if the next time you face a tough opponent, you focus on playing your best instead of worrying about the result? How much more could you achieve if you believed in yourself fully?

So how does one go about fostering that belief? Confidence doesn’t appear overnight. It’s something you develop gradually through preparation and practice. Each time you commit to a forehand loop under game-like conditions or trust your footwork during a high-stakes rally, you’re building that belief. It's not about flicking a switch but about accumulating small wins that reinforce the trust in your abilities over time.

In training, I focused on ensuring each rally presented an appropriate level of challenge. Too often, we seek comfort in training by aiming for a high level of success, believing that winning 80–90% of rallies equates to progress. But in reality, this is far from the truth. In a match, winning 51% of the rallies is usually enough to secure victory. Interestingly, Roger Federer, often regarded as one of the greatest tennis players of all time, won only 54% of the rallies he played, which means he lost 46%. Despite this, we often get frustrated in training if we aren’t winning 80% of the time, and as a result, we manipulate drills to ensure we do. Think about the tasks we set up where we know exactly where the ball is coming from, allowing us to sustain 10 to 20-ball rallies. This may feel like good practice, but is it really realistic or the best use of our time?

For me, belief started by reassessing my approach. I had to look at both my strengths and weaknesses honestly. I realised I wasn’t playing to my strengths, nor was I addressing the gaps in my game. So I began setting clear, measurable goals for each training session. Whether it was improving my backhand under pressure or refining my serve, every target I hit strengthened my belief that I was progressing.

Simply believing however doesn’t guarantee victory. My friend’s optimism didn’t make him invincible—it simply gave him the confidence to take necessary risks and play his best. And with those risks, losses can still happen. The key is in how you respond to those losses. Instead of viewing each loss as proof that I wasn’t good enough, I started asking myself a different question: “What can I learn from this?” Shifting my mindset from focusing on results to focusing on progress allowed me to transform defeats into opportunities for growth. It wasn’t easy, but it changed how I approached setbacks. 

That mindset shift wasn’t instantaneous. It came after some hard losses, including a particularly tough loss where my opponent exploited my weak backhand. I recognised that I’d been avoiding that area of my game. My footwork was solid, but my reliance on forehands left me vulnerable. My opponent repeatedly moved me side to side, exposing my backhand under pressure. Over the next few months, I refined my backhand topspin, and that progress gave me a new level of confidence the next time I faced a similar challenge.

Belief is more than just a feeling—it’s a mindset built through preparation, practice, and learning from every experience, whether a win or a loss. It’s not just about trusting your abilities in the moment, but trusting the work you’ve put in to get there. Every time you face a challenge, remind yourself of the progress you've made and the lessons you've learned. Next time you step up to the table, let your belief in your skills guide every shot. Focus on what you can control: your preparation, your effort, and your willingness to learn from setbacks. Over time, as your game grows, so will your confidence.

In the end, skill is only one part of the equation. The hidden force behind every victory is the belief that you can succeed.

What about you? How has belief or self-doubt shaped your performance on the table? Share your story in the comments, and let’s explore how the power of belief can transform our game together.