How to find the meaning of life and want to live again

She felt lonely and unnecessary, as if she had been given life but had forgotten to be told how to use it.

At the same time, she felt a huge burden of responsibility inside her. Katya was used to solving problems herself, controlling people, and getting her way. But now she didn’t even understand what exactly she was supposed to fight for.

The whole world seemed to be to blame. Passersby, neighbors, and drivers on the road irritated me. At work, everything had been done wrong before. My parents hurt me. My friends didn’t understand.

At some point, Katya caught herself with a sobering thought: everyone around her couldn’t be bad at the same time. So, the cause of what was happening might lie within her.

But she didn’t know what exactly was wrong with her.

Communication with her family became so painful that Katya decided to put it on hold. She explained to some that she needed time, and simply distanced herself from others.

The silence didn’t help. The longer Katya remained alone, the less sense she saw in continuing her life like this.

One day, she became frightened by her own thoughts. If everything remained as it was, at some point she would simply want to “log out” and end her life.

Katya reached the point where it was no longer possible to pretend that she was simply tired.

Katya searched for answers for many years. She consulted psychologists, studied esotericism, astrology, various religions, and spiritual practices. At some point, she converted to Orthodoxy and found important guidance there.

But the question of how to find the meaning of life and stop fighting with oneself and others remained open.

Then Katya decided to get a psychology degree. She felt like the specialists simply couldn’t reach her, so she needed to understand the workings of her psyche and heal herself.

She earned a master’s degree in psychology. She read professional literature, sacred texts, and biographies of successful people. Her knowledge grew, but inside, nothing seemed to add up.

Katya knew many individual tools, but she didn’t understand which one to use now or what to do afterward. Sometimes she’d feel better, then she’d revert back to her previous state.

Against this background, she came across an advertisement by Pavel Bilsky.

The first reaction was disbelief.

Before her was a young man with tattoos, speaking sensibly about life and psychology. Katya was accustomed to the idea of ​​serious knowledge being imparted by elderly professors with gray hair and academic degrees. This image didn’t exactly align with her idea of ​​a specialist who could help her.

“What do you mean? Is he saying something interesting?” Katya thought and continued watching.

She stopped and asked herself why it had bothered her so much.

An answer appeared within her: it wasn’t about a stranger from the internet. His words touched on something important within her.

Katya registered for a free webinar, but didn’t watch it the first time. Friends invited her out and convinced her that the free program was unlikely to provide anything valuable.

Meanwhile, she continued to receive materials and practices. Katya read them as a trained psychologist and understood that specialists typically charge money for working on such topics.

“If he’s giving this away for free, what’s in the full program?” she thought.

Katya registered again.

On the day of the webinar, she turned off her phone and decided not to be distracted. Someone even knocked on the door, but Katya didn’t answer. This time, it was important to her to listen to the rest.

During the broadcast, a feeling appeared that had not been there for a long time: relief.

The information was finally coming together in a system. Katya wasn’t being offered yet another piece of advice that needed to be somehow integrated into the hundreds of books she’d already read. A clear sequence of actions appeared before her.

She decided to go into methodology.

Katya immediately asked the mentor to skip the first stage, “Time for Change,” and send her straight to the second stage, “Parents.”

She had been reading for a long time about the influence of childhood and was sure that she already knew the cause of her problems.

The mentor began explaining the program’s sequence, but Katya mentally decided they were simply trying to sell her an extra step. She continued to insist, but the system was no longer being implemented.

I had to start from the first step.

Participants were encouraged to complete everything at 101 percent. Katya thought this figure was excessive. Then she thought: there’s no work right now, there’s plenty of time, so she might as well at least try.

She completed each task and, for the first time, saw how the individual tools fit together. What had previously seemed like a collection of random practices began to yield a clear result.

A warm feeling appeared inside. Katya didn’t yet call it self-love. More like a slight infatuation and curiosity.

She became curious about what she was really like.

Along with this, familiar patterns began to emerge. Katya realized that she was used to achieving results through force, earning love by pleasing others, and constantly proving she was the best.

In the program, the participants compared their scores. Some had one scenario manifested at 30 percent, while Katya’s scores reached 90 percent for almost all of them.

At first she even felt proud: this is what her result was.

Then came the realization that there was nothing to be proud of. These very scenarios had been ruling her life for years.

Katya could be a strong leader, but people often felt uneasy around her. If someone disagreed, she would press and demand. Love and recognition had to be earned through results. Others’ success could evoke envy, and closeness to others could evoke fear.

When Katya reached the second level, she saw for the first time where her basic feeling, which had accompanied her throughout her life, came from.

She always knew she was wanted and her parents loved her. But their own relationship didn’t work out.

Her father was a tall, red-haired military man, and her mother was a beautiful, feminine woman. Katya absorbed traits from both: her father’s height and hair color, and her mother’s good looks and femininity.

After their separation, the parents involuntarily saw each other in their daughter and transferred their pain onto her.

Father would say he’d never marry a beautiful woman again because beauty brings problems. When Katya wanted a pretty dress, he couldn’t understand why she needed it and suggested she go with him to work on the car in the garage.

It sounded confusing to a child. Katya felt loved, but at the same time, she was receiving a signal: appearing beautiful and feminine was dangerous.

Later, her father started another family and moved six thousand kilometers away. There was no affordable phone service back then. Katya felt she had lost him completely.

Inside, a simple childish explanation remained: my dad abandoned me.

Being around her mother created a different feeling. Her mother was struggling, and her pain manifested itself in her interactions with her daughter. Katya felt it was interfering with her life.