And then she lost to unseeded Czech opponent Marketa Vondrousova.
With millions of eyes on her, Jabeur said to herself she wouldnt cry.
Then the princess appeared on Centre Court and, breaking with royal protocol, offered her a hug.
Her voice is very soft and you’re able to feel her presence.
As soon as she said, Its okay, I burst into tears, Jabeur says.
We experience failure inside our own little shame caves, convinced we must be the only ones.
We package our pain in tidy PR talking points.
What we rarely let ourselves do is publicly admit that were sad.
Cry big, unapologetic, face-wrinkling tears.
I think this is the most painful loss of my career.
Who make us all feel a little more human, a little more seen.
I just take a stab at be me, Jabeur says.
After all, Im a human being.
Jabeurs loss wouldnt have struck such a global nerve if she didnt have such a spectacular history of winning.
Tennis isnt just a sport for Jabeur; its a way of being.
People speak in different languages; some people express themselves with writing or with making a beautiful picture.
Im an artist on the tennis court, she says.
Thats the way I venture to write my story.
Thats my language of being me.
I always had this crazy idea that I would become a Grand Slam champion, she says.
Now shes an example for the entire Arab world.
You dont have to come from France or the US or Australia to make it.
you’re able to come from a very small country in North Africa and be a champion.
Being an Arab woman on the global sports stage is complex.
Im Muslim, so I mean definitely people look at me differently.
That really sucks, Jabeur says.
As anyone who has ever been marginalized knows, its never just about the job or the results.
Sometimes it is very tough to prove, but maybe I will change that, she says.
Adding to her challenge is increasing scrutiny on the role of sports in the Middle East.
There is no perfect country, says Jabeur.
For me, these countries are trying to change, theyre trying to do something good, she says.
So many women are waiting for these opportunities.
Growing up with two brothers, I always fought with them like, Why do they get more?
The court is the place where I felt the most free.
I felt like myself.
Nobody could challenge me there because I knew I was very good, she says.
Girls, boys, it didnt matter.
No one was going to put a limit on her potential.
I didnt even ask for money.
I just asked for clothes.
Now theyre running after me to sign with them.
Jabeur isnt naive about the business side of this story.
But she hasnt forgotten how the interaction made her feellike someone whose entire demographic could be dismissed.
In a media landscape where athletes are increasingly expected to speak in sound bites, Jabeur is refreshingly genuine.
For me, I always take a stab at be very honest.
I try not to say things that I dont mean.
After all, Im a human being, she says.
I want [the audience] to feel joy.
Be excited with me, be sad, be happy with me on court.
Its here, racquet in hand, that Jabeur feels the most capable of creating change.
Each shot has the power to chip away at biases about Muslim women in sports.
Each victory asks audiences to challenge their most deeply held assumptions.
I didnt know the difference between men and women, she says of her younger self.
I was making my own revolution.
