From the author: Living for others is familiar and, in a sense, safe. But what if we remember that I am the main character of my own novel called “Life”? I'm soon 33. Almost half of my life is behind me. How many pages have already been written... In a notebook specially purchased for this purpose, on the first piece of paper available or on a napkin. In files saved in different folders on your computer, in a long list of notes on your smartphone, among a bunch of other super important notes and files. And if you want it, you won’t find it. At night, in the light of the morning sun and during the lunch break. With traces of drops of tears, with oily children's fingers and with traces of chocolate crumbs that diluted the perfect whiteness of the sheet. So much has already been written, scattered in different corners of the book-soul! I feel broken, split into a million little pieces, lost. And life continues to happen. How many more sheets of pages am I destined to write? Who knows? Here, in the middle of my personal novel, with my imperfect person in the leading role, I froze in a daze, as if I had forgotten how to breathe. What did I write this novel about? About others - the main characters, who in fact turned out to be more important than me. About what I should do and how I should do it to keep them, the main ones, close to me. How to be needed and correct and how much effort to put into it. A little later - about fatigue and anger at myself for being tired and not coping. And the last lines are about despair, helplessness and pain... What's next? Looks like it's time to start a new chapter. About Me. About my meanings and what is inside me. About my despair, my helplessness, my pain. My anger. About how important it is for me to be the leading role in my own novel and not be ashamed of it. I pick up my pen again. Line by line. Step by step closer to yourself. This is some kind of new feeling. As if under the influence of a magnet, broken pieces of me begin to pull in from the farthest corners of my Universe. I put them together into a common puzzle. I'm getting myself together. I'm soon 33. A whole half of my life is still ahead of me, and maybe more. Who knows? We write life. And this is the most fascinating novel I know. Writing practices are one of the excellent tools for working during crisis periods in life. The written word helps us to be more attentive and sensitive to what is happening inside. Want to get to grips with the romance of your life? Remember long-forgotten, but so important chapters? To understand what was written by our hand and what was clearly not written by us? We are waiting for you at the therapeutic group Story Workshop. The first lesson is November 27. More details: https://www.b17.ru/trainings/master_istoriy/