Бесплатный фрагмент - Tired of Being Strong

All characters in this book are fictional.

But each of them carries something real — from my clients, friends, relatives, and even from myself.

I set out to create a living, breathing woman — not perfect or polished, but real.

Strong and vulnerable. Confident and uncertain. Tough and tender.

Like many of you — in different chapters of your life.

Some parts of this book include strong language and raw expression.

It’s not there for shock value — it’s the voice of the heroine, speaking from her truth.

If that style feels uncomfortable or too much — that’s okay. Respect your boundaries.

This story isn’t here to please everyone.

But if you give it a chance, it might tell you something you’ve been waiting to hear.

What this book is about

At first glance, it looks like a relationship guide.

Turn a few pages, though, and suddenly you’re peeking into a pink journal — the raw, witty, slightly chaotic notes of a woman who writes things like:

“Breakup = falling down the stairs in the dark.”

“Unprotected sex + three cocktails = a yeast infection or an accidental baby from a stranger.”

“Love isn’t butterflies — it’s him going to the pharmacy for you at 2 a.m.”

Each chapter blends two voices: the dating consultant giving real-life assignments (“Check if you’re giving up on the relationship too soon” / “Try giving trust in advance”) and the heroine — who tries them out.

Spoiler: not everything goes smoothly. There are leaky faucets, meltdowns, the cat named Pirate screaming in the background, and the occasional “I’m unlovable” spiral.

Who It’s For

For the ones who are single — and rolling their eyes at those “Find Your Millionaire in 30 Days” webinars.

For those in a relationship, but quietly wondering where the spark went — and why the drama keeps growing.

For anyone who’s tired of playing perfect — and wants to start hearing their own voice, before trying to hear someone else’s.

What You’ll Get

Real exercises you can do alongside the heroine, or separately in a “Full Guide” chapter.

The honest, messy side of those tools — how they fall apart in real life, and how to rebuild them.

The feeling that someone finally gets it: the sarcasm, the chaos, the laughter through tears, and those eerie moments of “oh my god… this is me.”

This is a book-mirror. A guide that doesn’t pretend the road to love is neat.

It starts in the mess — with scattered thoughts, quiet fears, and a journal where you can finally tell the truth.

Chapter 1: The Perception Trap

Chapter 1: The Perception Trap

Ever had a fight with someone you love over something tiny — only to look back days later and wonder what it was even about?

Or maybe you cut off a guy after one awkward message or lame comment… and then thought, “Why did I shut him down so fast? I could’ve just talked to him.”

You’re not alone.

This happens to so many of us. And the reason is simple:

We react to the moment — to what we perceive — without stepping back to see the bigger picture, the full perspective.

Emotions take over. Logic gets blurry. And we make choices we later regret.

Why does this matter?

Because most of the heartbreak, drama, and missed chances in love come from snap judgments — when emotion hijacks reason.

Perception is how we feel and interpret a situation right now, often colored by past hurt or fear.

Perspective is different: it’s the ability to pause, zoom out, and look at the whole story — the context, timing, and the other person’s side.

And when we switch from emotional perception to calm perspective, everything changes.

The things that felt like disasters?

Suddenly solvable.

The guys you used to write off?

They might just surprise you — if you let them.

So here’s the plan.

This short 7-week guide will walk you through different phases of dating and relationships — from first messages to long-term love.

You’ll get simple daily tools and exercises to help you practice switching from knee-jerk reaction to thoughtful response.

Each week focuses on a specific situation:

meeting someone new, first dates, early stages, fading interest, conflict, confusion, or déjà-vu drama.

Bit by bit, you’ll train yourself to notice the moment where emotions take over — and choose a wiser path instead.

Are you ready to shift the way you experience love?

Let’s begin.

This isn’t about pointing out your mistakes — it’s about giving you tools, support, and space to grow.

You’re already strong enough to build healthy love.

Now let’s help you see clearly enough to choose it.

How perception works — and how to switch to perspective

The first stage of dating — whether it’s a random meet-cute or a chat on an app — is usually an emotional rollercoaster.

And in that rush, perception can fool you.

A woman might jump to conclusions based on a single signal — his first message, photo, or tone of voice.

If he writes something like “Hey, how’s it going?”, it’s easy to think:

“Ugh. So basic. He didn’t even try — must not be serious.”

That’s perception talking: a gut reaction driven by mood, past disappointments, or high expectations.

But what if you tried on perspective instead?

What if he’s just nervous… or doesn’t know how to start… or honestly thinks a polite “hey” is a fine way to say hello?

Perspective reminds us not to rush to judgment.

One message or first impression doesn’t define a person.

Give yourself a chance to learn more — before deciding who he is.

Example: Meet Olga, 34. She’s newly on dating apps.

A guy named Anton messages her:

“Hi there, beautiful.”

Her first reaction? Cringe.

Another generic compliment. He probably says this to every woman.

She’s about to ignore him — perception tells her, “He’s not serious. Move on.”

But then she pauses.

What if she looked at it differently?

“What if he actually means it — just doesn’t know what else to say?”

She replies, politely but warmly.

To her surprise, Anton follows up with a funny story about how long he stared at the screen trying to sound clever — and gave up.

They keep talking. They meet. They have a great time.

Even if nothing had come of it, Olga could feel good about showing openness — instead of shutting someone down based on one awkward line.

Day 1: Reflection

Think about what you expect from a perfect first message or first impression.

What do you usually want to see when a man reaches out?

Write down your list.

Then ask yourself:

Are these expectations realistic for most men?

This exercise can help you notice if your standards might be pushing people away — before you even give them a chance.

25 April 2025

Friday night. 2 a.m. My kitchen. A half-drunk bottle of wine. And me, journaling about how much of an asshole Max turned out to be.

Romantic, huh?

Hard to believe that just a year ago I was watching the sunrise from his balcony, convinced we were forever.

Well. So much for that.

It’s fine.

The night’s still young, the “guide” starts on page one, and there’s still wine in the fridge.

Yes, I can drink alone. And yes, my cat Pirate is judging me with his eyes. Let him.

Honestly? I’m curious what this author — this “Andrey Evgenyevich” person — has to offer.

Maybe I’ll finally understand why Max turned out to be such a jerk.

Or learn how to spot the difference between a decent guy and another “hey beautiful, let’s grab coffee” dude from a dating app.

Speaking of coffee…

If my coworker Sveta asks me on Monday what I did Friday night, I’ll tell her:

“I studied how to see through men.”

Laughed so hard I almost spilled my wine.

Anyway.

This journal is pink and looks like it was designed for teenage girls, but okay — I’ll admit the soft cover feels kinda amazing.

Soft like Pirate’s paws.

Also, I spent a ridiculous amount of money on this thing.

So yeah. It’s officially the most expensive way I’ve ever tried to find a man.

Here we go.

Mission #1: Write down my expectations for the perfect first message from a guy.

Dear journal, try not to laugh before I do.

What I want to see in a first message from a man:

He should be smart. Or at least pretend to be smart.
The message should be original. Not like every other copy-paste line.
A bit of humor, but no dumb jokes.
Something gripping — like the first line of a great novel. (Do men even read novels?)
He should look at my photos and think, “Wow. What a unique woman.”
He should ask something deep. Not “what are your hobbies?”, but more like “what’s your biggest dream?” or “do you believe in parallel universes?” Yes. Space.
He should know how to write. No “hw r u” crap. And no memes by message two.
His profile should say “normal human” — not a gym rat, not a beer-and-fishing bro, not divorced with two kids looking for “a wife and a mother for his children.”
He should want a family. But not rush it. Respect my independence. Be present. Supportive. Inspiring. Financially stable. And—

Okay, stop.

Am I looking for Elon Musk in Ryan Gosling’s body with Paulo Coelho’s soul?

In short:

I want everything.

All at once.

And he should somehow just know exactly what I need.

How the hell do people even find each other out there?

Anyway. I’m writing this because if I don’t let it out, I might explode.

You know what’s weird? This whole “know what you want in a man” thing.

If someone really asked me — no bullshit, no “write a list of five traits” — I’d probably just say:

Responsible
Reliable
Attractive
Ambitious
Funny as hell

What do I want?

To be loved.

Truly. Completely. No checklists, no auditions.

Although…

Max said he loved me too.

And I believed him.

Right up to the very last day.

“Last day” — what a dramatic phrase. Like something from a novel.

Except in novels, there’s always a new love. A new chapter.

And here I am.

With a half-empty bottle and a cat who, let’s be honest, probably doesn’t care if I cry or not.

(Sorry, Pirate. I love you. I know you care.

You wake me up every morning with your little paws just to make sure I’m still alive. You’re the real MVP.)

I saw a reel yesterday that said cats think we’re just big dumb cats who oversleep and suck at hunting.

Like… who comes up with this stuff?

But hey, people probably believe that the same way they believe in self-help books written by strangers like this…

What’s-his-name again?

Right — Andrey Evgenyevich.

Sounds like a character from a Russian sitcom.

I used to love that show Interns.

It made me feel warm when life sucked.

Back when I was younger. Had dreams. Had plans. And goals.

Funny thing?

I actually achieved most of those goals.

And yet… here I am. Wondering if any of it matters now.

Spoiler: it doesn’t.

All I want right now is for Max to not be an asshole.

And for us to be together again.

God, that’s pathetic.

Why am I writing everything I think?

This is the diary of a crazy person.

But hey — might be fun to read a few years from now.

You know what no one tells you as a kid?

Breakups aren’t just “we split” or “it didn’t work out.”

It’s like falling down a staircase in the dark.

Even if you didn’t break anything, you still hesitate to climb again.

Sometimes I think all this personal growth talk is just a distraction.

Because honestly? Most guys out there are either:

Grown-up toddlers who still get their socks washed by their moms,
Looking for someone to replace their moms,
Or have no clue why they exist.

I’m not perfect.

But at least I want to live.

And not be someone’s emotional babysitter.

Whenever I read stuff like “be your own whole universe,”

I want to burn those damn books.

I don’t want to be my own everything.

I just want to be myself.

And have someone next to me who’s not afraid of that.

Okay.

Back to Andrey Evgenyevich.

He says we need to work on “perception.”

Not run from emotions, but notice how they distort reality.

Well, my reality tonight smells like leftover wine, bad timing, and broken hopes.

And yet — somewhere deep down, a tiny part of me still believes.

Believes it’s not too late.

Because I can still cry.

Still laugh.

Still write.

So okay, diary.

Let’s keep going.

Let’s see where this takes us.

day 2

If you get a new message on a dating app (or even a simple text from a man you know), pay attention to your first emotional reaction. What did you feel? Irritation, boredom, curiosity, attraction? Don’t do anything yet — just notice the feeling and hold off on replying for at least an hour.

25 April 2025

Whoa, whoa, whoa — easy there, Andrey Yevgenievich.

I was just about to pour myself a second glass of wine and cry a little to some old songs — and suddenly, bam — a dating app assignment.

Okay, fine. Just a moment…

While the first random app is downloading, two thoughts pop up:

Damn, I’m back in this circus again.
Who in their right mind messages people at two in the morning on a Friday? Hahaha.

Then again, who among us is truly “normal,” right?

Oh, it’s ready.

BINGO — here he is: “Igor, 42. I love BBQ, the sauna, and my mom.”

Oh, sweet little Igorushka, how did your mom even let you wander into this app on your own? Hahahahaha.

God, it’s a classic.

I want a T-shirt that says, “BBQ, sauna, mom” — the ultimate triple filter for my kind of man.

Okay, no judgment. I was told to just notice the emotion.

Emotion?

Annoyance at the “why does the universe hate me” level.

With a light touch of sarcasm.

I put the phone down, as instructed. For an hour.

Set the timer. Like a proper adult.

I wonder how many more times I’ll have to live through this déjà vu.

These profiles… those tired faces… those unfunny jokes… those men who look exactly like my Uncle Misha — who, by the way, looks like that guy from the winter fishing meme. Hahaha oh my god, these guys — do they even look at themselves in the mirror before they like or message me?!

And honestly, the whole mechanics of these dating apps just drive me crazy. They’re built in a way that keeps throwing random people at you — anyone but the ones you could actually talk to.

I remembered how, in school, I once wrote a letter to my future self.

It said:

“I’m sure that by 30 I’ll have an amazing husband, a house by the sea, and three kids.”

Yeah. Almost nailed it.

Except — no husband, no house, no kids.

And the sea… well, I guess it still exists somewhere.

You know, dear diary, sometimes I feel like someone just took my life plan and hit fast-forward.

Like, “Oh, this part’s boring — skip.”

And here I am — with a glass of wine, Pirate on my lap, and a dating app on my phone.

Not the worst scenario, but definitely not the one I planned.

Timer beeped.

Hour’s up.

Phone’s waiting.

I open it.

New message:

“Hey, beautiful! Any plans for the weekend?;)”

Seriously, universe?

You’re kidding me.

Fine.

First impulse — delete.

Second — cry.

Third — write something witty.

Like:

“Plans? Crying in the bathtub to sad music and rethinking all my life choices.”

But I’m a grown woman.

I’m training my awareness, remember?

So I just closed the app.

Because sometimes the best response is to preserve whatever’s left of your dignity.

And you know what?

Tonight, I chose me.

Even if that means spending the evening with Pirate, a glass of wine, and this pink diary.

God, my butt is completely numb from sitting on this damn kitchen chair for hours.

My back hurts like I’ve been unloading coal wagons instead of swiping through profiles filled with BBQs and saunas, hahaha.

Probably a sign — time to shut my brain off and show my body some mercy.

Alright, diary. Pirate and I are off to bed.

Till tomorrow.

Maybe…

day 3

Come back to the message later and try to see it from a different perspective. Imagine it’s written by a decent person who’s just a little nervous. How could you interpret his words in a more positive or neutral way? Try replying not from irritation, but from curiosity. Notice whether your tone or attitude has shifted.

27 April 2025

Well, hello there, diary!

It’s only eight in the morning on a Saturday, and I’ve just been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking: “Why am I even doing all this?”

Pirate looks just as confused about my sudden burst of energy. He was lying on my chest, purring in my face like some grumpy little judge.

He’s probably thinking I’ve completely lost it.

Oops… washing machine’s done. That stupid victory tune again, blasting through the whole apartment. One day I’ll probably learn all those cheerful electronic melodies dedicated to the glory of clean socks and T-shirts.

Alright, what’s on today’s assignment list.

Today — no wine. No sarcasm. What a shame… ha.

Andrey Yevgenievich said to go back to the message.

Opening the app.

The same one: “Hey, beautiful! Any plans for the weekend?;)”

Yesterday, I wanted to reply something like:

“Plans? Crying in the shower and listening to sad songs.”

Today… I see it a bit differently.

Not great. Not witty. But not terrible either.

Just a guy writing the way he could.

Maybe he was nervous. Maybe he spent an hour overthinking a hundred ways to start the conversation.

And, of course, he picked the most cliché one.

Honestly, I don’t really like this apartment… The one we had on Tolbukhina, where I lived with Maksim, was better. There was a real market there — lively, full of fresh fruit and fragrant herbs in the summer. On weekends we’d walk there together, like an old married couple, buying tomatoes, cherries, and the sweetest peaches in the world.

Now… now I chew on these plastic supermarket tomatoes that cost a fortune.

How is anyone supposed to eat this after those juicy summer ones?!

Ugh. But I’m not going to drive all the way across Moscow for tomatoes.

Or am I? Maybe I’d accidentally run into Maksim…

STOP.

Kristina warned me: “Don’t romanticize the past. Don’t feed yourself with sweet memories.”

Alright, enough of that.

Back to the assignment. And I’ve just written a reply:

“Hey! No special plans yet. What about you — got any weekend ideas?”

Sent.

Kristina said something really important in one of our sessions:

“Sometimes trust doesn’t start with believing in someone — it starts with simply allowing the thought that they might be okay.”

I think I’ll start repeating that like a mantra. On Monday, I’ll tell the girls at lunch what I was up to this weekend, ha.

Just hope Lena doesn’t hijack every topic again and turn it into something about her kids!

Lena’s great — honestly, she’s a solid coworker and an amazing mom, no doubt.

But come on, how does she manage to twist literally any subject into a story about her children? We’ll start talking about travel, or books, or — god forbid — sex, and she’ll still find a way to bring up her precious Sergey.

I can already picture it:

“Oh girls, speaking of that, something just happened yesterday — total chaos! I was picking up Sergey from daycare, and the teacher said he kissed his little friend Vika!”

Hahaha, I can so see that happening.

I should actually time her next week — see how many minutes she lasts before mentioning her kids.

Anyway. Where was I? Ah yes — I replied to that guy on the app.

And that’s enough social growth for one day.

Also, I really need to turn off that idiotic washing machine tune.

I’m not at a nightclub… unfortunately.

day 4

Think back to times when you suddenly cut off communication within the first few minutes — whether online or in person. Write down one or two examples: what the man said or did, and what you felt in that moment. Now think — is it possible you might have misinterpreted the situation? Write down an alternative explanation for his behavior (even a hypothetical one).

28 April 2025

Sunday.

The last day off before another gray week.

Though honestly, my weekends haven’t exactly been bright lately either.

Today’s plan — the standard single-person routine:

swipe through strangers on those stupid apps, chat with people just as lost as me,

eat cereal straight from the box, and convince myself that life is “great.”

Oh, and also — episode two, season two of The Last of Us.

Just dropped.

Pedro Pascal is once again the best.

God, I wish I could meet a man like his character, Joel.

Strong, quiet most of the time, but when he speaks — it matters.

Looks at you in that way that makes everything inside you stop.

Doesn’t rescue women like they’re princesses, just walks beside them — shoulder to shoulder.

Yeah. That’s the kind of man I’d want.

If only he weren’t a fictional character, ha.

Today’s task:

“Remember a time you cut someone off too quickly.”

Hmmm.

First thing that comes to mind —

some guy on Telegram sent me a photo of… a chicken wrapped in foil.

Captioned: “I can cook.”

Instant reaction:

“Try seducing someone else with that, chef.”

Deleted the chat on the spot.

But thinking about it now…

maybe he just wanted to show he’s independent and knows how to take care of himself.

Maybe cooking is his way of showing affection.

Second story — a party.

A guy said he was “a bit of a blogger.”

My brain instantly went: “Ugh, another Instagram narcissist.”

Later it turned out he ran a blog about recovery after injuries,

helping people with disabilities adapt to normal life.

No ads. No showing off.

And there I was, labeling him in my head within thirty seconds.

But the most important story — about Lera.

When Lera first joined our department,

I had her all figured out in half an hour:

empty, chatty, one of those “corporate yoga-and-smoothie” girls

with endless Instagram stories about her cat and her karma.

Turns out, she’s been volunteering at an orphanage for six years.

Six years!

After her husband died, she was trying to find a way to cope with the pain.

And in doing so, she ended up saving not only the kids — but herself.

What struck me most was how she talked about it — calmly, without drama,

without the “look how kind I am” tone.

Just… as something that had simply become part of her life.

And it was there, at the orphanage, that she met her current husband —

and later, her future son, Mark.

God, I admire her. She’s my reminder that there is good left in the world.

Lera still says it was fate.

I’m not exactly a believer…

though considering how often I mention God here, ha, maybe I’m lying to myself.

But when I listen to her — I kind of want to believe.

So yeah, dear diary,

today I admit once again:

I’ve judged people by the cover.

And I wasn’t always right.

Maybe sometimes it’s worth leaving the door slightly open.

Even if it feels like behind it there’s just another “blogger with a chicken.”

Alright.

Time to flop on the couch and watch the second episode with Joel.

At least in TV shows, someone always stays until the end.

day 5

Today, practice a positive scenario: if no new conversation starts, try initiating one yourself — online or offline — with a simple phrase. The goal is to feel what it’s like to be on the other side. And remember: you wouldn’t want to be judged harshly just for saying “hi,” would you?

29 April 2025

Well, diary.

Monday.

And already a shitty one.

And guess why?

Because last night, in the new episode of The Last of Us, they killed Joel.

Joel. My Joel. My perfect man.

Pedro Pascal, if you ever read this diary — know that I cried like a child.

I honestly couldn’t believe it — how could they do this to me?

How could they take away the only decent man I had left in my life?

Even if he was fictional.

I was so angry I couldn’t even cry properly.

Just lay there face down in the pillow.

And then today, our corporate Satan — Marina Vladimirovna — decided to finish me off.

Half an hour before the end of the day, she drops this bomb:

“Prepare a presentation for the entire business unit.

For Tuesday. Morning.”

Training? Who needs training when you can sacrifice your sanity and life for the glory of the company, right?

Marina, if I could, I’d buy you a one-way ticket to Tatooine.

And now, the cherry on top.

Reading the task from Andrey Yevgenyevich:

“Today, let’s practice a positive scenario!”

Positive.

SERIOUSLY?!

Oh, screw that.

Sorry, diary, but there are no other words for this.

Okay. Deep breath.

A task is a task.

I have to try to start a conversation myself — online or offline.

Let’s see how that goes.

Opening the app.

One guy — holding a fish in front of a lake.

Another — shirtless gym selfie.

Third — “Looking for the one who won’t drive me crazy.”

What the hell is wrong with you people?!

I wanted to quit right there. Close the damn thing.

But…

Fine.

Stopped on one.

Just a regular guy. Glasses. A bit messy. Funny-looking cat in the profile picture.

I type:

“Hey! Your cat’s awesome.”

Hit send.

Close my eyes.

Count to five.

I feel weird.

Like I just jumped into cold water.

Writing first — it’s scary.

And again, I think of Kristina.

Guess I picked the right psychologist this time.

Anyway.

I did it.

And you know what?

I didn’t die.

Even if I want to scream at the world after this awful day,

Even if my chest still aches from Joel’s death —

I still took a small step.

And maybe… that’s the only right thing that happened today.

God, why did everything get so damn complicated once I grew up?

It used to be simple — a week, and someone was already beside you, smiling, calling you theirs.

Now… maybe it’s not that life got harder, but that I stopped jumping in blind?

I think of Vlad — total disaster, honestly.

Cocky, reckless, loud.

But back then I liked that: bold, confident, rough around the edges.

Now I see it — he just didn’t think. Didn’t feel. Just pushed forward without caring where it would lead.

And well… it led exactly where it had to.

Now I look at men differently.

I notice more, listen more, feel more.

Maybe that’s why I’m still single.

But actually — that’s progress.

Not a failure.

Not jumping into a winter-night walk with the first guy who texts “You up?” — that’s growth, right?

(Though let’s be honest, a few years ago I might’ve gone.)

When I was little, everything was clear.

Mom, dad, morning cartoons, cardboard boxes at the market, my brother coming home — instant joy.

The world was tiny, cozy, fit right into my palm.

Back then, I even dreamed my future man would be like Sashka — funny, with that cosmic slang of his, words I’d never heard before.

Haha, I still remember them.

Maybe I should call him. See how he’s doing…

Anyway, diary, that’s enough philosophy for one night.

I’m off to wrap myself in a blanket, hug Pirat,

and watch some show where, hopefully, no one dies.

Good night.

day 6

Practice empathy in small things. For example, when someone you barely know — a coworker or a neighbor — starts talking to you, try to just listen without judgment. If you catch yourself thinking, “what a strange person,” shift your focus and find something neutral or kind instead: “maybe they’re just tired today” or “they’re trying to be friendly.” This helps build the habit of understanding first, not criticizing.

30 April 2025

Well, hello again, diary.

Today I actually made it to training.

And yes, today… let’s just say it was eventful.

It started as usual — work, but we’re not talking about that, enough already.

Taxi. I get in, the driver seems normal.

Then he goes silent. Tense, heavy silence.

And for some reason, keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

I tensed up.

Riding along, thinking:

“Okay, he’s about to turn somewhere wrong, and I’ll be found in the nearest forest without sneakers and my salary card stolen.”

And then I remember the next assignment I read on the subway: “Practice empathy in small things.”

Obviously, no one at work deserved my empathy today, and I only remembered the task on the way to the gym.

Hahaha.

Yeah, right.

Practicing empathy in a taxi with a potential maniac — sure.

When I muttered something like:

“Beautiful today, isn’t the sunset amazing?” —

he jumped in surprise and said:

“Oh, miss, I thought you were busy!”

That’s when I asked if I could move to the front seat.

So I switched to the front while we were stuck in traffic.

Don’t even know why. Maybe to be first to strike, if anything.

And it turned out he just…

can’t hear well.

And was watching the mirror all the time to see if I was speaking.

We ended up chatting about the worst traffic in Moscow — surprisingly entertaining… hahaha.

Okay, Andrey Yevgenyevich.

Empathy in the little things — checked.

Training had its parade of oddities too.

My coach, Sergey, was laughing all day:

seems I was at max mode — hyper, cranky.

Speaking of maniacs…

There were those women again in the gym who “train” but really do one set on the treadmill and then sit on a bench gossiping for half an hour.

I’m not judging (much).

Maybe it’s the only fun event they get all week.

Maybe someone’s husband is a tyrant, and the gym is their escape.

I don’t know.

I laugh at it, but then catch myself thinking:

“Hey, maybe they have their own story.”

Empathy, damn it. It works. Sometimes it annoys, but it works.

Coming back home.

And who greets me?

Not my favorite concierge with the warm eyes.

No.

Today it’s…

the Dark Lady of Silence.

You say, “Good evening!” —

and she responds with silence and a face like a 400-year-old stone.

Plus, the building smells like deodorant has been banned by official decree.

And then I remembered Anton from Omsk.

Hahaha.

Our immortal Anton, to whom we gave deodorants every holiday.

And he stacked them in a cabinet, sealed, whole piles.

I once counted seven. Seven!

Anton proudly carried the scent of a desperate man across the store, and no signals of civilization could touch him.

Anyway.

It was a strange day.

But I tried.

Not to get stuck in irritation.

To see something human in people.

And at least sometimes, instead of “what an idiot?” think: “Maybe they’re just tired?”

A small step.

But this Tuesday — the best step I could take.

Pirat confirms.

He’s purring on my lap and nudging me with his nose.

And yes, I still miss Joel.

But life goes on.

Even stone-faced concierges are part of it.

Good night, strange world.

day 7

Summing up the first week. What new things have you learned about your initial reactions? Has it become easier to give people a chance to show who they really are? Write a short conclusion for yourself about what this exercise taught you. For example: “I realized that first impressions can be misleading, and now I try to get to know someone a little better before making judgments.”

5 may 2025

Well, diary.

The week’s exercises are coming to an end.

Honestly, if there were an Oscar for surviving this circus called “My Life”, I’d be on stage right now, holding a glass of champagne and crying into the microphone.

Work again today.

And again — that gnawing, lousy feeling inside.

That I’m a fraud.

That I actually know nothing.

That all these fancy reports, presentations, and conversations with management are a fake, about to be exposed.

That my boss will suddenly notice every mistake, call me into the meeting room, say, “We have to let you go”, and that’s it.

Me, Pirat, and the heating pipes. Pure romance.

Sometimes at lunch I think, if people really knew how close to the edge I am, they’d speak to me in whispers.

Bring me buns. Blankets.

But no.

Lunch was Lena again.

And again… guess what?

Right.

We just started talking about summer vacations — and here it comes:

“Oh, this summer Seryozha is going to camp, can you imagine?”

Yes, Lena.

We can imagine. Very well, thank you.

I probably could even write a biography of your kids better than my own.

Then I sat listening to colleagues’ stories, and one thought kept spinning in my head:

“Am I even needed by anyone?

If I’m not a mother, not a wife, not a homemaker,

If I’m just… me?”

But let’s get to the exercise.

What have I learned this week?

First.

That my first reactions are a mix of fear, hurt, and sarcasm wrapped in a neat package called “I’m just trolling life”.

The truth — I’m scared.

Scared to trust someone.

Scared to give a chance.

Because giving a chance means risking.

And risk — means pain, if it all goes wrong again.

So it seems safer to just be alone.

Second.

That sometimes — people aren’t idiots.

They’re just… ordinary.

With their fears.

With their awkwardness.

With their quirks.

Just like me.

And third.

That I can still laugh.

And if I can find the strength to laugh at the taxi driver — the maniac I invented — and remember Anton with his deodorant collection, it means something alive is still in me.

My conclusion:

“I realized that first impressions can be misleading. And that sometimes it’s worth at least trying to see someone more deeply before writing them off.”

Even if sometimes I just want to run away.

Even if it’s easier to hide behind sarcasm.

So, diary.

The first week’s exercises — done.

Not without strangeness, pain, and mini-disasters.

But done.

Chapter 2. The First Date

How Perception Works and How to Shift Perspective:

A first date is exciting and carries a lot of weight. Naturally, you want everything to go perfectly: the conversation, his behavior, the chemistry between you. But in reality, first dates are rarely flawless.

Perception on a first date is heightened to the max: you notice every little detail. He’s ten minutes late — immediately your mind whispers, “Unreliable!” He gives a compliment with the wrong tone — “Insincere flattery.” He looks around — “Maybe I’m not interesting to him.” Sound familiar?

Your perception wants to instantly judge every action through the lens of “Does this person fit me or not?”, often fueled by the fear of disappointment. But let’s switch perspective: nobody is perfect, and a first date is stressful for both sides. A man might be just as nervous as you, which can make him speak louder than usual or, conversely, seem withdrawn. Small slip-ups (silent for a few minutes, dropping a fork, mishearing your question) don’t define him entirely.

Perspective teaches that the overall impression and future potential matter more than every awkward moment. If, on the whole, you enjoyed yourself and found points of connection, the little things can either be let go or discussed calmly later. Think of a first date as two worlds meeting, not as an exam in perfection.

Example: Anastasia and Dmitry agreed to meet at a cozy café. Anastasia, nervous like many women, had imagined a scenario: he would meet her at the entrance, compliment her, order a caramel latte remembering she mentioned it in the chat… Reality was different. Dmitry, rushing from work, arrived fifteen minutes late, out of breath, without flowers, and wearing an apologetic smile. Anastasia’s mood instantly dropped — her perception whispered, “He doesn’t care, didn’t even prepare!” She became cold, answered curtly. Dmitry, sensing this, grew nervous too, and the conversation stalled.

Midway through the date, Anastasia noticed that the evening was slipping away, and the reason was her own offense from the start. She decided to try saving the night: she shook off her expectations and looked at the situation differently. “He came, didn’t cancel, is trying to joke… Maybe it really was a work emergency, not a lack of interest,” she thought. Anastasia softened and asked Dmitry about his day. Gradually, she learned that he had a work crisis, felt guilty for making her wait, and even wanted to buy flowers on the way but didn’t have time. By then, the café had emptied, and they spent the rest of the evening talking with smiles.

In the end, the first date became unusual but sincere. By stopping the habit of judging every detail through offense and disappointment, Anastasia gave both herself and him the chance to simply be themselves.

6 may 2025

Well, hello again, diary.

Today — no jokes.

And no energy.

Not a day for any assignments.

I didn’t go to work.

To hell with it, to hell with my boss.

In the morning, I saw blood in the litter box, and it took my breath away. I ran to Pirat, hugged him, and cried for a few minutes. Then I snapped out of it, grabbed his carrier, and ran to the nearest vet clinic.

Pirat is… he’s not just a cat.

He’s my little piece of happiness.

My family.

My love.

My baby.

I remember how Maxim brought him home in winter — frozen, tiny, with helpless eyes.

And since then, everything has changed.

Strangely…

Looking at Pirat, I don’t think about Maxim.

I’m not angry, not sad, don’t remember him…

It seems Kristina is really amazing; only now did I realize I haven’t thought about Maxim at all for several days!

And honestly, I don’t care about that jerk, who he is after what he did.

Pirat is my everything, my present.

The best thing that ever happened.

Today was terribly scary.

When they took him for surgery, I was left alone.

Then a guy sat on the chair next to me.

Also with a carrier.

Also with fear in his eyes.

It turned out — he had a cat too, something wrong with its kidneys.

We started talking. Just… chatting.

About the weather.

About vets.

About how strange it is to become attached to a creature that can’t even speak — and it becomes closer to you than any human in the world.

No flirting.

No tension.

Just two people, at that moment equally scared and equally trying not to fall apart.

Pirat had surgery. They said he would be fine.

A stone, a stupid stone.

I took him in my arms — so weak, trembling — and all I wanted was to take him home as fast as possible.

I didn’t even say goodbye to that guy.

We didn’t exchange names or numbers.

Nothing.

Only now, sitting on the floor at home, holding Pirat to my chest, I remembered him.

About his eyes.

About how he held the carrier with both hands, as if it could fall and break at any moment.

About how he forced a smile when he talked about his cat Sonya.

Maybe I missed something.

Or maybe — it just wasn’t the time.

Today, Andrey Evgenyevich’s assignment was about a positive scenario.

About learning to give a chance.

Funny.

Today, I don’t think about chances at all.

Today, I think about how fragile everything in this world is.

How in one morning, everything can turn into fear.

While Pirat sleeps next to me, I turned on “Interns.”

The old familiar series, which somehow always smells like comfort.

And the silly antics of Bykov, Lobanov, and Levin — the best thing in evenings like this.

On evenings like this, you understand that sometimes — it’s enough that everyone you love is alive.

And everything else — is nonsense.

Now I catch myself thinking, as I write to you — or into you, I don’t know the right way — inside it becomes a little… quieter. Not easier. But quieter. As if the chaos in my head gathers into lines, and I finally see what’s happening with me. I see that it’s not just “something’s wrong with me,” but something real, something that can be named, touched, recognized. And maybe released.

I couldn’t tell any living person what I tell you. Even if I tried — I wouldn’t be able. But with you, I can. And that, probably, is the only thing that helps even a little right now.

Diary,

let’s just note:

Today I chose love.

And gratitude that Pirat is breathing in my arms.

And that — is the only thing that matters today.

day 1

Make a list of five qualities or aspects that are truly important to you on a first date (for example: mutual respect, sense of humor, shared interests, a feeling of safety, spark of attraction). Separately, write down five things you don’t like but can tolerate or adjust (for example: slightly nervous, talks too much about work). This list will help you distinguish in advance what is critical and what is just a minor detail.

7 may 2025

Well, diary,

A new chapter — another test of my emotional stability.

A first date…

Ha. As if those even happen to me.

Alright, what does the “wise” Andrey Evgenievich say again?

That I should look at a first date not as an exam, but as the meeting of two universes.

Two universes.

Sounds beautiful, sure.

But in reality, sometimes it feels like your universe is a normal civilization,

and theirs — an uninhabited island full of slippery pickup lines.

Anyway, the task:

Make a list of five qualities that truly matter to me on a first date.

Let’s try.

What’s important:

Sense of humor. A real one. Not dumb jokes that only he laughs at.
Calmness. If he starts sweating nervously and talking non-stop — exhausting.
Ability to listen. At least some attempt to pretend he’s interested, not just waiting for his turn to speak.
Feeling of safety. So I don’t have to think about the café exits or keep my keys ready as a weapon.
Ease in conversation. When you don’t have to desperately search for a new topic after the third glass.
Looks. Why did I put that at the end, hahaha. It’s actually super important — I don’t need dwarfs or chubby guys.

Okay, that’s already six. Hahaha. Alright, maybe I can drop “sense of humor.”

What I can tolerate:

Nervousness. Happens. I sometimes look like a squirrel on caffeine myself.
Talks a lot about work. People cling to what’s familiar when they’re nervous.
A bit uptight. Just please don’t start talking about exes right away.
Awkward compliments. As long as he doesn’t cross into sleazy territory.
Splitting the bill — not the end of the world. Though, yes, there’s a little grandma in me whispering: “A man should pay!”

While writing, I remembered last year’s meeting with one — God forgive me — “financial consultant.”

He seriously suggested we split the bill for coffee…

Two cappuccinos.

I couldn’t even look at the word “cappuccino” for a week afterward without an eye twitch.

I still feel heavy inside today.

Pirate’s asleep, curled up on the windowsill.

He’s doing better, but I still check every five minutes to see if he’s breathing.

And yeah, after yesterday, I started noticing how much I filter everything through fear.

Fear of losing.

Fear of being disappointed.

Fear of doing something stupid.

Maybe that’s what this week is really about:

Learning not to judge too quickly.

Not to label.

Not to assume the worst.

Although, of course, my brain still managed to overthink today at the gym — decided coach Sergey was looking at me suspiciously.

Turns out — I was just wearing a bright pink sweatshirt and, quote, “looked like a piece of chewing gum doing squats.”

Funny guy.

Alright, diary.

Mission accomplished for today: lists written.

Now I just need to find an actual date — for practice.

But that’s another story.

For now — coffee, Interns, and my beloved Pirate,

still the best man in my life, especially now that Joel left us.

day 2

Recall your last first date (or one of the most memorable ones).

What were the moments where your perception turned negative?

Maybe you got upset over a certain word or gesture.

Write down that moment and your reaction back then.

Next to it — note how you could look at it differently, in perspective.

For example:

“He talked about his ex the whole evening — back then, I thought he wasn’t over her.

Perspective: maybe he was just nervous and didn’t know what else to talk about. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s still in love with his past.”

8 may 2025

Alright, diary, here’s a stream-of-consciousness-level entry — brace yourself.

First, Mom called.

It was a long conversation.

Well, long — about forty-five minutes of listening to everything I supposedly did wrong.

“You should have…”

“What if you had…”

“I told you…”

God, how I hate it.

I tried to be patient.

Remembered how Kristina said Mom’s words aren’t really criticism — they’re her anxiety and fear.

It’s how she shows care, as best she can.

I get it intellectually.

But when I hear, “You should’ve gone to grad school back then, not pursued your silly thing…”

I just want to throw the phone at the wall.

Honestly, though?

Hearing her voice still makes a tiny part of me respond — the part that just wants her to say everything will be okay.

Bliiin, doorbell!

One sec, diary.

Okay, where was I…

The doorbell was epic.

Some guy in an old leather jacket offering “real” Chanel for 1000 rubles.

I nearly slammed the door on him from laughing.

Seriously, sir, did you teleport here from the year 2000?

Where are your cheap gadgets and “five-in-one” karaoke tape recorders?

I remembered how Aunt Galya used to buy all sorts of crap from these sellers.

Massage devices, “cures for everything” bracelets, “unique” Chinese teapots.

And everything broke within a week, but Mom quietly stashed the gifts on shelves because, hey, what would Aunt and Uncle think?! So the broken junk lingered for decades.

Wonderful times.

Terrible, but wonderful in its own way.

Anyway.

Back to the task.

Today, I need to recall my last first date.

And the moments where my perception played tricks on me.

Alright.

It was last September.

His name — who can remember… maybe Andrey?

We met at a coffee shop.

He was ten minutes late, and instead of apologizing, he said:

“You look just like your photos, I thought you’d look worse.”

Well, wow, right?

In that moment, I just shut down inside.

Sipped my coffee silently and decided: done, this date is over, just torture from here.

And indeed, the conversation dragged along awkwardly after that.

Now, trying to see it through the “perspective” lens, as Andrey Evgenievich advised:

Maybe he just made an awkward joke.

Was nervous.

Maybe he’s one of those rare guys whose only “compliments” come out all wrong.

And perhaps, if I hadn’t shut down inside after that comment, if I’d given him a chance, the conversation might have gone differently.

I don’t know.

Sometimes I want to be generous.

Sometimes I just want to tell everyone to go jump in a lake.

Today is one of those “go jump in a lake” days.

But still, diary, the task is done.

And yes, Pirat has climbed onto the laptop again.

He clearly believes all my “first dates” should be only with him.

And somehow…

He’s right.

day 3

If you have a date coming up, get ready to practice perspective: promise yourself not to make final judgments during the meeting. It’s better to analyze later, at home, in a calm environment. If there’s no date, practice during a friendly meeting: listen carefully, notice the moments when you feel like judging or comparing to your expectations, and consciously let that thought go.

10 may 2025

Okay, diary

New task.

Andrey Evgenievich, don’t you get tired over there? I’m already a bit worn out. Especially mentally.

Today I have to promise myself not to make final judgments right away.

Like, just observe, be a Buddhist at heart, total zen vibes.

Alright.

The plan today was just to stroll through Gorky Park with Sveta.

No heroics, no dates, no deep reflections.

But life, of course, knows how to throw an improvised exam at you.

I was waiting for Sveta at the café while she ran to the bathroom, holding two ice creams in my hands, and then a guy approached me.

Not my type.

At all.

Really.

Like the last guy I would have picked even for my school dodgeball team.

But he looked… sincere.

A little awkward.

Like he was approaching me on a dare.

And I don’t know why — maybe just to make someone’s day better — I smiled… and gave him my phone number.

Sveta, of course, came out exactly when he had already stepped away, and we laughed afterwards that she somehow knew, left at the right time, and this was totally my fate. Hahaha.

Came home.

Pirat greeted me with the look that without him I wouldn’t have managed a single social task.

And then a message came:

“Hi! It would be great to see you again. Maybe coffee?”

My first thought:

“Nooo. Thanks. Let’s just forget it.”

I had already typed my refusal. But… I remembered the task.

Don’t judge immediately.

Don’t run away.

Don’t label.

I deleted the message.

And wrote:

“Why not? Just somewhere calm, no crowd.”

Sent it.

And you know, diary… I even felt lighter.

Like, I gave myself a chance to see the person, not just my first reaction.

Then my usual Sunday reflections about the meaning of life started.

Thought today would be free of that, diary? Yeah, right.

This whole world…

If you think about it — the sun, black holes, space, infinite emptiness…

Our planet — a tiny speck that could vanish any moment.

What difference does it make who got a promotion, who found love, who wrote a book?

Imagine Andrey Evgenievich sitting there, writing his guide.

Thinking: “I’ll help these women figure themselves out.”

Meanwhile, the universe is preparing a meteor the size of Omsk.

Just because it can.

Meaning is an illusion.

We cling to pieces of happiness, build houses, write diaries, fall in love, break up, eat ice cream.

And then — bam — and it’s all over.

I don’t even know whether to cry or laugh about it.

So I did what always saves me:

I turned on Interny.

And again, just like as a child, hugged Pirat, watching the screen where everything is simple, funny, and safe.

By the way, tomorrow is Monday.

Another week to live through.

And maybe write to Pete with the ice cream.

Or not.

We’ll see.

day 4

Pay attention to the little nervous habits — both yours and his. For example, you might notice that you’re fidgeting with a napkin or speaking faster than usual. He might mix up the waiter’s name or drop a spoon. Instead of giving these little things too much meaning, just smile — they’re simply nerves. At the end of the day, write down three small “flaws” in behavior (yours or your companion’s) that you noticed today, and next to each, note why they don’t determine the outcome of the whole meeting.

12 may 2025

Oh, diary.

Today felt like someone took a box of events, shook it really hard, and dumped everything right on my head.

Let’s start from the beginning.

Although… haha, when do I ever have a beginning in order?

Morning — the metro.

Those wonderful Moscow mornings when the crowd drags you into the carriage so that you can basically not even move.

I seriously thought: if I relax, I’ll just be carried by the flow to the right station.

At work, there was a wine event.

Yes, exactly that: a wine event, at work.

Who would have thought that, joining a “serious international company,” I’d one day be standing at noon with a glass of prosecco, listening to the HR director talk about vineyards in Chile?

Officially, the “wine event” was a cultural occasion.

Not for drinking, of course, just a “tasting.”

Okay, I won’t complain.

The prosecco was fine.

Just a shame to swallow the product into nothing in one gulp.

By evening, my mood was strange.

A date with Petya. Such a name — Petya, how unserious it sounds.

Remember, diary, that guy by the restroom in Gorky Park?

So, we arranged to meet in a café near my place.

Just in case: you never know. So I could escape quickly if needed.

While getting ready, I thought again about Krasnodar.

How simple it was there: few people, everyone relaxed, someone always with coffee and a blissful face in the park.

Not Moscow — where every second person rushes as if they’re the hero of the movie In Time and only have 24 hours to do everything.

Sometimes I really think: maybe just drop everything, go south, sit on the beach, sell ice cream, and not worry about anything?

But then I remember my salary, rent, prospects — and realize it’s just a dream for now.

And Pirat.

Pirat deserves better food than I could afford there.

Okay, back to the date.

I arrived a little early.

Petya was ten minutes late.

And in that moment, my inner “blacklist” kicked in: late — check, careless — check.

But I stopped myself.

Pfft, who knows why. Maybe traffic. Maybe the taxi messed up. Maybe he was carried by the metro crowd like I was in the morning. Haha.

He arrived out of breath and immediately started apologizing.

Holding some ridiculous, half-dead little bouquet, which at first I thought he picked from a flowerbed to make up for being late — but no, it was wrapped, meaning he just bought the first one he found, and the seller was happy to get rid of it instead of throwing it away later.

And it was… actually touching.

Three nervous little things:

Petya kept fidgeting with his spoon in the coffee cup. (At first I thought: “God, he’s so nervous”)
Then I realized: the guy is worried, just like me.
We crossed the street three times because he couldn’t figure out where the metro was. Before, I would have thought: “Inattentive klutz.”
Now: so what. Everyone makes mistakes. Especially when nervous.
When he told some story about work, he spoke too loudly across half the café. First thought: “Oh, how awkward.”
Then: he’s laughing, enjoying life. That’s even admirable; he doesn’t care what others think.

And also…

While sitting across from him, I noticed a strange feeling:

calm.

No butterflies in my stomach.

No fireworks.

Just — a gentle human warmth.

Something rare these days.

On the way back home, another wave of thoughts hit me:

Sometimes we chase “the perfect first impression” so hard that we don’t really notice people.

I could have never given Petya my number by the restroom.

I could have deleted the message.

I could have canceled the meeting.

But I didn’t.

And you know, diary… I’m even a little proud of myself today.

Pirat, of course, greeted me at the door like a king.

Immediately demanded his bowl, a head massage, and a full report on where I’d been and with whom.

Who would’ve known how much I love this furry despot…

And yes.

Yesterday’s episode of Interns was, as always, just right.

Life is a crazy mix of absurdity, tenderness, and little victories over yourself.

And if you can smile even occasionally in it — that’s already something.

day 5

Practice openness and asking questions. If something a man says on a date hurts you or seems strange, don’t shut down. Instead, ask a gentle clarifying question: “Do you really think that, or are you joking? I’d like to hear more.”

Today, even without a date, work on the skill of asking questions instead of jumping to conclusions. For example, in a conversation with a colleague or friend, if something is unclear or bothers you, try to ask for clarification instead of swallowing it with resentment.

13 may 2025

Alright, diary, let’s be honest:

sometimes I think all these tips are like meditating in the middle of a hurricane.

How are you even supposed to ask “gentle questions” when all you want to do is roll your eyes and ride off into the sunset to the Game of Thrones soundtrack? Hahaha.

But okay. I promised myself not to whine — so let’s try.

Today at work, the circus with horses happened again. Who could’ve guessed.

At lunch, Lena outdid herself.

New record: she starts talking about the weather — and in the next second, she’s telling a story about how the wind blew in her Sergey’s face and he sneezed three times in a row.

Svetlana and I are already betting: how many minutes until the “kids topic.”

I was about to make a sarcastic joke, but then remembered the task.

So… I asked Lena a question. Gently.

— “Hey, how do you manage to switch any topic to kids so fast?” I smiled.

Lena practically jumped in surprise, then laughed:

— “I don’t even notice! They’re in my head all the time.”

And here’s the weird part:

When you ask instead of judging, suddenly you see that in front of you isn’t a generator of preschool stories, but just a woman for whom her kids are her whole world.

And maybe that’s the only thing that gives her a sense of importance, of meaning.

I saw that.

Not the perfect Lena. Not the irritating Lena.

The real, living one.

And in the evening, there was Petya.

Well, “was” — we were texting.

Here’s the moment:

Petya wrote:

— “Ugh, women these days are all mercenary, looking for sponsors.”

Before, I would’ve just closed the chat, deleted him, and screamed into a pillow.

But… experiment is an experiment.

I took a deep breath and wrote:

— “Do you really think that, or is it a joke? I’m curious why you think that.”

And you know what?

He answered.

Calmly. Without an attack.

Turns out, it wasn’t anger.

It was — hurt from a couple of meetings where some girls really were looking for sponsors and hinted about “a trip to the Maldives” after the second coffee.

And I thought:

God, we’re all so battered.

How much we judge others through our old scars.

What I realized today:

Sometimes under rudeness — there’s no aggression.

Under irritation — there’s no indifference.

And under strange behavior — there’s just fear or pain.

And if you ask a question instead of running away — maybe the world becomes even a little more understandable.

Pirate also asked me a question today.

Without words, though: he just stared at me with that reproachful expression.

Like:

“Are you really sure this Petya deserves even a second of your attention?” Hahaha.

So, diary.

Let’s move on.

Sometimes it starts to feel like this guide isn’t about understanding men better at all.

It’s about finally learning to hear yourself.

And maybe stopping being such a harsh judge of yourself.

day 6

Throughout the day, take small mindfulness pauses. This can come in handy even on a date: stop, inhale, exhale, and ask yourself, “Am I exaggerating the importance of this situation?” Today, three times in different situations (not necessarily romantic), catch yourself having a strong internal reaction and deliberately slow down. Note how your feeling shifts after the pause.

14 may 2025

Diary, hello

Today I really understood why these “mindfulness pauses” are needed.

Without them, I would have thrown a tantrum in the café, shredded a couple of work instructions, and maybe even texted Petya everything I think about his hobby of collecting “not-funny memes about the female perspective on life.”

So… thank you, Andrey Evgenievich. You saved three human lives — and my reputation.

Morning

Café.

I’m standing there, choosing my lunch at the counter, keeping an eye on the cash register.

A lady approaches, fussing and chirping:

— You weren’t in line! And really, you should have some conscience, young lady!

And here my whole insides screamed in unison:

“Old witch, I’m about to teach you a lesson in justice!”

I’d already started taking a breath to argue that I was standing there, just from a different angle…

And then — a pause.

I remembered the assignment.

Inhale. Exhale.

I asked myself:

“Is it worth it?”

Answer: “No. She just wants to feel right. I want lunch.”

I smiled, stepped aside:

— Please, go ahead.

And you know what? Five minutes later she came up to me with tea and said:

— Sorry, I overreacted.

The little tears of cuteness (that could’ve ruined my soup) almost made my borscht even saltier. Hahaha

Afternoon

Work.

Breaking news: the project I’d been assembling for months was posted directly to the corporate portal by my boss — without my knowledge — and with a title mistake!

I saw it.

My hands shook.

Pulse skyrocketed.

First thought: “God, I’m professionally useless, they’re going to fire me, and I’ll have to live on the heating pipe with Pirat.”

Then — a pause.

Inhale. Exhale.

Question: “Am I exaggerating the importance of this situation?”

Answer: “Yes. Mistakes happen to everyone. Even to her. I’ll just fix the title. No panic.”

And indeed — I fixed it.

No one fired me. They even thanked me for noticing.

Evening

Petya.

Oh my goodness.

We chatted and decided to meet for coffee in the evening.

He seemed normal. Calm. No airs.

But.

When he, for the third time, said how “all the girls in dating apps are dumb,” I realized:

The odds that my future son will have the patronymic Petrovich just dropped to zero. Hahaha

Pause.

Inhale. Exhale.

Question: “Maybe I’m being too picky?”

Answer: “No. This is clearly not my person.”

And there’s no tragedy in that.

Just experience.

Just another conversation.

Just another day where I heard myself a little better.

Today I realized:

Mindfulness pauses are like little bridges back to yourself.

When you don’t rush forward on emotions like a runaway train, but stop and ask:

“Am I really sure I want to go this way?”

day 7

Summarize the week. If there was a real date, analyze it the next day, not immediately: how was it overall? What did you like, what didn’t you like? Do you want to give this acquaintance a chance to continue? If there was no date, compare your attitude toward first meetings “before” and “after” this chapter. Write down what you’ve learned: for example, “I won’t judge a person based on a single instance — the overall picture and my feeling around them matter.”

17 may 2025

Well, diary.

It seems I survived. The second week of assignments is done. And even without serious mental breakdowns… well, almost. Hahaha.

Yesterday was something between a farce and a mess.

The perfect illustration of how a “first impression” can fly off into space at full speed.

First of all, thanks to the universe for those amazing “gentlemen” who, after two messages, suggest moving to Telegram — because it’s more convenient for them.

Yeah, of course.

Apparently, it’s more convenient to photograph their genitals and send them to girls.

Hahahaha.

I hope that idiot gets caught one day and gets a proper lesson.

Good thing I already have armor for such cases: a year without relationships taught me to see men’s genitalia as something mundane.

Hahaha.

I think my neighbors understand that I came back from work via a Pornhub screensaver.

Hahaha.

Okay.

Back to the summary.

This week, I noticed how often my reactions are not about real people, but about my fears.

Fear of being deceived. Fear of disappointment again. Fear of building castles in the air that will collapse.

But when I stopped, breathed, and asked myself a simple question — “What if it’s not that scary?” — the world around me changed.

People suddenly stopped being enemies and became simply alive, vulnerable, strange, but real.

I realized that:

— First impressions can be misleading.

— Small mistakes are not a verdict.

— Sometimes a person just needs a little more time to open up.

So my conclusion for the week:

I’m learning to give chances — not just to others, but to myself.

A chance to not be perfect. A chance to stumble. A chance to try again.