How to do everything without losing yourself

Clara woke up tired. She wanted to close her eyes for at least another half hour, but she had to get her older child ready for school, her younger one ready for kindergarten, and get ready for the workday.

Then came work, texting, meetings, children’s clubs, and more work. Around seven in the evening, she’d have twenty minutes to sit and look at her phone. It was the only time when no one demanded anything of her and she could simply relax.

Then the evening rush: cook dinner, feed the children, wash the dishes, clean up, check homework and put everyone to bed.

At eleven o’clock, Ksyusha could barely make it to bed. Her husband was next to her, eager to be alone with him, but she didn’t have the energy even for casual conversation.

Weekends passed much the same way. Sometimes on Fridays, Ksyusha would have a drink, then spend half the day recovering and trying to catch up on sleep. The rest of the time was again taken up with the children, walks, and everyday life.

Two children, a husband, and a career—everything on the “list for a happy life” was fulfilled. But Ksyusha didn’t feel happy.

The war began. Dad died. Her husband lost his job, so Ksyusha’s income became the family’s main source of income. Now she felt she no longer had the right to even those 20 minutes of phone time for herself. She needed to work harder, faster, and better.

She tried to be a good mother, wife, and employee. First came the children, then work, then husband, then home, and only then did she come.

Accumulated fatigue turned into irritation. Ksyusha would yell at her children over trivial matters, snap at her husband, or withdraw from conversation. Friends perceived her as an angry and prickly woman. But Ksyusha herself felt that those around her were constantly demanding too much of her.

She and her husband gradually stopped hearing each other. They lived together, raised their children, and dealt with everyday issues, but they no longer felt like talking.

Ksyusha was dissatisfied with her husband and how much he invested in the family. She believed he didn’t earn enough, wasn’t involved in family life, and didn’t make the effort. She even viewed his care of the children as a mere responsibility.

One day, Ksyusha told him, “Why do I need a husband if you’re of no use to me? I can handle everything just fine on my own.”

Thoughts of divorce appeared more and more often.

Ksyusha was convinced that all her problems were caused by money. That once she earned more, she’d have comfort, help around the house, and free time.

Therefore, her main request was for income growth.

There was no way to add any more work to the schedule. Any new responsibility could completely destroy it.

During this period, Ksyusha heard a thought that resonated with her: everything in life doesn’t have to be hard. A career, money, and relationships can be built without constant exhaustion.

She believed that such a life existed and began to look for a way to achieve it.

Ksyusha started watching Pavel Bilsky’s videos about relationships and psychology on Instagram, and later the “Bilsky Show” on YouTube. In the short videos and discussions, she began to notice how the same internal patterns manifested themselves in work, family, and money. She wanted to understand herself.

A couple of months after her father’s death, Ksyusha’s desire to sort out her life intensified. She no longer wanted to live each day solely through “must.”

She decided to take the first step of the “Time for Change” methodology.

She couldn’t afford to spend a large sum on herself—her salary went toward the children, the house, and general expenses. Even a small purchase for herself had to be defended.

The first stage was paid for by her employers. Ksyusha convinced them that her knowledge of psychology and coaching would be useful in her professional career.

The first important practice in the program was getting up early, but for Ksyusha, this seemed impossible. She went to bed very late because in the evening she had to put the children to bed, wash the dishes, cook, and clean.

But Ksyusha decided not to argue for at least a month and to complete the tasks.

She first noticed the changes when visiting friends. Previously, it was difficult for her to spend the night away from home. After a few hours, she longed to retreat to her familiar surroundings, where no one talked, no one asked for anything, and she could finally shut herself off from everyone.

This time, Ksyusha suddenly realized she was happy. It was cozy to sit with friends, talk, eat delicious food, and take her time. She stayed overnight, slept soundly, and woke up feeling refreshed.

It seemed like nothing special had happened. But Ksyusha hadn’t felt so calm in the moment in a long time. Usually, she was either completing a task or thinking about the next one. But here, she was simply being among loved ones and enjoying it.

Gradually she began to notice how much love there was already in her life.

She had a husband who cared for her, supported her, and did everything for the family. There were friends and family willing to help. There was a brother who had long been inviting her to visit.

Her brother lived abroad, and they hadn’t seen each other for several years. He never hurt or betrayed Ksyusha and truly loved her, but she kept him at a distance. They might exchange a few messages every three or four months, though her brother longed to be a part of her life.

When Ksyusha realized this, she couldn’t hold back her tears. Her brother represented everything she remembered best about her father. Perhaps that’s why she distanced herself from him: closeness stirred feelings she didn’t want to revisit.

After the first stage, Ksyusha decided not to put off the meeting any longer. She bought tickets, took the children, and invited her mother to go with her brother to the Czech Republic.

This trip showed that her relationship with her mother was not as calm as she had thought.

In Poland, my youngest daughter fell ill. The three-year-old’s fever reached almost 104 degrees Celsius (40 degrees Fahrenheit) and developed bronchitis. Traveling between cities and hotels lay ahead, her usual doctors were not nearby, and it was impossible to obtain the necessary medications without a prescription.

The daughter cried, refused to take pills, and her temperature did not go down.

Ksyusha was scared. She didn’t know where to turn or how to help her child in a foreign country.

Instead of being supportive, Mom panicked, too. She sighed, lamented, and repeated how bad everything was. Ksyusha had to simultaneously care for her sick daughter, organize the rest of the trip, and endure her mother’s fear.

Inside, she felt like a little child herself. A familiar feeling of guilt arose: it was my fault my daughter was sick, I had done something wrong, and now I had to fix it immediately.

Ksyusha was angry with her mother, argued with her, and felt completely helpless. She had no husband to lean on, and her mother seemed to need rescuing.

They reached her brother, and their daughter felt better. But Ksyusha already understood that ignoring her relationship with her parents would no longer be an option.

Until then, she hadn’t intended to take the next step. She needed money, not conversations about her childhood. Her father was gone, she rarely spoke to her mother, and Ksyusha thought that was enough.

After the trip, it became clear how many old grievances and childhood scenarios continued to influence her.

There was almost no money to continue. Her husband was unemployed at the time, and the trip also required expenses. Previously, Ksyusha would never have allowed herself to spend such a sum on her own education.

She called her husband and told him how hard it was. He replied that if she really needed to continue, they would find a way.

Sitting with her brother at a bar, Ksyusha told him she loved him and never wanted to lose that connection again. There, she also paid for the next stage of the “Parents” program.

While working on this topic, Ksyusha saw how behind her constant work for her family and desire to get everything done lay a desire to deserve love.

With my dad, I felt unwanted. As a child, his addiction was perceived simply: Dad was choosing alcohol over me again. Later, this lifestyle led to my dad’s illnesses and early death.

She felt inferior because of her mother. She was strong, independent, and not very emotional. Besides, Ksyusha thought she loved her younger brother more.

To get attention, you had to be an excellent student, achieve more, and always come out first.

And so Ksyusha continued to live her life as an adult. She tried to become the best employee, the perfect mother, and the woman who could cope without help. She compared herself to others and quickly devalued her own achievements.

As soon as something was achieved, a new demand appeared inside: we can do even better.

She transferred this same attitude to her husband and children. If she couldn’t stop herself, then others had to constantly try harder, too.

Working through her childhood feelings took time. Ksyusha had to acknowledge her hurt, cry it out, and try to see her parents through more than just a child’s eyes.

She saw that her father’s dependence wasn’t proof that he didn’t need his daughter. And her mother expressed love the best she could under the circumstances.

Gradually, Ksyusha stopped trying to change her mother. When her mother began warning her about danger or telling her how she should act, Ksyusha no longer wallowed in guilt or backtracked on her decisions.

She could calmly say: “Mom, these are your fears. They have nothing to do with me.”

Over time, her mother’s attitude also changed. She stopped seeing Ksyusha as a child who needed caution and began to view her as an adult.

Now they call each other every week or two, and can spend an hour talking, laughing, and sharing stories about their lives. Ksyusha herself wants to talk to her mother, tell her she loves her, and spend time together.