I’m exhausted. Why, might you say? Because I’ve just ground my way through former tennis player Jelena Dokic’s harrowing autobiography Unbreakable. Unbreakable. That’s probably close to what you need to be not to be tempted to blow your brains out when Jelena – I assume we’re on a first name basis now that we’ve shared so much – adds more heartache and abuse to her unbelievable tally for the umpteenth time around page 250. There’s a saying that goes something like « whenever you think it can’t get any worse, it does ». Well, this book is evidence of that if there has ever been any.
I’m no psychologist and I’ll try to steer clear of drugstore psychology here but I don’t think I’d be crossing the Rubicon of human decency if I said that the mental and physical abuse Jelena Dokic repeatedly suffered at the hand of her father during her entire childhood set her up for a lifelong quest for some sort of twisted replacement for Damir Dokic, the tennis dad from hell. The person who turned her into a refugee twice (from Croatia to Serbia and then Australia), denied her a normal childhood, repeatedly assaulted her, had her switch nationalities twice, had her sign over all her earnings to him and prevented her from developing any kind of friendship with anyone. Oh and to add insult to injury (quite literally) he also enjoyed throwing tantrums courtside and in the media. All of which triggered acute depression in his daughter.
Formula 1 driver Enrique Bernoldi is the first one to take over as her first ever boyfriend. He obviously turns out to be a control freak who goes so far as to fly halfway across the globe to keep an eye on her. Getting rid of him proves almost as painful as leaving her family household. There’s just enough space for a lousy coach, Borna, to come in and take advantage of her financially. Since Jelena has never been given the opportunity to make a decision for herself, both situations drag on forever, especially the latter. Being in a committed relationship with Borna’s brother Tin – who seems to be the anti-Damir Dokic this time – sure doesn’t help.
The most disturbing thing in all this being that she blames her drop in the rankings on all this drama (seemingly rightfully so) and hints at the fact that she got her best results while under duress. Stockholm syndrome much? I can’t help but think about this quote from Stephen Chbosky’s The Perks of Being a Wallflower: « Charlie, we accept the love we think we deserve. » Especially when there’s never been anything to compare it to.
At this point, knowing everything about the five elements of a plot leading to a resolution by way of a climax, you might think that’s it, we’re done, Jelena is going to play tennis happily ever after. Hell no. In the wake of her recovery from depression, her body starts to give way, as if all her mental health issues weren’t enough. Injury upon injury will end up forcing her to retire at 29. How sadly fitting for someone who was never taught how – and that she was allowed – to make a decision on her own.
You end up yelling at the book even though you know she can’t really be blamed for any of it. And that’s the thing. Nowhere in this narrative does she accept any responsibility (for her tennis-related failures, not her being beat up by her father obviously). It’s always her dad’s fault (don’t get me wrong, no one denies this one!), her ex-boyfriend’s fault, her coach’s fault, her fellow Australian players’ fault, Tennis Australia’s fault. The most difficult aspect of this memoir might therefore be trying not to be tempted to doubt her word at any point and think she might be more of an attention-seeking drama queen than a martyr, the very thing she’s accusing her father of.
Why would she lie though? Reality is so much stranger than fiction in her case and this book feels so much like the therapy session she was denied for decades that believing her really sounds like the only sane option. As she reaches a conclusion, the take-home message is all about understanding and raising awareness, not self-pity. In Dokic’s own words (and not her dad’s this time), « as you now know, my story hasn’t been a fairytale, but I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me – I am luckier than most. Healthy. No longer a victim. I am a survivor. And I will always find a way. » Tennis wasn’t to be, at least not in the long haul. Life is still a viable option.
In short, this story is so acutely distressing that it forces you to get personally involved and this review – my own personal shrink session I guess – clearly proves it. So, by all means, read Jelena Dokic’s autobiography but get ready for some emotional turmoil and, yes, exhaustion. You will need at least a fraction of the tremendous courage Jelena herself had to summon to finally make her predicament public. Watching Deadpool 2 right afterwards like I did to blow off some steam might not be the worst idea either.
Picture: By Steve Collis (originally posted to Flickr as Dokic) [CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons
Pardon my French 