The Phoenix Era

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Introduction. A word from the author

You are the Master of your own destiny.

Dear reader,

If you are holding this book in your hands, a time of searching has come into your life. Perhaps you feel that something is going wrong in your relationships with those close to you. Perhaps you look around and see many unhappy people running in circles, not knowing where the way out is. Or maybe you simply want to understand why, even with every material comfort, a person remains lonely inside.

I want to tell you one thing that can change everything: you are the author of your life. You are the Master of your own destiny.

The world of relationships is in chaos not because fate is written in the stars or in our genes. Chaos arises because people have forgotten: they are the ones steering their own lives. The Phoenix is not a mythical bird — it is a state of mind in a person who sees the connections as white threads linking their beliefs, their behavior, and their attitude toward people.

When you become aware of these threads, you begin to build relationships on a healthy foundation. Priorities shift. At the start of the journey, sincerity matters. Along the way, what matters is mercy. When a person has sincerity, love, and mercy, they live as a Phoenix. They rewrite the history of their relationships, leaving grievances and neurotic scenarios in the past, and build their future with ease.

What awaits you in this book?

A fascinating journey of transformation awaits you. From the moment you turn the first page, you will begin to change. This is not just a work of non-fiction but a guide to action, filtered through the lens of real human destinies.

To make it more interesting for you — so the theory isn’t left hanging in the air — we will share with you the story of Maria. Maria is a composite figure. She is a virtual fellow traveler, created from the fates of hundreds of people who have walked this path in real life. Yes, a person named Maria exists, but everything described here is a synthesis of experience, an attempt to convey the essence to you through the story of one soul. Don’t worry too much about her misfortunes — instead, try to understand why they happened. That way you will see how scientific knowledge shapes real life.

The journey begins. This is the most fascinating world there is — the world of spiritual growth. We will travel through it together, from the shadow of Lilith to the light of the Phoenix.

The information you will find here is based on facts and on the experience of hundreds of people who have walked this path. We do not offer ready-made solutions. We offer a map. And the road — that you choose yourself. We have added historical parallels, psychological grounding, and examples so that you don’t just memorize the terms but feel what they mean.

Get ready. Your transformation starts now.

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Prologue · the scientific foundation

Basic concepts, cognitive distortions, and beliefs.

This book demonstrates the relevance of psychologically healthy relationships in life, describes the problems that arise and how they differ, and shows how various cognitive distortions influence a person’s model of behavior through thinking.

The way a person asserts themselves in modern society, the way they move through life leaning on family values, is directly reflected in the relationship between a man and a woman. But when does the phenomenon of “Harmonious Relationships” come into being?

First, let’s note that people’s desire to create a family within psychologically healthy relationships is a need. The motive is made up of meeting and communicating on the basis of internal factors (the need for love and care, the desire to be among people) and external factors (national and moral values, upbringing in the family, government policy), building a closer relationship, and entering into marriage. Developing the marriage into a family system (forming and building material values, having children, raising them, separation), forming values within the relationship, deepening and preserving feelings of love — that is the goal.

Biological factors — the way a personality takes shape at the psychogenetic level within society — reveal its individual traits and create its uniqueness. This, in turn, is reflected not only in a person’s social status but also in their relationship models.

Relationship models built on psychological complexes often become a serious problem in someone’s personal and professional life. Our main goal is to uncover the core cognitive cause hidden within these models of behavior and, with the help of a new Phoenix Transformation Methodology that you will soon get to know, to help form a mature way of thinking.

With the methodology for building healthy relationships set out here, every person will be able to see the objective psychological causes of their needs. If cognitive transformation holds the power to influence the main goals of life and social status, then the book The Phoenix Era is offered as a textbook for psychologists and those who work with psychology, and as a therapeutic method for those who want to change their life for the better.

The main factor shaping interpersonal relationships is the complexes inside a person. Psychological complexes create obstacles of all kinds. Acting on a person’s inner state, they can lead to psychological disorders if not addressed in time. For example, a person suffering from a guilt complex considers themselves at fault in every situation and falls into a depressive state.

How does this happen? Under the influence of psychological complexes, the decisions a person makes and the way they communicate with others stem from neurotic needs. When feelings, emotional states, thoughts and behavior gather into a single complex and produce the same fixed reactions over and over — that is what we define as a psychological complex. Because psychological complexes take shape in early childhood, through interactions with those closest to a person and especially through contact with their parents, they are considered psycho-emotional complexes.

Once we grasp this, we can analyze the cause behind each psychological complex. Analyzing complexes through psychoanalysis uncovers the secrets hidden deep within our thoughts and leads to a change in the stereotypical thinking that holds us back.

There isn’t a person alive without at least one psychological complex. If such a person existed, they would have no emotions, no feelings, no goals in life. We rarely see such people; their presence in society goes unnoticed. Given that a person’s contact with the world around them depends largely on their relationship model, the methodology for building harmonious, healthy relationships is built precisely on these complexes. The aim of the book is to help people live in love and peace.

Why is this methodology better than others? The behavior models described in this book have many advantages over earlier classifications of people by personality type. Take temperaments, for example. Temperaments tie a person to a character fixed from birth. If that is all you have to go on, it seems a person has no chance to change in the future and build healthier relationships. Even the excessive weight many psychologists give to personality types often produces poor results.

Beyond psychology, it is the same story. In astrology, dividing people by zodiac signs treats a person’s behavior and thinking as an immutable, fixed model. Any classification that tells a person “this is what you are, and it is forever” can become a trap. Because from the moment of birth, a person constantly reshapes their thinking, their emotional life, their behavior — with every new piece of information, every day, every hour, every moment. What we offer is not a label but a tool for observing yourself. Each of us has witnessed this over the course of a lifetime. Every person passes through the stages of psycho-emotional development within different age frames.

Yet it is precisely the relationship models — absent from most classifications — that reveal the common, essential threads running through a person’s thinking, feelings and behavior. The relationship models presented in this book let a person see the aspects of their behavior that do not make them happy, quickly decide to change, and move to a different relationship model. This approach, then, should be the right tool for anyone who wants to make a change in their life.

In a number of classifications in psychiatry, the cause underlying a person’s behavior models is treated as a personality pathology. If a behavior model is treated as an illness, it means that person will seemingly never be able to build healthy relationships. Framing it as a personality or behavioral disorder, in turn, presents it as an unchangeable trait. Such stigma confuses even the specialists working in this field. If a person is believed to have an unchangeable trait, then what is to be done? This situation leaves the specialist helpless in every effort and attempt. That is why none of these approaches works as a psychotherapeutic tool capable of bringing change into a person’s life.

Neither personality type theory, nor the concept of personality disorders, nor other mystical theories allow a person to develop through their own will, consciousness and intellect and change their life. The core problem at the root of these theories is that they stigmatize people — that is, they seal these qualities shut. In reality, that is not the case.

When we observe a person’s life over a long period, we see that, objectively, their way of thinking changes, and their emotional states change gradually as well. This very changeability is considered one of the adaptive traits of every living organism. Taking it as an axiom, we see that adaptation truly is one of the objective functions of all living beings. Therefore, if a person does not want to change, psychotherapeutic techniques have no effect either. It turns out that in such situations, specialists working in psychological services are left helpless, able only to offer explanations. That is, what good does it do a person to realize which personality type they belong to? If it is an unchangeable trait, what is the point of seeing a psychologist at all? Lengthy therapies lead to a meaningless loss of time, and in the end the person, their spirit broken, is condemned to remain in the same problems.

The relationship models compiled in this book consist of objectively measurable units. A person’s way of thinking, their style of expressing thoughts and values, the variability of their mood and their behavior model can be observed in a stable form. But we must not forget: this is only a behavior model. At any given moment, a person may display different behavior models in different settings. For example, a grown man, coming to visit his father, may present himself as an “Infanta” (a child) when meeting his parents. (The classification of relationship models mentioned in these examples will be laid out further on.) This behavior model has been observed since his childhood; it is one of his stable behavior models. Since it is a model rooted in childhood experience, this way of thinking is his native approach. But once he leaves there and returns home to his own family, a completely different behavior model may appear. Because on the basis of the experience gained throughout his life, he displays the relationship model that fits the situation.

Gradually, as values and thinking change, the relationship model naturally shifts along with them. At the same time, returning to work, the person becomes someone entirely different. They behave differently with colleagues, with management, with clients. For example, a person might say: “I’m someone who doesn’t tolerate objections — I say a word only once.” If this is part of their way of thinking, it can be very important within their family circle. But they may not display the same attitude with their father and mother. A newly acquired way of thinking can also take shape through situations they have encountered throughout life. What matters is which relationship model they come to regard as their own out of all the experiences they’ve gathered over the years — as if they claim it and take ownership of it. Whichever relationship model a person draws close to themselves — that is, considers a fit for their way of thinking — that is the one they will begin to apply throughout life. This becomes their formed, stable relationship model. The behavior model may change depending on the situation, but they will choose one as the right fit for themselves and develop it as their constant relationship model.

Although the relationship models described in the book The Phoenix Era can be observed in a person across different situations and in different styles, the style of behavior a person has adopted can remain their primary behavior model for a long time. Society’s stereotypes, public censure, pressure and control over one’s personal life lead to the relationship model embraced in a person’s thinking hardening into a stable habit. This is more noticeable in romantic relationships. A person becomes legible: you can tell from the very first meeting how their communication in a love relationship began. It is precisely this feature that allows specialists working in couples therapy for love relationships to start their exploration with this very question: “What feelings and thoughts prompted you to start communicating with them at that first meeting?” Which behavior models led the person to make that decision the first time?

We do not call this a dependent relationship. Because, as we noted earlier, even though various personality types, psychopathological states, and dependent states exist, each of them touches only a part of communication. But the question of why this communication is the way it is, and how it can be changed, often goes unanswered in other theories. Yet investigating the root cause of the situation remains the primary goal. That is why these theories are considered useless to psychologists as a practical tool. For this very reason, in many cases people see no serious difference between astrological forecasts and personality types. Even people engaged in modern astrology try to bring astrology forward as a theory of personality types. The reason is that the theory of personality types used in psychology does not justify itself in reality either. Although it consists of conventional dimensions, there is no practical mechanism that would account for a person’s daily changes and their achievements in life.

The fundamental principles of psychoanalysis as a methodology. Before we structurally lay out the various relationship models, we need to examine the classical methodological approaches — the defined principles for studying this concept. Building on the theory of psychoanalysis, we divide the structure of the personality into 3 components: Ego, Superego, and Id.

EGO — Perfection, acuity, the reality principle, a behavior model of external control.

ID — The subconscious, hidden motives at the unconscious level, concerning needs.

SUPEREGO — Higher consciousness, responsible for values, morality, spirituality; it influences the behavior model of self-control. It carries the function of responsibility for what a person can and cannot do in society.

The alignment of family values is one of the principal foundations for forming peaceful relationships.

The stages of psychosexual development (after Freud). A child experiences its first stress at birth, as it separates from the mother’s womb. Gradually it begins to see itself and the people in close contact with it. How it sees them is shaped by the environment. At this time, various cognitive distortions arising from traumatic situations give rise to different emotional states in the child. Even if a person forgets the emotions suppressed during the period of value formation, the dominant moments in emotional memory reveal themselves in various situations.

If we build on Sigmund Freud’s theory, the energy of the libido retains its foundation in infantile-level experiences. At each stage, this libido energy covers specific age ranges. The transition from one period to the next must be tied to the resolution of a specific conflict.

The oral stage (0–1.5 years). During this period, the child’s oral region is closely connected with the satisfaction of biological needs and pleasurable sensations. We can see cases of fixation on methods of oral stimulation in a number of habits children develop later in life. Around us there are quite a few people who bite their nails, smoke, or note a particular sensitivity around their lips — people who, under particular stress, try to indulge these habits even more. Usually, as a result of a disruption at this phase, a schizoid personality type may begin to form in a person.

The anal stage (1.5–3 years). At this age, the libido is directed toward the anus. The child begins to take pleasure in defecation. It is precisely in this phase that the child, although aware of its own desires, finds them clashing with the demands of the environment. In such conflicts, adults impose various restrictions on where and when children may relieve themselves. Freud believed that in this phase, lasting up to age 3, children grow accustomed to free functioning and begin to enjoy their sense of control. The way such rules are applied lays the foundation for the individual’s reactions to various rules later in life. As a result of any disruption at the anal stage, an epileptoid personality type may form in a person, along with aggressiveness, tension, affective reactions, and a tendency to drift toward negative thoughts.

The phallic stage (3–5 years). Feelings are now centered in the genitals, and regardless of the child’s sex, masturbation becomes a new source of pleasure. Naturally, the pleasure children of this age get from touching their genitals has nothing to do with sexual desire — it is simply physiological curiosity. At this stage, the child learns about anatomical sex differences, and in the Oedipus complex (in boys) and the Electra complex (in girls; the term was introduced by Carl Jung, not Freud), a confrontation arises between feelings of erotic attraction, rivalry, jealousy, and fear. Thus, by accepting their own sexual characteristics, the child resolves the stage of identification. The main influence of the phallic period lies precisely in the Oedipus complex, which in its time stirred up fierce debate around Freud. First of all, boys begin to suppress their desires for their mother (pushing them out of consciousness), but this, in turn, intensifies the feeling of rivalry toward the father. The child feels weak in the face of the father and anxiously imagines the father’s revenge. Freud called this fear “castration” in his theory, and in his view it was precisely this fear that made the boy abandon his intention. At the age of 3–5, the child imitates male behavior, resolves the Oedipus complex, and accepts their identification. By internalizing the values, inner feelings, and behavior of an older person, they bring about the formation of their Superego. Just as with boys, the mother becomes the first object of love for girls. But upon entering the phallic phase, the girl, noticing the absence of a male sexual organ in herself, seems to experience a feeling of inferiority. Subconsciously, she begins to blame her mother for her “defective” birth. At the same time, she experiences a feeling of possessiveness toward her father and, as it were, steps forward as a rival to her mother. Feelings of jealousy may awaken between them. At the stage of self-discovery, she over time suppresses her feelings for her father and, identifying with her mother, frees herself from the Electra complex. And so the girl, who carries the symbol of the mother’s image, increases her chances in the future of building a family with a man like her father.

The latent stage (6–12 years). The latent stage can be seen as preparation for the final period of psychosexual development. From the age of 6–7 onward, children take a growing interest in various intellectual pursuits, sports, and communication with peers. Until the onset of adolescence, the child’s psychological development is directed once again toward social activity. Although this stage is called latent, it is extremely important for the psychological development of the personality. During this period, a person’s moral values take shape, and the concepts of good and bad begin to serve as the primary means of governing one’s own behavior. If moral and ethical upbringing is not taken seriously at this stage, this person will later prove unstable in matters of moral values. There will not be enough moral strength to set a goal in life based on one’s own values and to remain faithful to that goal. By the end of this stage, the individual possesses modesty and self-criticism. The beliefs accompanying these feelings vary enormously depending on the environment and historical period in which a person lives. For example, one person feels shame and blames themselves for stealing, while another commits the same act and feels pride.

The genital stage (from age 12). The period after maturity continues until the end of life. The initial phase of the genital stage is characterized by biochemical and physiological changes in the body. It is precisely as a result of these changes that the transitional period in adolescents shows up, with heightened wildness and increased sexuality. According to Freud’s theory, it is at this stage that the ideal “Genital character” should take shape. For this, a person, having recognized responsibility for the important questions of life, must give up the passivity inherent in childhood. Where once they could easily attain love, security, and physical comfort, now they must labor for each of these criteria. Otherwise, the absence of a Genital character can lead to irresponsible behavior — a person who answers for none of their actions. Such people, contributing nothing to society, often live off someone else for years on end and remain dependent on others.

S. Freud maintains that every person must complete the period of psychosexual development in a healthy way in order for a mature model of thinking to take shape. All subsequent periods of maturation change depending on a person’s position in life and on various relationship models. It is precisely within this system of dynamic development that the emergence of neurotic states tells us that the cognitive distortions that have arisen are preventing a person from building healthy relationships. Yet despite the presence of various psychological barriers, the decisions an individual makes — in matters of family relations, professional duties, socially significant events — may seem acceptable. This is precisely why stereotypical behaviors that society condemns from the standpoint of moral values still hold firm and make up the majority. For example, although early marriages are condemned by society, they are still frequently observed in many families.

As the individual develops, they accept the restrictions of society while trying to find various ways to obtain the pleasure they desire. These strategies of adaptation make up the behavioral model inherent in the personality’s sex.

And so, in this book, we will analyze together the relationship models that have arisen from various false ideologies and that interfere with a person’s healthy thinking. In this book you will find the answers to these questions and the ways to solve them:

Why can’t people be happy, regardless of their social status? What drives a person to drift along with the current of these false games?

Season 1. False Values

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Chapter 1. The relationship model · “LILITH”

When gold outweighs love: The money trap.

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The model takes its name from Lilith (Hebrew: לילית). In Jewish mythology and aggadic texts, Lilith is described as Adam’s first wife — created not from his rib, but from the same clay. She refused to submit, pronounced the forbidden name of God, and left Eden, becoming a demonic entity.

If we follow the logic of Saint John of Damascus, angels are incorporeal by nature, but can take on forms. Demons, however, create nothing new — they only imitate. In terms of our methodology, Lilith is not about gender; it is about priority: material provision and security are placed above emotional closeness and trust.

The roots of the image reach back into Sumero-Akkadian mythology, where the demons lilû were associated with wind and storm. In Kabbalah (the Zohar), Lilith is the embodiment of the kelipot (unclean shells). In Greek mythology, echoes of this image can be seen in the figure of Lamia. Across all cultures, a single stereotype runs through: a being that chooses the path of isolation and material consumption instead of a creative bond.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the “Lilith” state of mind often voice thoughts that become their life’s creed. Here are three core beliefs you can hear on social media, on forums, and in everyday conversation:

“Everything in the world is a lie, except money.” (The belief that only material resources guarantee security).

“Love can be bought if you have enough money.” (Reducing feelings to a transaction).

“Nothing is impossible for someone who has capital.” (Faith in the omnipotence of resources over morality).

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

Why does a person come to the conclusion that “love can be bought”? This is not an innate trait — it is the result of a cognitive distortion. Let’s examine the mechanism through the lens of CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy). Imagine this situation: a person falls in love and is rejected. The partner chooses someone else — someone in a better financial position. The observer draws a conclusion: “For them, only money matters.”

Here, a classic cognitive distortion takes place — overgeneralization. A single event is extrapolated to all people. A stable belief (a schema) forms: “Money is everything; feelings come second.”

This belief dictates behavior. The person becomes a carrier of the “Lilith” model: someone who tries to buy everything while devaluing feelings. They use money to demean their partners, thereby convincing themselves they are right: “See? You’re with me only for the money — so love doesn’t exist.” And so the loop closes. The pain of rejection is drowned out by control. But the price is spiritual stagnation.

What happens to feelings at this moment? The person begins to hide the feelings that arise in various situations, to suppress them, or not to notice them at all. Even when the conditions for logical thinking are perfect, it is precisely these distorted beliefs that stand in the way of an objective approach to one’s own choices. The person no longer acts from their own desires, but under the sway of convictions hammered into their consciousness. And what’s wrong with that, you may ask. Well — the person gradually begins to avoid all feeling whatsoever: joy, sadness, aggression are suppressed and forgotten. Logic may prevail, but the processes unfolding in the soul are muffled. For them, none of it matters anymore. They think: “If I have money, I’ll be able to buy love too,” “If I have money — I’ll be happy.”

What happens next: the carrier of this mindset begins laying the foundation for fundamentally unhealthy, neurotic relationships. They may not even realize that they themselves are ready to sell out for money. But it is precisely this conviction that pushes them to sacrifice feelings on the altar of material well-being.

Meet the result: the “Lilith” relationship model takes shape. Why Lilith, of all figures? In Jewish mythology, Lilith is considered a female demon. She is mentioned as Adam’s first wife and the first she-devil. Her name appears in the most ancient Mesopotamian texts. The Jews regard Lilith as an evil force. According to legend, she was banished from the Garden of Eden for refusing to submit and obey Adam.

Lilith can be pictured as the first feminist in history. By tradition, she rose up against Adam, refusing to obey him, and marshaled every possible argument in favor of equality. To gain dominion over him, she knew how to play on Adam’s passion with the power of her own charms. Far from spirituality, she manipulated sensual, sexual urges. And although this very couple is considered the founders of the first human relationship, its foundation rested on unsightly and empty feelings. The old maxim that worldly things stay behind in this world was foreign and distant to them. It was Lilith who, for the sake of various gains, engaged in betrayal and tried, by that path, to seduce the first man. Striving to become his equal, she tried to lay claim to all the blessings of the world. This cunning and greed of hers made her behavior akin to Iblis in Islam, or the “fallen angel” Lucifer in Christianity. That is why she could never stand level with Adam. Banished from paradise and transformed into a demon, Lilith never reconciled herself to this verdict and fed her hatred for Eve without pause. But she could never manage to rival Eve — for Eve was created from Adam’s rib and was emotionally bound to him. That bond turned their relationship into bright and pure feelings. Lilith, far removed from such sincerity, could never measure up to Eve. Each of her new attempts was rejected by Adam. According to legend, here lay yet another reason for Lilith’s revenge. Taking the lowest path of all, she became known as the killer of human children. Here we can see negative, destructive feelings at work. And today, sunk in the sins of envy, malice, and hatred, forces like these still wield destructive power among people. For Lilith, nothing sacred remained — losing again and again, she only deepened her hatred for everything of male nature. For men who chose women like Eve and followed the pull of love, she laid thousands of nasty snares, luring them into her enchanted nets and consigning them to cruel execution.

What’s more, in a number of later interpretations of Jewish mythology, Adam’s son Cain was actually descended from Lilith. Of course, in traditional Jewish mythology, Cain is considered the son of Adam and Eve. But even while being Adam’s son, he — according to this version — carried within him the gene of his mother Lilith, and that is precisely why he so easily submitted to the evil forces of Iblis and killed his brother Abel. This alternative interpretation is viewed with mixed reactions, but within the relationship model we are examining, we can use it to show the influence of such feelings as envy and jealousy, inherited from Lilith. Failing to share a mother’s love — as if striving to claim that love for himself alone — he takes the lowest step of all and, out of jealousy, kills his own brother.

In psychoanalysis there is a concept known as the “Cain complex.” If you observe children, you will notice that brothers and sisters sometimes try to strike one another. It is as if they enter into a rivalry in order to win a parent’s attention and care.

For example, if a person is incapable of winning love in a relationship through genuine emotion, they will always resort to passion and charm as an instrument. That is why such people look with mockery and contempt on those who are truly emotionally attached to one another. They seize the first opportunity to deny love itself. If love and passion, as a symbol embodying the power of the Creator, are felt in every breath, then the mindset of those who lean only on material values is infinitely removed from that spirituality. Regardless of origin, race, faith, or station — anyone who sees in the love of life nothing but the worship of jewels will never discern the divine gifts in the sparks of human love. That is why our heroine Lilith, coming into conflict with spiritual and moral norms, ends up banished from the Garden of Eden. In other words, if we turn to a range of religious and mythological sources, in many interpretations of the Torah, the Bible, and Jewish tradition, she is considered cursed to this very day.

Even in modern society, a person deeply versed in sexual relations — if they place material values above spiritual feelings — may perform with virtuosity in bed, skillfully wielding their charm, yet they will never succeed in conquering their partner’s soul emotionally. And so within the relationship they will constantly sense their own weakness in this respect. They will repeat the question “Why not me? What am I missing?” for the rest of their life. Regardless of gender, those who choose to build relationships with precisely this mindset meet for money, “love” for money, and even while uttering false declarations of love, are quite capable of believing them. Yet such relationships never satisfy them, because they exploit the partner’s weakest point — the very thing the relationship is built on — and then subject it to punishment.

In today’s society, the “Lilith” relationship model is most widespread in the intra-family relations of couples, in the choice of a life partner among single people, in dealings with superiors at work, in interactions with friends and acquaintances, and — most importantly — it can be seen as one of the causes of infidelity.

In families built on this kind of thinking, the moment material problems arise, the values once proclaimed lose all meaning.

A case in point is Jafar Jabbarli’s work Aydın. There, the plight into which Gultekin falls is born of her becoming the victim of love bought with money. The members of the poor family, whom a wealthy man is determined to buy at any price, served in this situation merely as a means of awakening his hidden feelings. But Dovlet-bek, who treats it all as a game and an amusement, is a skilled performer of the “Lilith” relationship model. This prototype, wanting to awaken with money the feelings he himself never lived, is prepared to sacrifice those very feelings for the sake of money. And what role does the other side play in this game? Feelings sacrificed to need come alive in the figure of Gultekin. The step Gultekin takes in this situation, and her entanglement in the “Lilith” relationship model, can be explained by various causes. But in toxic relationships, both sides embody the “Lilith” formula.

Since feelings get in the way for people with this kind of mindset, they prefer to suppress and deny their own emotions as much as possible. Even when they experience love, they perceive it through the prism of money. People who occupy this position reflect one of the most widespread problems of modern society. Both parties caught up in the “Lilith” relationship model prefer to keep the relationship going through all manner of manipulative games. Victims, inclined to stay silent to satisfy their psycho-emotional needs without ever leaving their comfort zone, repeat the same pattern of behavior over and over. A person in the victim position justifies their entanglement in the “Lilith” relationship model with phrases like “I have no choice,” “I’m doing it for the children,” “I’m in a hopeless situation” — words spoken only to justify the wrong steps. These thoughts, hardening into deep conviction, keep exerting a constant influence. And in either case — whether victim or hunter — if a person does not become aware of their responsibility, they will never be able to break out of this relationship model. And if in the end, despite all the reasons that have come up, the situation does not change, if a person is still being bought with money, if they are still forced to smother their feelings and desires — how, then, can they preserve their own dignity?

And what do the stars or personality types have to do with it?

“They’re wherever logic and hope are gone.”

In theological terms, this is the seal of sin. In psychological terms — a defense mechanism. A person can grow financially, since that becomes their overriding goal, but they don’t grow as a person. They get stuck at the Lilith stage, because this model offers an illusion of security while blocking any chance of building trusting relationships.

Literary archetype: Gultekin and Dovlet-bek. The most vivid example of this model in culture is Aydın, a work by the Azerbaijani classic Jafar Jabbarli. The figure of Gultekin, who has fallen into a dire situation, becomes the victim of feelings bought with money. Dovlet-bek is a typical embodiment of the “Lilith” model. He tries to buy favor, using material levers, convinced that any price is worth paying. Yet feelings acquired with money turn out to be poison. In this situation, Gultekin becomes a hostage of the model, where her emotions are devalued in exchange for material security. This is not mere fiction; it is a reflection of real psychology: when one partner tries to buy love and the other sells it for security, both end up trapped. In toxic relationships, both sides often embody the Lilith formula.

Mythological context: The Cain complex. In Jewish mythology, Lilith is considered the mother of demons. In some interpretations, even Cain (Kain) is considered the son of Lilith, not of Eve. This symbolizes the passing down of a genetic line of envy and destruction. Cain kills Abel out of jealousy, unable to share his parents’ love. In psychology, this echoes the “Cain complex”: when a person cannot win love through emotions, they try to destroy their rival or buy affection. Lilith, having failed to become Adam’s equal through spirit, attempts to rule through flesh and matter. She hates Eve because Eve chose love and connection, not power.

Psychosomatics and emotions. People with this kind of thinking tend to suppress their emotions. Joy, sorrow, aggression — everything gets squeezed down and forgotten. Logic wins, but the processes of the heart fall silent. They think: “If I have money, I’ll be able to buy love too.” But gradually they run from every feeling. It simply no longer matters to them. They act on instilled convictions, not on their own desires.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Lilith” model for most of their lives. To grasp the essence of the model, it’s important to look at concrete life situations that show material things taking priority over emotions.

Marquise de Pompadour (Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson, France, 18th century).

A girl from a bourgeois family who bet on a liaison with King Louis XV not so much for passion as for social advancement and political power.

Manifestation of the model: She calculated every step with care. Even after physical intimacy with the king ended, she held onto her position, becoming his counselor and friend, securing titles and wealth for herself and her family. Her relationship was built on exchange: her intellect and her organizing of the king’s leisure in return for absolute security and influence. Emotional attachment came second to preserving her status.

Zsa Zsa Gabor (Hungary/USA, 20th century).

An actress and socialite who was married nine times. Her life became a textbook example of seeking security through men.

Manifestation of the model: Her famous line: “A man should pay for dinner to know he can afford it.” She openly admitted that men were her means of securing comfort. When a relationship stopped being profitable or turned boring, she broke it off without a second thought and found a new sponsor. Her life showed that even with a multitude of marriages, a deep emotional connection was replaced by the transaction of “attention in exchange for support.”

Eva Perón (Argentina, 20th century).

An out-of-wedlock daughter who made the road from poverty to the position of first lady of the nation through her marriage to President Juan Perón.

Manifestation of the model: Her early years in Buenos Aires were marked by a search for patrons among military men and actors in order to survive and move her career forward. The marriage to Perón was a strategic union. Although she later became a philanthropist (which is closer to Teresa), the foundation of her success was laid by using relationships to gain power and resources. She understood that the love of the masses could be bought with social programs, and a man’s love by being useful to his career.

Anna Nicole Smith (USA, 20th century).

A model and actress who married the 89-year-old billionaire J. Howard Marshall when she was 26.

Manifestation of the model: This is a modern, tragic example of the Lilith model. She openly declared that she had married “for love,” but every circumstance pointed to a search for financial security. After her husband’s death, she spent years litigating over the inheritance, which became the meaning of her life. Her existence turned into a struggle for a resource, not for a life. The end of her story — loneliness, addiction, and early death — shows the price the psyche pays for swapping living feelings for monetary obligations. She became a hostage of the image she had chosen for the sake of security.

Paul Getty (J. Paul Getty, USA, 20th century).

An American oil magnate, in his day the richest man in the world — one of the purest, most “masculine” manifestations of the Lilith model: for him, money stood above any human connection, love included.

Manifestation of the model: Getty was married and divorced five times; one of his wives, in her divorce petition, accused him of emotional coldness and neglect. No matter how his fortune grew, he could never build closeness — feelings always stayed in the shadow of material things. The sharpest example of this thinking came in 1973: when his 16-year-old grandson was kidnapped in Italy, the richest man in the world refused to pay the ransom, declaring: “I have 14 grandchildren; if I pay a single penny, I’ll have 14 kidnapped grandchildren.” Only after the boy’s severed ear was mailed to a newspaper did he agree to a smaller sum — and he even lent part of the ransom to his son at interest. This is the logical limit of Lilith: here even love becomes a ledger entry, and the man remains emotionally alone in the middle of his millions.

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

When material values stop bringing joy, the crisis begins.

The depressive exit: The person sees the emptiness. “I’m rich, but I’m alone.” Lilith withdraws into herself, begins to deny the value of money, and slides into either reckless spending or apathy. This is the bifurcation point, where a transition to the Teresa model (altruism) or the Puttana model (rebellion) becomes possible. In the depressive phase, the bearer of the model grows more dangerous to the morals of those around her, trying to test others morally and punish those who fail the money test.

The aggressive exit: The person is angry at the world. “People are ungrateful.” Lilith begins punishing others, using money as a weapon of manipulation. This deepens the isolation and can lead to a shift into the Courtesan model (the game of love) or a descent deeper into Lilith. As in the film Indecent Proposal, the hero can use money to destroy someone else’s love out of envy — much like Lilith, who hates Eve.

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “LILITH”

Maria wasn’t always like this. Once she laughed loudly, out loud, without glancing around to see how it looked from the outside, and she lived as if a whole life stretched ahead of her — a life she would build with her own hands. She had ambitions, plans, dreams. She wanted a career, wanted her name to ring out at conferences, and most of all she wanted to prove to her parents that their daughter could make it on her own — without anyone’s help and without compromises.

But society said something else. It didn’t shout; it whispered, and that whisper was more convincing than any shout: “Without money you’re nobody. Without status you’re an empty space.” Maria heard it every day — on the metro, in the office, and in the mirror, which each morning repeated the same words in a voice that was now her own.

And when Rafael appeared in her life, everything changed.

It started three months ago, with a bracelet. The gold felt cold and unexpectedly heavy as Rafael fastened it around her wrist, and beside it, on the table, lay the keys to an apartment. The offer was as simple as any deal: he takes over her life, she gives him her time.

Maria hesitated for exactly one second — and not out of morality, but out of calculation: she was weighing whether the game was worth the candle.

“Why spend five years chasing a goal,” she thought, “when you can have everything in one evening? Money solves any problem. The apartment, the clothes, the status — it’s all for sale.”

She noticed the wedding ring on his finger, but even that changed nothing. She didn’t care: she wasn’t looking for a husband, she was looking for a resource.

“I agree,” she said, and took the keys.

A month passed, and life became easy. Too easy. Maria bought dresses whenever she wanted, changed cars whenever she got bored, and felt like the complete mistress of the situation — a woman who had finally drawn the winning ticket.

“Love is a fairy tale for the poor,” she thought, looking at the bank statement. “Reality can be bought.” The numbers on the screen struck her as weightier proof than any words about feelings.

Rafael came rarely: he would drop off envelopes and leave. She never asked where he spent his days or who he spent his evenings with. Why would she? That wasn’t in the contract, and anything not in the contract simply didn’t exist in her new life.

Another month later, the blow came from where she never expected it. On Sunday, a short message arrived on her phone:

“This month will be difficult. I’ll transfer less. Don’t call.”

The sum turned out to be half of what it had been.

Maria stared at the screen, and inside her it wasn’t hurt that was boiling — it was rage, cold and clear as ice on glass.

“How dare he?” she thought. “I gave him three months. I sold him my time. And he simply cuts expenses? Like a line item in a budget?”

In the evening he drove over and, without taking off his coat, dropped the envelope on the table. The envelope was light, and Maria felt that lightness before she even opened it.

“Business is business,” he said, not looking her in the eye.

“I am not a business,” Maria answered, and her voice was ice.

“You’re an investment. And investments carry risk.”

He left, and the door gave a dry click behind him, as if putting a period to a conversation that, in truth, had never really happened.

By the end of the third month, Maria sat on the edge of the bed, and in front of her lay the keys and the envelope — all that was left of her winning ticket.

She didn’t cry: tears don’t pay the bills. She felt a cold anger — the kind that doesn’t get in the way of thinking but makes thoughts sharp as shards.

“You think I’m a thing?” she thought. “You think I’ll let myself be marked down? No. If this is business, then I’ll settle accounts with you in full.”

Notice this: even in her rage, Maria speaks the language of a deal. What outrages her is not that her feelings were devalued, but that she was “written down” — Lilith’s grievance always sounds like a complaint against a dishonest buyer.

She got up and walked to the window. Below, the city hummed — the very city that had whispered to her about money and status.

“No,” she said out loud, and that short word rang out in the empty apartment with startling force.

Maria picked up her phone — the old one, the one she had set aside at the start of the deal, the way you set aside something useless from a past life. One percent of battery left.

She dialed her friend’s number.

“It’s me,” she said. “I’m coming back.”

“Back where?”

“To myself. And I’m going to settle accounts with him.”

She put down the phone, and the screen went dark, as if it, too, was saving its last ounce of strength.

Maria looked at the envelope. Dead paper. She took none of it — not the envelope, not the keys, not the bracelet that stayed lying on the table, a cold golden ring. She simply walked out of the apartment and left the door open.

Outside it was cold. She walked fast, almost running, and for the first time in three months she tasted something — not gold, but anger.

Maria lifted her face to the sky and screamed — loudly, until she was hoarse, the way she had perhaps never screamed in her life:

“I am not a thing!”

Then she laughed, but not from joy — from anger and from the desire for revenge, and there wasn’t a drop of mirth in that laughter.

“You wanted to buy me?” she thought. “Fine. Now I’ll sell your reputation. And dearly.”

She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew whom she was going against. Behind her lay the apartment, behind her lay the money, behind her lay she herself — the old her. Ahead lay the night, cold and frightening.

And that was the beginning.

4 / 22

Chapter 2. The relationship model · “PUTTANA”

Rebellion against morality: The trap of shameless protest.

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The model takes its name from the Italian word “Puttana,” which translates as “prostitute.” But in the context of our method, the concept goes far beyond the physical sale of the body. It is a psychological archetype of a personality that, through trauma and protest, rejects the norms of society.

“I know better than anyone,” “Don’t teach me,” “I can do anything,” “I do what I want,” “I’m great” — when thoughts like these flow through a person’s mind, the end result is that they stop developing new knowledge and skills and instead grab attention through actions that can shock society. What happens then in the story of their life? They try to feel loved through people who worship not their personality but their fame. Such people cannot tolerate criticism and are starved for flattery. Lacking any inner love or praise for themselves, they feel cheated in this double game and go looking for that feeling elsewhere. In the end, they trust no one and try to expose the lies of everyone around them. In their youth they are the center of attention, but unable to build sincere and lasting relationships, they usually become a lonely and sorrowful figure after middle age. And because the mindset underlying this behavior never changes, no matter how much they suffer from loneliness, they find the cause in the people who left them. This, in turn, lowers their trust in people, deepens the feeling of isolation, and prevents them from building their next relationship. Naturally, the models of relationships will be as varied as the human psyche is changeable. These cognitive styles of thinking have nothing to do with heredity, personality types, or fixed yardsticks. They are connected only with the adopted, internalized model of thinking expressed in behavior and speech. That is why even a child from a modest family, despite the social prohibitions instilled early on, may later come to defy them and display rebellious behavior. Alongside people who regret their way of life and suffer for it, there are plenty of others who seem to deliberately destroy their own reputation. To approach this state from a psychological angle, let’s recall those who openly sell their bodies. From their choice of clothing to the way they move and speak — every meta-signal carries the message: “You can use me.” First, let’s remember that a person begins to take shape as a personality within society from birth. Socialization plays a serious role in human thinking at every stage of life. At each stage, those they constantly communicate with — loved ones, family members, neighbors, relatives, the collective — matter greatly in what kind of person they grow into and how their needs get met.

Here is a small example to make this concrete. If at some stage of life a person falls into the world of prostitution or begging, changes begin in their psychology and worldview at the level of beliefs. These shifts affect not only their attitude toward that occupation but their general views on people and values. And since they are a human being themselves, they involuntarily project these thoughts onto themselves. Watching injustice in society, as it were, they conclude: “People are beasts,” “People are selfish.” Gradually they apply this not only to those they have encountered, but announce it to strangers at the very first meeting. Sooner or later, having accepted this thought as truth, they begin noticing the same traits in their own behavior. And trying to be honest with themselves, they seem to admit: “You’re a beast too, you’re selfish too — accept yourself as you are, fear nothing, live as you are.” As a result, a thought born in the conflicts of their environment under the pressure of emotions grows into a life philosophy and shows itself in their dealings with people in every sphere. At the same time, by recognizing themselves as the epicenter of these negative qualities, they intensify their aggression toward themselves (auto-aggression, depression). This, in turn, leads to bad habits, impulsive actions, a tendency toward conflict, and inflicting bodily harm on themselves and others. Even one such thought steers their worldview toward aggressive convictions and breeds new ones — and in the end they reject the values of their environment, declaring them False Values, and begin to rebel against its moral foundations. With time, their relations with those around them heat up, and their rebellious behavior spreads to society’s prohibitions and taboos. Since society’s strictest prohibitions concern sexual relations, the behavior of such a person seems to push them into defying the taboo. Someone who rejects society’s rules and rebels against them declares that they recognize no prohibitions in the sexual sphere either. And so society judges them to be more available, more depraved. It is fitting to call such behavior “puttana.” However hard they struggle in this well, they will find no way out. They will look at those who condemn them with hatred, seeing in them violators of their personal boundaries. In their micro-environment, internal norms connected with the “I” are already forming and being accepted — but they are unloved. Just picture it: a person is dissatisfied with themselves, avoids looking in the mirror, fears loneliness, and so is constantly among people. And at the same time they consider themselves superior to everyone. This unhealthy self-assurance keeps dragging them into arguments.

In Hindu mythology, Puttana was a demoness (Rakshasi) sent by the tyrant Kamsa to kill the infant Krishna. She took the form of a beautiful woman to deceive everyone around her, but her true essence was destructive. According to legend, she tried to poison Krishna with her milk, yet the divine power of the child drew the life out of her, forcing Puttana to reveal her true demonic form before she died. Encoded in this myth is the meaning of the model: the loss of spirituality and morality in favor of destruction, the attempt to hide inner pain behind a mask of defiance.

If in the “Lilith” model the priority was material provision, here the priority becomes a demonstration of total permissiveness. This is a relationship model in which the personality expresses itself through traumatic pain, protesting against all of society. It is a form where there is no shame, no disgrace — a state one could even call worse than prostitution, because what is sold here is not the body, but conscience and dignity, all for attention and self-affirmation.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the “Puttana” state of mind often broadcast thoughts that become their shield against the world. Here are the three core beliefs characteristic of this model:

“I know better than anyone — don’t tell me how to live my life.” (A belief in one’s own superiority over society’s morality).

“I can do anything — I do what I want.” (A denial of consequences and boundaries).

“I don’t care what you think.” (A demonstrative indifference to criticism that conceals a dependence on attention).

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

What happens in a person’s life story when this model takes shape? Often it is a reaction to a deep trauma. Someone whose personality has been under pressure tries to reclaim a sense of control through shock. They begin to draw attention not with talent or kindness, but with actions that shake society.

In psychoanalytic terms, this is a rebellion of the Id against the Superego. The Superego is responsible for morality and values, and the bearer of the “Puttana” model deliberately mutes that voice. They become intolerant of criticism but greedy for flattery. In their youth, such people may be the center of attention, but after middle age, loneliness and depression often await them. They build no deep connections, because they distrust people, seeing liars in everyone.

The psychological mechanism: a person can fall into an environment where amoral behavior thrives (for example, a milieu tied to selling the body or to a marginal way of life). The psyche adapts: in order to survive, they begin to see the norms of that environment as “correct.” A cognitive distortion arises: “All people are cruel and selfish, so I will be the same, so I won’t be a victim.” This grows into a philosophy of life. They begin to see the same negative traits in themselves and accept them: “Be who you are — fear nothing.” And so aggression against oneself (auto-aggression) spills out as aggression against the world.

Distinguishing this from borderline disorder: it is important not to confuse this model with the clinical Borderline personality disorder. Although the symptoms may overlap (emotional instability, conflicts), “Puttana” is a behavioral model, not necessarily a pathology. A person can be the leader of rebellious movements, drawing followers around them. History offers many examples of scientists, politicians, or leaders of social movements (for example, radical feminists, eco-activists, members of LGBTQ movements) displaying the traits of this model through defiance of society’s taboos. Even Sigmund Freud in his day was perceived as a rebel violating Victorian morality with his theories.

Literary and mythological context: recall the Hindu myth of Puttana. She tried to deceive the world with beauty, but carried poison inside. It is the same with the bearer of this model: outwardly they may look successful and free, but inside they carry destruction — for themselves and for those close to them. It is the tragedy of losing the “true Self” for the sake of a mask of protest.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Puttana” model — defiance of morality, shock tactics, protest through self-destruction.

Sigmund Freud (Austria, 19th–20th centuries).

In the Victorian era, his theories of sexuality and the unconscious were considered scandalous and unacceptable.

Manifestation of the model: the text of the method points to him directly as an example of a “Puttana” in the context of rebellious behavior. He threw down a challenge to the foundations of society and was ostracized by his colleagues for it. His persistence in advancing his ideas despite public condemnation demonstrates a refusal to accept society’s restrictions for the sake of his own truth.

Marquis de Sade (France, 18th century).

An aristocrat who made amorality and cruelty the philosophy of his life and work.

Manifestation of the model: an absolute denial of shame and morality. His life and writings became a symbol of total permissiveness. He embodied a model in which pleasure is placed above any human norms — which corresponds to the definition of a “Puttana” as a state without shame or disgrace.

Sid Vicious (United Kingdom, 20th century).

Bass guitarist of the punk band “Sex Pistols,” an icon of the punk movement.

Manifestation of the model: shock tactics, drugs, violence, arrests. His life was a demonstrative protest against consumer society and its norms. He did not hide his fall — on the contrary, he took pride in it, which led to an early tragic death. It is a textbook example of protest through self-destruction.

Lady Gaga (USA, 21st century) — early stage of her career.

At the start of her path she used shocking costumes (the meat dress) and provocative performances.

Manifestation of the model: using shock tactics to grab attention. Though she later transformed, her early image was built on breaking taboos and shocking the public — typical of the “Puttana” model in its search for attention through scandal.

Jean Genet (France, 20th century).

A writer, thief, and vagrant who turned his criminal biography into literature.

Manifestation of the model: Genet openly celebrated crime, betrayal, and homosexuality at a time when all of these were taboo. He did not try to hide his “dark” side — on the contrary, he made it his brand and his weapon against bourgeois morality. His life shows a journey from the bottom of society to recognition through the demonstrative violation of every possible norm, which fits the “Puttana” archetype perfectly: the one who turns shame into pride.

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

Transformation and Crisis: If the “Puttana” achieves public recognition, her self-criticism weakens and her actions grow harsher. But when the fans turn away, when the fuel of rebellion runs dry, the collapse comes. The inability to vent the accumulated rage turns into aggression against the self. A person may find themselves facing loneliness or switch to a counterattack.

The depressive exit: The person is left alone. The fans drift away. Psychosomatic pains appear (headaches, heart pain). Then comes the realization that those they trusted have betrayed them. “People are unreliable — I was too naive.” This is the bifurcation point. The person may begin to hide their true intentions, becoming cautious and two-faced — a transition to the Chameleon model. Or they may withdraw into themselves, devaluing all connections — a transition to the Hippie model.

The aggressive exit: The person decides to punish those who turned away. They use the same methods of manipulation, but now with the aim of doing harm. If they have public influence, they may use it to hound their opponents. This only deepens their isolation. In the worst case, it leads to crime or total social downfall. Yet if the person can recognize their own wound, they may transform the energy of rebellion into defending others (a transition to Teresa) or into the search for a genuine connection (a transition to the Chameleon).

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “PUTTANA”

The mirror reflected the face of a stranger: the former softness had vanished, and in its place froze the resolve of a predator. Maria ran her finger along the cold glass, as if tracing the borders of new territory she intended to conquer. In her eyes, the last fire of hope was burning out — burning out so it could become fuel for war.

“So, I’ve hit rock bottom,” flashed through her mind, and the thought was sharp, almost crystalline. “I was used like disposable dishware and then tossed out. I was appraised as a line item and ruthlessly cut.”

Inside her there was no boiling resentment, the kind a victim feels, but a cold, calculating fury — the kind available only to someone with nothing left to lose. The status she had guarded so carefully had turned to dust. But can’t dust become poison?

“If I’ve already lost everything, why should I guard what’s left of my decency? If I’m falling into the abyss, why not drag someone down with me? Society loves to talk about morals, about propriety, about what a woman ought to be. But it was that same society that pushed me to the edge. They wanted to see me as a beautiful toy in Rafael’s shop window? Fine. Now they’ll see the monster that smashes shop windows.”

This is how revolt is born from despair: a pain too great to bear — and a person turns it against the whole world and calls it freedom.

She turned away from the mirror. Shame was a luxury for those who had a future; all she had left was the right to revenge.

She launched her campaign in the very first month — and she began not with a shout, but with a click. The phone screen became her new altar, and she took every like as a sacrifice in the name of justice. Maria posted revealing photographs, but her main weapon was words: she wrote about how women are bought, how the “costs” of mistresses get cut, real lives reduced to accounting ledgers. She never named names outright, but the hints were as clear and sharp as a scalpel’s blade.

“You want to know the price?” she thought, typing out the text that thousands would see a second later. “I’ll show you the receipt.”

The posts racked up millions of views and spread across the internet like a virus. People wrote: “Shameful.” “Hero.” “Whore.” She read everything and laughed, and her laughter rang like shattered glass. Every comment, every condemnation was just more fuel for her bonfire: she burned her shame to keep warm, somehow, in the cold of her loneliness.

In the second month, anger became her way of life — her breathing and her sleep. Or rather, she had all but stopped sleeping, because sleep reminded her of weakness. At night she wandered through clubs where strobe flashes tore distorted faces out of the darkness; she changed partners without remembering names, without even studying their features. They were not people to her but instruments — disposable, like syringes, through which the illusion of power was injected into her veins. In the morning she returned to an empty apartment where half-drunk bottles stood on the table, and, without undressing, sat down with her phone to read what had been written about her overnight.

“You want my body?” she thought, looking at the next man with a collector’s gaze. “Take it. But know this: you’re just an instrument in my hands. I use you to forget him. I use you to feel that I still exist.”

She felt powerful — intoxicatingly, dangerously powerful. Not long ago she had been a thing in Rafael’s hands, an object of consumption; now she herself had become poison in a glass that no one dared to drain to the bottom.

“I’m standing on the edge of an abyss,” she whispered to herself in the mornings, when the illusions washed away along with her makeup. “But it’s from the edge that you see everything. Especially those who stand at the top and are deathly afraid of falling.”

The climax came in the third month, at a restaurant where the air smelled of expensive wine and hypocrisy. There she saw him — Rafael, with his family. She recognized him instantly, from the way he held his wineglass: confidently, possessively, the same way he had once held her life in his hands. They were laughing, eating, living their proper lives as if she — Maria — had never existed.

Inside her, everything came to a boil, like lava in the throat of a volcano.

“Why do you get to live in peace?” flashed through her mind. “Why did you cut my allowance while you drink wine that costs a thousand? Why is your conscience asleep while mine is screaming?”

Maria walked up to their table without thinking, letting instinct lead her. Her step was steady, even though she was walking across a minefield — one she had laid herself.

Rafael went pale, his face contorted into a grimace of fear. His wife looked at Maria with a mute question, pity written all over it.

“Leave,” he hissed, as if swatting away an annoying fly.

Maria burst out laughing — loud, hysterical, and the laughter sounded like a snapped string.

She overturned the glass, and the wine ran down the white tablecloth, spreading into a red stain that looked like blood.

Security silently took her by the arms and led her out through the hall, where every conversation had fallen silent at once, onto the street — and there she was left alone. The wind whipped at the thin fabric of her dress and crept under her skin, but this cold seemed warmer to her than the icy void that had opened up inside.

She had expected triumph: she felt that victory would arrive any moment and that the taste of revenge would be sweet as nectar. But inside there was only silence — hollow and empty, like a hall after a play, when the audience has gone home and only the stage sets remain.

“And now what?” she thought, and the thought fell into the void without an echo.

She looked at her hands. They were trembling — not from the cold, but from emptiness. And then she understood: she had turned herself into a weapon, and a weapon doesn’t feel; it only destroys. And when the enemies are gone, it begins to rust.

It was already the fourth month. One morning began not with sunbeams but with a hum in her head, like a malfunctioning mechanism. The phone blinked on the floor like a wounded bird, and messages surfaced on the screen one after another: “You’re destroying yourself.” “Look at yourself.” “You’re finished.”

Maria sat down and surveyed the apartment. Empty bottles stood like tombstones of her former life, and the shards of a broken vase glittered on the floor, reminding her that wholeness cannot be pieced back together.

She walked to the mirror. A woman stared back at her, with dark circles under her eyes like shadows of exhaustion, and smeared lipstick that looked like traces of a struggle. Maria studied this face for a long time, and then asked it something out loud — quietly, hoarsely, not knowing herself what answer she was waiting for.

The silence answered her.

And something clicked inside — not loudly, but softly, like a switch cutting off the power in a house.

“I was taking revenge on him, but I was destroying myself. I was shouting to the world that I was free, but the world saw only my pain. I thought I would burn him, and I burned myself instead.”

She understood that the rebellion had not filled the void, and the scream had not drowned out the pain. Yes, she had freed herself from Rafael, but not from his judgment, and not from the judgment of society: she was still playing by their rules — she had merely changed pieces in this endless game. And therein lies the trap of the Puttana: rebellion against someone else’s opinion still remains a dependence on it.

Maria packed her things — one bag, only the essentials, as if preparing not for a journey but for an escape from her own skin. She left the keys on the table. The apartment stayed empty — as empty as her soul.

It was raining outside. Drops drummed on the asphalt, washing away the city’s dust, but she didn’t open her umbrella. Let it soak her. Let it wash away everything — everything, to the very end.

She boarded a train — without a ticket, without a plan, without a goal, simply to keep moving, so that the distance between her and her past could be measured in kilometers.

“Where are you headed?” the conductor asked.

Maria didn’t answer: she was looking out the window, where the city was dissolving into the fog like sugar in water.

The train pulled away and picked up speed. The wheels clattered, counting off the seconds of a new life. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in four months she felt no anger — only exhaustion, deep, bone-deep.

And somewhere in that exhaustion something new was being born. Not freedom yet, no. But a silence — a real one: not the kind that filled Rafael’s apartment, thick with waiting for a phone call, but the kind that comes from within. The silence after a storm.

She didn’t know where she was going or what awaited her, but she knew one thing: the rebellion was over. Something else was beginning.

The train gathered speed. The city vanished, and only the road remained ahead. And the silence.

5 / 22

Chapter 3. The relationship model · “HIPPIE”

The Illusion of Freedom: The Trap of Irresponsibility.

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The model takes its name from the Hippie subculture (Eng. hippie), which emerged in the United States in the 1960s. The term was first applied to a group of young people who had gathered under the banner of living free. Their chief desires were: to live wholly for love, to stand against war, and to dodge social responsibility.

If you follow the logic of existential psychology, this is a flight from freedom through the denial of commitments. In the terminology of the Hippie method, it is a model in which a person trades the safety of Lilith and the rebellion of Puttana for the right not to choose.

The roots of the image reach back to the “Hipsters” of the 1940s–50s — jazz musicians and creative types known for their unusually bright clothes. In Greek mythology, its echo can be seen in the figure of Dionysus, the god of wine and revelry, where ecstasy stands in for meaning. Across every culture runs the same stereotype: a person who believes that commitment kills the spirit, and therefore chooses the path of the eternal wanderer.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the “Hippie” state of mind often broadcast thoughts that become their excuse for inaction. Here are the three core beliefs typical of this model:

“Life is short, you have to live here and now.” (The conviction that planning kills spontaneity).

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.” (Renouncing social ladders and careers in favor of inner comfort).

“Freedom matters more than security.” (The willingness to sacrifice stability for the feeling of independence).

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

Historical context. In the 1960s, the hippies came out in protest against the US war in Vietnam. What united them was the slogan “To be Hip” (to be in the know, to be peace-loving). Long hair, colorful clothes, a preference for jeans — all of it drew special attention. In their news reports, New York television channels called them “Hippies,” and the name spread quickly through society.

They created communes, lived in communal settlements, gathered like-minded people around them. Faithful to the philosophy of “free love,” they used every means to reach “Nirvana” under the slogan “You have to try everything in life.” In that period, psychedelic substances — LSD above all — became especially popular among this youth.

Known at first as peacelovers, they confronted soldiers under the banner of “Flower Power,” placing flowers on the muzzles of rifles, on soldiers’ helmets, on tanks. That was how they meant to convey the idea that they would win “with the power of flowers.” For this they were called “Flower Children.” In later periods, the Hippie movement came to be associated more and more with rock and roll, entertainment, dancing, and the use of psychedelic substances as spiritual development. Countless meditations, Eastern mysticism, Zen Buddhism, vegetarianism — they kept forming shifting circles and communities.

By the 1970s, society already saw them as young drug addicts living on utopian dreams. Though there are Hippies around even today, by the late 1970s the movement had begun to fade, undone by its inability to shoulder social responsibility. Those who lived by Hippie slogans often ran away from home, went on living in poverty, drifted into begging and theft, and sooner or later drew the attention of law enforcement. That is why, in society, people with a Hippie mindset are perceived as irresponsible.

Eastern philosophy and the connection to Buddhism. It is no accident that the Hippie movement showed a deep interest in Eastern philosophy and mysticism. The founder of Buddhism, Siddhartha Gautama, was born into a royal family, but from childhood, by his father’s order, he was kept away from every sorrow and sad thought, so that he would grow up without thinking about the suffering of people. At 29, finding himself outside the palace, he became acquainted with the hardships of life in a single day.

The hardships and sufferings of life shook the young Buddha. Realizing that responsibility, family, relatives, health, and wealth are not eternal and will one day vanish, Buddha renounced it all and left the palace. Living an ascetic life, he meditated and, according to tradition, at the end of his life reached the level of “Parinirvana” (complete liberation from conditioned existence), rising from the physical body to the eternal spirit.

This metaphor of transformation spread widely across many Eastern philosophies. In modern social movements, too — as with the hippies — the family is held up as the goal. Although there are many differences between the philosophy of the Hippie movement and classical Buddhism, their way of life and ultimate aim are still similar, so the hippies can be seen as a kind of modern adaptation of Buddhist philosophy for European society.

The psychological mechanism. A person changes their place of residence, their circle of friends, their way of life. They hitchhike, live in communal apartments, make art with no aim of selling it. At first, this brings a feeling of euphoria. “I’m finally living.” But gradually the resources run dry. Kindred spirits vanish the moment real problems begin.

In terms of defense mechanisms, this is regression. A person returns to a state where nature or fate decides for them. The “Hippie” doesn’t build a future. They consume the present. It can look like a spiritual search, but it often hides a fear of adult life.

Relationships and family. In relationships, one of the factors that creates an impression of unseriousness is difficulty with commitment. This approach can suggest that the person is easily available when it comes to love. That is why many people keep their relationships with such individuals superficial and never think of building sincere, long-term bonds.

They prefer freedom of feeling in love and refuse to carry any commitments toward emotional bonds. A person with the Hippie mindset, whether man or woman, says: “You have to try everything in life.” They live for the day and build no plans for tomorrow.

If, in their youth, the expenses of someone living under parental care are covered, this Hippie mindset will develop without pause. In adulthood, a person with the Hippie mindset, in family relationships, can turn into someone careless, with no sense of responsibility. The spouse covers all the family’s material needs. And they, in turn, will be off traveling and having fun.

A family built on the Hippie model will be very far from the model of family that society deems acceptable. The Hippie cannot take on a commitment, because it contradicts their mindset. Their life philosophy is freedom and love. And even though they preserve feelings of love in this form, romantic relationships are always short-term. Even if there are friends and admirers, they cannot build loyal, long-term relationships with them.

When a child appears. If people with the Hippie mindset enter into a family relationship, they will keep the same boundary of the freedom position toward both spouse and child. But this often creates deep voids in family relationships. Years later, for a healthy way out of the crisis periods in a family system, there must be some kind of agreement between the people involved.

For example, when a child is born, what binds the couple is no longer just shared desires. The spirit of free love will soon face disharmony. Because the child has interests and desires too, and both must carry a commitment. At this stage of conflicting interests, the Hippie — whether arguing or not — often refuses to budge from their position, relying only on their own desires. Even when they are confronted with their own child, they try to dodge responsibility with various excuses. Usually, in such situations, people with the Hippie mindset withdraw from that environment altogether.

The crisis of the model. Tragedy strikes when winter comes. Literally and figuratively. Freedom does not keep you warm. No plans lead to no results. The person realizes: they are not free of the system. They are simply excluded from it. And exclusion is not the same as freedom.

Even though there are plenty of people around eager to have fun with them, spend time with them, relax with them, in personal relationships they run into the same result again and again. When they see that, faced with serious hardship, they are met not with sacrifice but with refusal — despite the euphoria of the early stage of a relationship — they experience a serious moral shock.

As a result, they conclude that relationships are not that deep on a moral level. As the number of relationships ending in the same outcome grows, they begin to think the root of the problem lies within themselves, and they start searching for a relationship model built on deeper values.

Psychological stress for the Hippie. If, in a family relationship, the “Hippie” relies on someone, and that person, without accepting their life philosophy, leaves them — this leads to psychological upheaval. They realize that their life conviction does not help preserve loyalty in relationships. At this point, the person with the “Hippie” mindset thinks about a choice made for themselves first of all, not for everyone. And already among the people they meet, they make contact with the one who is closest to their moral world.

It is hard to predict which relationship model this shift on the cognitive level will lead to. Given that hedonistic thinking stands at the heart of the Hippie relationship model — that is, the demand for immediate satisfaction of one’s personal desires — the moment of a breakup is considered a favorable one for transitioning to mature thinking.

Even a married Hippie, in a state of shock, may isolate themselves from society for a long time. In that case, the Hippie, trying themselves in different fields, dives fanatically into whatever pursuit they come across and regards it as a free choice. Already at this transitional stage, the likelihood of the next relationship model beginning increases.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Hippie” model — escape from responsibility, living in the moment, rejection of social norms.

Christopher McCandless (USA, 20th century).

A traveler who gave up his possessions and went into the Alaskan wilderness.

Manifestation of the model: A classic example of the search for absolute freedom. He burned his money, changed his name, and went into the forest. His journals show the euphoria of solitude, but the ending is tragic. Freedom without preparation became a trap.

John Lennon (Great Britain, 20th century) — the 1960s period.

A musician who championed peace and love and the rejection of materialism.

Manifestation of the model: For a certain period, his life was devoted to happenings, experiments, and the rejection of convention. It was a search for meaning through defying the system, though later he transformed it into activism.

Siddhartha Gautama (the Buddha) (India, 6th century BCE).

A prince who abandoned his palace in search of truth.

Manifestation of the model: Although this is a spiritual example, his renunciation of wealth, family, and status in favor of an ascetic life and meditation reflects the philosophy of the Hippie — the search for eternal values through the rejection of the material.

The heroes of Jack Kerouac’s works (Literary archetype).

Characters of the Beat Generation, running from society.

Manifestation of the model: Heroes for whom the road became home. They sought truth in movement, avoiding settling down and commitments.

Today’s “Digital Nomads” (Social archetype).

People who work remotely and constantly change their country of residence.

Manifestation of the model: A modern adaptation of the Hippie — freedom from geography and the office, but often with the same problem: an inability to build long-term bonds and carry commitments to a place or a community.

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

Exits from the crisis and transitions. Through this search they discover, among the values that morally guide long-term relationships, family, religion, and national values. Based on the chosen values, the core logic of the next relationship model is tied to that choice. A person may run into the cold of reality. When the euphoria of freedom fades, the crisis begins.

The depressive exit: The person realizes: “I am free, but I am alone and hungry.” The Hippie begins to look for someone who will secure their freedom. This is the transition to the Beggar model or the Infanta. If they pass through the depressive phase in relationships, they may move on to Lilith (with priority given to material values).

The aggressive exit: The person is angry at the world for failing to grasp their lofty matters. They may slide into radicalism. Or, having accepted reality, they begin to monetize their freedom (blogs, creative work), moving on to the Geisha model.

If they choose family values — to the Chameleon. If religious or national ones — to Teresa or Cinderella.

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “HIPPIE”

The train stopped at a station whose name had long been scoured from the signboard by wind and rain. Maria stepped onto the platform, clutching the straps of her backpack. Around her there were no high-rises, no billboards — only mountains wrapped in fog as if in old blankets. The air didn’t smell of exhaust; it smelled of pine needles and damp earth. She breathed in deeply, and her lungs opened like the wings of a bird released from a cage.

“No alarm clocks here,” she thought, and the thought sounded like a prayer. “No Rafael here. No mirrors. No grades.”

She found shelter in a house the locals called “the Community.” It was an old building whose walls remembered more stories than its residents. It was home to runaways like her: some hiding from debt, some from love, and some from themselves. Instead of locks, curtains hung on the doors; instead of a schedule, there was the sun; and no one here asked about your past — nobody wanted to know what their neighbor was running from, since they’d rather not have to tell their own story either.

For the first three months, Maria lived as if intoxicated. She woke when the sun rose, ate when she felt hungry, spoke when she felt like speaking. No reports, no plans, no deadlines. By day she helped in the kitchen and gathered herbs, and in the evenings she listened to a guitar by the campfire, and it seemed to her that she was healing.

“I’m finally alive,” she whispered, gazing at stars that seemed closer here. “I’m not a thing. Not a weapon. I’m just a human being.”

She believed that freedom was a cure: remove all obligations, and what’s left is the pure essence. She didn’t think about tomorrow. Why think about tomorrow when today is warm? That is exactly how a person in the Hippie model reasons: they mistake the absence of obligations for freedom, and the peace of a single evening for the meaning of an entire life.

By the sixth month, the euphoria began to ebb — slowly, but inexorably, like water draining from a cracked bathtub. Her clothes wore out, and there was nothing to replace them. The money ran out, and there was nowhere to get more. The friends with whom she had shared campfires and wine vanished the moment real problems began. At first she paid no attention, then she started to notice, and then she couldn’t stop noticing.

One of them fell ill — and no one helped him. Another was evicted — and no one took her in. Maria understood that what bound these people together was not brotherhood but a shared consumption of pleasant moments. They were tourists in their own lives.

“Why do they leave?” she wondered, looking at her neighbor’s empty bed.

But freedom meant nothing and answered nothing: it turned out to be simply the absence of walls. And without walls, there is no home.

So a year passed, and winter came. The cold seeped under the skin, into the bones, into the very soul. Maria sat on the floor, wrapped in her only warm blanket. No one had stockpiled firewood in advance: in “the Community,” no one was supposed to think about tomorrow — and now tomorrow had arrived all on its own. Her phone had been silent for a week — no calls, no messages — and the silence she had sought for so long now pressed on her ears.

She tried to find work in the nearest town, but employers looked at her résumé — with its gaps, its strange experience — with open bewilderment, and in that bewilderment she heard a verdict. The freedom she had been so proud of had become a stigma.

That evening, David came to her gate — the same neighbor who had offered to fix her roof a year ago. Back then she had refused him, frightened of obligation: it seemed to her that any kind of help would tie her hands. Now he stood in the same spot, only he looked more serious, and he was holding a box of groceries.

Maria watched him through the frozen glass, and two feelings fought inside her. Pride whispered: “Don’t take it. You’re free. You don’t owe anyone anything.”

But the cold was stronger than pride. The cold has no ideology — it simply is.

Maria wanted to say “go away” again, wanted to defend her freedom the way a dragon defends its gold. But her fingers wouldn’t obey: they reached out on their own toward the warmth of that box.

“Come in,” she said quietly. “Just tea. Nothing more.”

David nodded, and they drank their tea in silence. He asked no questions and demanded nothing, just sat across from her, warming his hands on his mug, and for the first time in a long while the silence didn’t press — it soothed. Steam rose from the mugs and danced in the beam of light, and Maria watched that dance and thought about how her perception had changed.

A year ago she would have called such help “a trap of the system” and David himself an agent of control. Now she called it simply warmth.

“I was running from responsibility,” she thought, cupping the mug in her palms. “But doesn’t irresponsibility wear the body down? Doesn’t loneliness kill the soul?”

She understood: the Hippie Model had exhausted itself. It had given her a lesson, but it couldn’t give her a home. Freedom without a roof overhead is just weather, and a person needs a place where they can take off their cloak.

That night she never did fall asleep. She stared at the ceiling and listened to the wind wandering outside the window. For the first time in a year she felt no euphoria — only exhaustion. But in that exhaustion there was something solid, something she could already lean on.

She didn’t know what would come next: whether David would stay, whether she herself would go back to the city. But she knew one thing: the running was over.

The train had left a year ago. Now it was time to build the station.

Outside the window, the moon was shining — cold, distant, but shining all the same.

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Chapter 4. The relationship model · “GEISHA”

The art of self-expression: The trap of public admiration.

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The name of the model comes from the Japanese word “Geisha” (芸者), where “gei” means art and “sha” means person. Literally: “a person of art.” In Japanese culture, this is the image of a woman who entertains guests with her talent yet remains untouchable.

If we follow the logic of the historical context, this is not simply a profession — it is a philosophy of service through excellence. Unlike a prostitute, a Geisha sells not her body, but emotion, atmosphere, the illusion of perfection. In Greek mythology, echoes of this archetype can be seen in the figures of the Muses — goddesses who inspired creators but rarely became their wives.

The roots of the image go back to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Historically, the first geishas were men — entertainers of the samurai (hōkan). Later, women replaced them. The key figure was Kikuya, a former courtesan who had won her freedom. She established a rule: a Geisha may enchant, but she is not obligated to belong physically. This divided them into “white” geisha (art only) and korobi geisha (the “falling” ones, who permitted intimacy). In the context of our methodology, “Geisha” is the priority of public recognition and talent over personal attachment.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the “Geisha” state of mind often broadcast thoughts that become their manifesto. Here are the three core beliefs characteristic of this model:

“My talent demands sacrifices, and love is the first of them.” (A justification of loneliness in the name of success.)

“The admiration of the crowd matters more than the love of one.” (Public recognition takes priority over intimacy.)

“Reputation is the one thing you cannot afford to lose.” (Fear of criticism and of losing one’s image.)

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

What happens in a person’s life story when this model takes shape? Often it is compensation for an inferiority complex by reaching the very top. The person decides that their worth must be proven to the public. They begin attracting attention not through availability (as Puttana does), but through unavailability and mastery.

In psychoanalytic terms, what happens here is the sublimation of libido into creativity. If the Id demands pleasure, the Geisha transforms that demand into applause. She is ready to sacrifice personal happiness for the stage. In their youth, such people may seem inspired, but in maturity they often face loneliness surrounded by admirers. They do not build deep bonds, because they fear that someone close will see them as “imperfect.”

Psychological mechanism: A person discovers they possess a talent or charisma that draws admiration. The psyche adapts: to feel safe, they begin to depend on external evaluation. A cognitive distortion arises: “I am loved only for my success/image.” This grows into a life philosophy. They start to see themselves as “the chosen one,” obliged to shine for others. Thus the need for love is replaced by the need for worship.

The crisis of choice: Career or Love? The methodology describes the Geisha’s central conflict. When a partner appears who demands exclusivity, the Geisha faces a choice: the crowd or one person. The historical example of King Edward VIII, who renounced the throne for love, is a rare exception. Far more often, the Geisha chooses the career. If she sacrifices her reputation for love, she moves into the Cinderella model (serving one person). If she preserves her image but loses touch with her feelings, she may slide into the Chameleon (adjusting to the public) or, if her reputation is damaged, into Lilith (money instead of fame).

Literary and mythological context: Recall the story of Kikuya, the first female geisha. Having won her freedom, she refused to sell her body, selling only the art of conversation. It was a rebellion against the system — and at the same time, the building of a new cage. In the methodology, this serves as a metaphor for the price of perfection: a person can look great on the outside while carrying inside the emptiness of a restless soul. Like the samurai who sharpens his sword for years, forgetting what the war was for, the Geisha sharpens her image, forgetting what love was for.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Geisha” model — talent, service to the public, priority of image over personal life.

Maria Callas (Greece/USA, 20th century).

Her voice was a weapon capable of breaking hearts, yet her own heart remained a fortress.

Manifestations of the model: The greatest opera singer, whose life became a textbook example of choosing art over personal happiness. Her relationship with Aristotle Onassis revealed the Geisha’s eternal conflict: when she had to choose between the stage and her lover, she hesitated — and in the end lost both. Her existence was devoted to inspiring admiration through her voice, even at the cost of her health and her solitude. She died alone, leaving behind a legend, but not a family.

Coco Chanel (France, 20th century).

She created the style of an era, yet remained outside time — and outside anyone’s embrace.

Manifestations of the model: A fashion designer who built an empire of style and became a symbol of independence. Her romances repeatedly took a back seat to her work. She created the image of a woman admired by millions, yet she herself admitted to loneliness. Her life demonstrates the priority of legacy and reputation over a traditional family. She became a brand in her own lifetime, paying for it with the right to ordinary weakness.

Marlene Dietrich (Germany/USA, 20th century).

She controlled the stage lights so carefully that no one would ever see the shadow in her eyes.

Manifestations of the model: An actress and singer who managed her image with meticulous care. Famous for the line: “I dress for the image, not for the man.” She directed men’s attention, but never allowed them to direct her. Her life was a performance in which she always remained the “untouchable star,” even in intimate relationships, preserving the distance of the Geisha.

Sarah Bernhardt (France, 19th–20th centuries).

Her death was staged as carefully as her life.

Manifestations of the model: The great actress, christened “the Divine Sarah,” renowned for her theatrical gestures and a life lived on display. She turned her life into a show. Even her death was choreographed. Bernhardt embodied a model where the public matters more than family. She kept male lovers, but her true love remained the stage. Her existence confirms the thesis: the Geisha belongs to art, not to a person.

Madonna (USA, 21st century).

The queen of the pop stage, who keeps changing masks in order to stay loved.

Manifestations of the model: A pop icon who endlessly reinvents her image to hold the public’s attention. Her career is built on the ability to provoke admiration and shock. Her personal relationships often became material for her art. She represents the modern version of the Geisha: the constant upkeep of an image demands the sacrifice of privacy. Her life illustrates the conviction: “The admiration of the crowd is a drug you cannot live without.”

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

A person may face loneliness — or fight to protect their reputation. When the supply of admiration runs dry (age, a shift in the public’s taste), the crisis begins.

The depressive exit: The person realizes: “They applaud me, but they don’t love me.” The Geisha withdraws into herself. If she decides that love matters more than fame, she may move to the Cinderella model (devotion to one person) or the Chameleon (adapting to a partner). If she decides the world will never appreciate her, she may retreat into the Hippie (a rejection of standards).

The aggressive exit: The person rages against criticism. “They don’t deserve my talent.” The Geisha begins attacking the haters, defending her reputation. If the reputation is hopelessly damaged, she may shift to the Lilith model (monetizing the image, money instead of fame) or to the Puttana (shock for attention, at any price).

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “GEISHA”

Two years had passed since that night in the cold house. Maria accepted David’s help, but not the way he had hoped: she did not become his woman. First she became his project, and then — her own. She moved to the city, rented a small studio, and started a blog about the life of a “former rebel.” She turned her story into content.

The first year swept by on a wave of euphoria. Her followers loved her sincerity. She posted photos with books, quotes, her own paintings; she was invited on podcasts, and she once again felt that same current of admiration she had missed so badly in the Hippie model. There she had been free, but invisible; here, she was in full view. Every morning began with the phone: how many new followers, how many comments, who wrote, who shared — and on those numbers hinged what kind of day it would be. David sometimes dropped by, brought groceries, and looked at her with hope.

On one of those days Maria was getting ready for yet another shoot: she adjusted the collar of her blouse, checked the fold, set the lights. The perfect fold. The perfect light. And then David, standing in the doorway with a bag in his hands, asked quietly, without reproach:

“Tell me honestly — aren’t you lonely?”

Maria froze, and an inner dialogue switched on in her head at once — cold and calculating, like an algorithm:

“If I tell the truth, I lose control. If I admit I’m lonely, the magic vanishes. A Geisha is never lonely — she is merely unavailable. I create an image so I won’t have to feel the pain.”

Psychologists would call this defense through idealization: the flawless picture isn’t for the audience — it’s for the person herself, so she never has to face her own pain. And Maria never did tell the truth.

David shook his head. In his eyes she saw not anger, but weariness.

He left, closing the door softly behind him, and Maria was alone. A notification flashed on her phone screen: “+1000 followers.” She felt a sting of joy — brief, sharp, like a drug — and David’s tired gaze instantly retreated to the far edge of memory: the number on the screen proved louder.

Six more months passed, and Maria found herself at the peak. She was invited to speak, quoted everywhere, and wore beautiful dresses she could never have afforded even in the era of Lilith. But in the evenings, when the stream of likes died down, the studio grew quiet. Too quiet. The dresses hung in the closet like costumes in a theater dressing room, and Maria caught herself more and more often not knowing which one was actually hers.

One day, after a talk, a young man approached her — handsome, clearly successful — and, a little embarrassed, asked her out on a date.

Maria smiled the same practiced smile she’d rehearsed in front of the mirror.

“My managers will get in touch with you.”

She said “managers,” though she had no managers at all. She said it to keep her distance: a Geisha doesn’t go on dates, a Geisha receives admirers.

Back home, she took off her shoes — her feet ached after the long evening — and walked over to the mirror. A woman looked back at her, a woman loved by thousands. But when Maria pressed her palm against the glass, the reflection stayed cold.

“Why do I feel empty?” she asked herself. “I’ve made it. I’m safe. I’m valued. But value is an assessment from the outside, and love is a connection from the inside. I built a temple and forgot to leave a place in it for myself. I’ve become an exhibit in my own museum.”

She sat down on the floor right there in her expensive dress and thought of David — his simple hands, his quiet voice. He had offered her warmth, and she had chosen the glare of spotlights. But light warms only from the outside, and inside, she was cold.

Her phone buzzed on the table. A message from David: “I saw your talk. You were beautiful. But you looked very lonely. The door is still open — but not forever.”

Maria stared at the screen, and a tear slid down her cheek, smudging her makeup. For the first time in two years, she didn’t reach for a tissue to dab it away neatly — she let the mascara run. It was unbecoming, nothing like the script. But it was real.

She understood: to be a Geisha means to stand on stage forever, and from the stage you can’t see the faces in the audience. All she could see were the glows of phone screens, and she wanted to see eyes. One single pair of eyes — no applause.

That night she didn’t post a single photo, and for the first time in two years her feed stayed empty. She sat in the dark and wondered: “What if I step out of the role? What if I allow myself to be ordinary? Not perfect — just alive?”

But the fear was stronger. If she took off the mask, who would be left underneath? Maria was afraid the answer was no one, and that fear kept her in the Geisha Model a while longer. Yet the crack had already appeared, and light was breaking through it — not the light of the stage, but the light of the most ordinary morning.

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Chapter 5. The relationship model · “MISTRESS”

Safety Guarantee: The Trap of Dependency.

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The “Mistress” model — a woman afraid of loneliness and seeking someone to lean on. She falls into emotional and psychological dependency, even while finding pleasure in love.

Within our method, the “Mistress” relationship model is not simply the status of a woman involved in an extramarital affair — it is a deep psychological archetype of dependency. It is a model in which a person, most often a woman, feels an acute need to be under someone’s care, sacrificing her own autonomy for the illusion of security. At the heart of the Mistress’s thinking lies a stereotype: “With him, my life is guaranteed.” This belief translates into an unspoken contract: “I love him, so I’ll forgive everything,” or, more categorically: “He can’t live without me — I’m his salvation.” The main driving force here is not material gain, as with Lilith, but the fear of loneliness. The Mistress is willing to endure difficult, sometimes humiliating conditions, if only she isn’t left alone. She clings to her partner like a life preserver — even when that preserver has long since turned into an anchor dragging her to the bottom.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

Stereotypical thinking: with him my life is under protection, I love him deeply. “Whatever happens, he must be mine.”

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

This kind of cognitive distortion in her thinking partly resembles the “Lilith” relationship model, but the Mistress’s thinking does not put a direct sexual connection front and center. Instead, by adorning the relationship with spiritual values — love, union of souls, compatibility of zodiac signs and other mystical notions — she tries to fortify her bond with her patron through emotional ties. So, unlike “Lilith,” the “Mistress” can meet her needs at her beloved’s expense even when she is given no money or other material resources. For example, “Lilith,” by giving her beloved a feeling of pity, receives from him a certain financial allowance — but in the hours when she isn’t seeing him, she enjoys freedom of choice in her lifestyle and sexual relationships. The “Mistress,” however, by giving her beloved that same feeling of pity, in return always acts according to his needs and is obliged to remain sexually faithful to him. Otherwise — since no difference would remain between her and “Lilith” — her beloved, refusing to meet her needs, could replace her with another woman in no time at all.

Unlike the Lilith model, where the relationship is built on an outright trade of the body for resources and where the woman keeps her freedom outside their meetings, the Mistress strives for an emotional tether. She wraps the dependency in romantic images: destiny, kindred souls, a karmic connection. This keeps her from feeling like she’s selling herself, even though the essence of the exchange stays the same — independence in exchange for support and protection. Lilith can have several partners and manage her time freely, whereas the Mistress is obligated to stay faithful to her patron, because her security depends solely on his favor.

The psychological root of this model often traces back to infantilism. This is an adult with a child’s mind, searching for a “parent” in a partner. “What will I do if I’m left alone?” — this question plays in her head like constant background noise. The “Mistress” doesn’t want to take responsibility for her own life, for her own earnings, for her own decisions. It’s easier for her to find someone who will decide everything for her. Often this person is considerably older, filling the role of a surrogate parent. But even if the partner is her own age, the dynamic stays the same: he is the source of resources and decisions, she is the recipient, obliged to pay for it with attention, care, and sexual exclusivity.

In society, the image of the Mistress is often criticized, but her magnetism lies in the way she offers a person the feeling of being needed and powerful. She doesn’t demand titles openly, the way the Geisha does — she demands warmth and presence. Yet this model conceals an enormous danger for the woman herself. Because her status is precarious and depends on another person’s desire, she lives in constant tension. Any threat of a breakup is perceived as a catastrophe.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Mistress” model — emotional dependency, the search for a guarantor of security, a life lived in the partner’s shadow.

Madame de Maintenon (France, 17th century).

The widow of Scarron, who became a governess and then the secret wife of Louis XIV.

Manifestation of the model: She never demanded titles openly, but she secured her safety through total devotion to the king. Her life shows a transition from dependency to influence, yet the foundation was built on the role of “savior” and keeper of the hearth for the monarch — which is typical of the highest form of the Mistress model.

Camille Claudel (France, 19th–20th centuries).

A sculptor, the muse and lover of Auguste Rodin.

Manifestation of the model: She sacrificed her own creative work for a place in Rodin’s workshop, hoping for reciprocity and recognition through him. Her dependency on the master became destructive. When the relationship cooled, she could not find support within herself and ended her life in an asylum. The tragedy of a talent that dissolved into her partner.

Wallis Simpson (USA/UK, 20th century) — before the marriage.

The American woman for whom a king gave up the throne.

Manifestation of the model: Until the moment of abdication, she held the position of mistress to a married man (Edward was still a prince). Her grip on the prince’s attention through emotional dependency and her status as “the only one who understands him” led to a global consequence — but the behavioral model itself was a classic one: safety through the exclusivity of the bond.

Marie Duplessis (France, 19th century).

The prototype of The Lady of the Camellias (Alexandre Dumas), a courtesan who sought protection.

Manifestation of the model: Despite her status as a courtesan, her psychology gravitated toward the Mistress model — to find one man who would take her out of the world of selling her body. Her dependency on Count Perregaux and the illness that followed show the collapse of the hope of being saved by a man.

Anna Karenina (a literary archetype, L. Tolstoy).

A society lady who left her husband for a lover.

Manifestation of the model: A perfect example of the model’s collapse. Anna transferred the entire meaning of her life onto Vronsky. When he began to live his own life (his service, his social circle), she could not bear the loss of being “the only one.” Her suicide is the result of realizing that without her “guarantor,” her life is empty. This is the method’s warning: you must never make one person the sole source of your safety.

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

The crisis of the Mistress model arrives inevitably. Sooner or later the partner’s sexual interest fades, or the lawful wife finds out about the affair, or the Mistress herself grows older, losing her trump card — her looks. At that moment she finds herself in a vacuum. She has no resources of her own, no survival skills, no Plan B. She feels like a leech stranded on the shore of a dried-up lake.

At this critical point, two paths of development open up — two ways of exiting the model.

The depressive exit: When the Mistress realizes that her patron has left and no new one is coming, she sinks into the state of a victim. She starts complaining to everyone around her about the injustice of fate, about the callousness of men, about her miserable lot. Her demands drop; she is ready to settle for crumbs as long as someone pays attention to her. At this point she transforms into the Beggar model. She no longer demands guarantees — she asks for help, courting pity. This state is often accompanied by psychosomatic illnesses: the body responds to stress with kidney, skin, and immune disorders. She lives in constant expectation of a savior who never comes, and gradually sinks into chronic depression. If she cannot find a new donor, she lowers her expectations of provision — which only makes her more vulnerable and more dependent on the mercy of others.

The aggressive exit: If the Mistress feels deceived, if she believes her partner stole the best years of her life, rage awakens in her. She decides to take revenge. Blackmail comes into play: threats to tell the wife, to show up at his workplace, to expose intimate details. She may reach out to television shows, post on social media, try to destroy the life of her former patron. This is the phase of open war. Sometimes, if the scandal becomes public and an audience of sympathizers gathers around her, she can transform into the Geisha, using her fame and her story of suffering as a stage. But most often the aggressive phase ends in courtrooms, police stations, and an even deeper fall into depression. This public conflict sometimes changes the mindset of the woman carrying the model, pushing her to share her life tragedy with people, gathering followers around her pain — which can become a springboard for a move into the Geisha model, where she promises never to sacrifice her freedom again.

It is important to understand that the Mistress model is not always tied to official status. Even a legal wife can think like a Mistress if her only goal is being provided for by her husband, with no personal development whatsoever. If the husband can no longer handle the role of provider, such a marriage falls apart, because the foundation of safety is destroyed. This is a dead-end branch of personal evolution, where a person refuses to grow, preferring comfort to development.

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “MISTRESS”

Six months had passed since Maria stopped posting photos and left the city. The fame of a Geisha turned out to be cold food: it feeds the eyes but does not warm the body. Maria wanted real, human, dependable warmth — and she found it in Omar.

Omar was twenty years older than her. He had cozy little wrinkles around his eyes and a bank account that meant you never had to look at price tags. He demanded no content from her, no interviews, no perfect makeup — he wanted quiet. And Maria, for the first time in two years, let out a breath. She moved into his country house, leaving her studio empty.

The first year passed as if in a fog. She slept until noon, strolled through the garden, and waited for his call. Omar was married, but he said “things are complicated over there,” and Maria believed him — she wanted to believe. She cooked him dinner, ironed his shirts, listened to stories about his business, and felt needed. The days were like beads on a string: breakfast, garden, waiting, dinner — and the string they hung on was Omar. She no longer had to decide anything: Omar decided for her.

Psychologists would call this regression: an adult woman seems to have returned to childhood and found a protector behind whose back she no longer had to think about anything. This is exactly what the Mistress model rests on — safety received from another person substitutes for one’s own life.

One day at dinner Maria finally worked up the courage to ask the question she had been carrying inside her for a long time — what would become of the two of them. She set down her fork, and the clink of the dishes seemed deafening.

Omar was silent for a moment. Something flickered in his gaze — something that looked like pity, or maybe fatigue. She never heard an answer.

Another year and a half went by, and Omar started running late. If he hadn’t called by eight, her heart would begin to pound. She caught herself going through his pockets and sniffing his clothes for someone else’s perfume. Every arrival she greeted with a smile, every delay she lived through as a small death, but she said nothing out loud: it seemed to her that any reproach would only hasten the thing she feared most of all. The fear of loneliness, which she had smothered at the very start, came back with doubled force.

One evening he didn’t come at all, and his phone was switched off. Maria sat on the couch in a dark living room, and the house that had seemed like a fortress turned into a cage before her eyes. She suddenly understood with complete clarity that she had no money of her own, no friends of her own, no life of her own. There was only him. And if he left, nothing of her would remain.

The next morning he came back, looked at her with tired, reddened eyes, and, without taking off his coat, said:

“We need to talk.”

Maria shrank, and everything inside her went cold. She knew that tone: that is how people speak when they are about to leave.

He placed an envelope on the table — thick as a compensation payment.

Maria stared at the envelope. Inside was a sum you could live on for half a year, maybe a year. But what then? What would come after?

“You used me,” she said quietly, and her voice trembled.

“No. I loved you. But this can’t go on.”

He left, and the door slammed shut. Maria was alone in a big house that did not belong to her. She picked up the envelope — the paper rustled in her hands — and her thoughts raced, fast and panicked:

“If I return the money, I’ll be proud but broke. If I take it, I’ll be confirming that all of this was a deal. But I did love him. Or did I just need the security?”

She sat down on the floor, pressing the envelope to her chest. There were no tears — only emptiness. She thought of her studio, empty and cold, thought of the likes. They had been fake, but they had belonged to her. And here? Here she was merely an appendage to someone else’s life.

That night she didn’t sleep, and in the morning she packed her things. In the end she did take the envelope: she had to survive somehow. But something inside her had cracked. When she stepped out of the house, the air felt thick, and every step down the road echoed with the same question: “Who am I now?” A Mistress without a lover. A Geisha without a stage. A woman without herself.

She got into a taxi.

“To the airport,” she said.

She needed to go far away, somewhere no one knew her, where she could start all over. But starting with what? With empty hands and a heart full of guilt. She understood that the Mistress model had given her no love — it had given her only the illusion of safety. And the price of that illusion had proved far too high.

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Chapter 6. The relationship model · “COURTESAN”

The art of possession: The trap of endless victory.

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The name of the model comes from the term “Courtesan” (Italian: cortigiana), which first appeared in the mid-15th century in the courts and salons of Renaissance Rome. Historically, this is the image of a nobleman’s beloved, a woman of high birth who led a worldly, society life. Unlike an ordinary prostitute, the courtesan was not obliged to sell her body in order to survive — what she sought in relationships was the game, the competition, and the confirmation of her own exceptionalness.

If you follow the logic of the historical context, this is the aristocracy of vice. In Greek mythology, echoes of this archetype can be seen in the figure of Aphrodite — the goddess of love, beauty, and passion, who changed lovers at the call of desire rather than necessity. In the terminology of the method, the “Courtesan” is about prioritizing the quantity of victories over the quality of the bond, where love becomes a battlefield.

The roots of the image reach back to the Renaissance. High status allowed courtesans to dictate the terms. They were educated, elegant, and dangerous. In the context of our method, the “Courtesan” is not necessarily a woman; it is a psychotype for whom sexual attractiveness is the main weapon for confirming one’s own significance. It is a model in which relationships are perceived as entertainment and competition, not as a union.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the state of mind called the “Courtesan” often broadcast thoughts that become their philosophy of seduction. Here are the three core beliefs characteristic of this model:

“A person’s life can hold many lovers.” (Denial of the exclusivity of the bond).

“He won’t resist my charm.” (Confidence in the power of manipulation).

“Love is a game where I always win.” (Perceiving relationships as a competition).

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

What happens in a person’s life story when this model takes shape? Often it is the consequence of an inferiority complex hidden behind a mask of confidence. The person does not believe in their own value as an individual, so they confirm it through the number of hearts conquered. Unlike the “Geisha,” who gathers a horde of admirers (admiration for talent), the “Courtesan” leads a horde of lovers (admiration for flesh and charm).

In psychoanalytic terms, what happens here is a compensation for sexual insecurity. If a person has doubts about their sexual potential, they strive to prove the opposite through the number of partners. This is not a dependence on money, as with the “Lilith” or the “Mistress.” The Courtesan is often financially independent. She may spend her own money on lovers, give them gifts. What matters to her is not the financial support but the fact of possession. She carries no obligations toward her partners, considering the gifts merely a confirmation of their love, not payment for services.

Psychological mechanism: The person realizes they lack outstanding intellectual or creative abilities to attract attention any other way. So appearance, clothes, makeup, and emotional behavior are brought into play. In adolescence, such a person learns to flirt better than their peers, to play with feelings. This becomes their core model. They hide their dark sides, striving for quick results. This often shows up as the desire to get a partner into bed on the very first date — a mark of success.

A modern analogue of the courtesans can be seen in pick-up artist communities. They create communities where they discuss how to make a person fall in love with them quickly. This is propaganda for the need to confirm one’s sexual identity through the number of victories. They present themselves as sexual gurus, but at the root of it lies doubt about their own potential. They try to show quantity through quality, yet in reality they cannot build a sincere connection.

Distinction from other models: it is important not to confuse this model with “Narcissistic Personality Disorder.” Narcissism is a stable personality type, while the “Courtesan” is a model of thinking that can be changed. The Courtesan is not afraid of responsibility the way the “Hippie” is; she is afraid of exposure. She avoids official marriage, saying: “A stamp in a passport cools the feelings.” It is insurance against intimacy, where she might be seen for who she really is.

Literary context: Let us recall the novel Dangerous Liaisons. Its heroes, the Marquise de Merteuil and the Vicomte de Valmont, compete in the art of seduction. This is the Courtesan model in its purest form: emotions as weapons, love as a duel. Or Guy de Maupassant’s novel Bel Ami, where the protagonist Georges Duroy uses women to advance his career, remaining free of obligations. This is the male version of the Courtesan model.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Courtesan” model — many lovers, love as a game, confirming status through possession.

Giacomo Casanova (Italy, 18th century).

A Venetian adventurer whose name became a byword.

Manifestation of the model: The classic male archetype of the Courtesan. He kept detailed diaries of his conquests, viewing love as an adventure and a way to confirm his own vitality. His relationships were vivid but short-lived, because the main goal was conquest, not holding on.

Catherine II the Great (Russia, 18th century).

An empress famous for her favorites.

Manifestation of the model: Despite her status, her personal relationships were often built on the principle of choosing a partner for pleasure and companionship, with the option of replacement. She affirmed her power and femininity by keeping favorites, while remaining an independent ruler — which matches the freedom of the Courtesan.

Mae West (USA, 20th century).

An actress and sex symbol famous for her witty one-liners about love.

Manifestation of the model: She openly declared: “When I’m good, I’m very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better.” She managed men, replaced them, used her sexuality as an instrument of power, while remaining financially independent and free of obligations to her partners.

Virginia Oldoini, Countess of Castiglione (Italy/France, 19th century).

An aristocrat known for her beauty and her influence over Napoleon III.

Manifestation of the model: She used her looks and charm for political and personal ends, collecting admirers and lovers among the highest nobility of Europe. Her life was a performance in which she was the leading actress, and the men were spectators and players in her game.

Don Juan (Literary archetype).

The legendary seducer, hero of countless works (Molière, Byron, Pushkin).

Manifestation of the model: The symbol of the male Courtesan. For him, the number of conquests matters more than the quality of feeling. He cannot stop at one woman, because every new victory is proof that he exists. His tragedy is that he looks for in love what love cannot give — eternal confirmation of his worth.

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

A person may run into guilt or rejection.

When the illusion of victory collapses (the partner learns the truth or walks away), a crisis sets in.

Crisis of the model: The crisis arrives when the Courtesan meets the person of the highest status she can possibly find. Winning him over becomes her life’s mission. She brings all her talent, all her cunning to bear, to make him fall in love with her. But once the goal is achieved, the worst part begins. The lies used for the conquest (the fake feelings, the promises) start to surface. The partner realizes he was not loved sincerely, but as a trophy. He feels deceived and sinks into depression. The Courtesan realizes that instead of her greatest victory she has scored her greatest defeat. She made a person unhappy with her own methods. Guilt over someone else’s suffering can drive her into a deep depression.

The depressive exit: The person realizes: “I hurt the one I wanted to conquer.” The Courtesan withdraws into herself and starts searching for sincerity. She may begin trying on different masks, attempting to figure out who she really is (the transition to the Chameleon model). Or she decides to atone for her guilt by devoting herself to one person, sacrificing her freedom (the transition to the Cinderella model).

The aggressive exit: The person is angry at the partner for “not understanding her game.” “Why did they reject my love?” The Courtesan becomes intolerant, cynical. She begins to take revenge, seducing others out of spite. This deepens her isolation and leads to the Puttana model (a revolt against morality and feelings).

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “COURTESAN”

Two years had passed since that night with the envelope. Maria moved to another city, changed her name and her style. She decided to prove to herself that she needed no one’s care. Where the Mistress model had demanded a single patron, Maria now chose the freedom of the Courtesan: she wanted to collect victories.

The first year was intoxicating. She worked at an elite agency, where access to her body was a currency — but she set the exchange rate herself. She had three men at once: one took her out to restaurants, another brought her flowers, the third simply admired her. Maria felt like a director of their feelings: each had his own role, his own lines, even his own laughter reserved for him, and she never once missed her cue. She wore silk that rustled like a warning, and dabbed on perfume that took men’s breath away.

When one of them confessed he had never met a woman like her, Maria gave him that very smile, honed in front of the mirror:

“That’s because you haven’t seen anyone but me.”

Her inner dialogue ran with Swiss-watch precision: “I’m in control. I don’t get attached. I take what I need — attention, validation, resources. I don’t sell myself. I give them an illusion, and they give me a feeling of power. It’s a fair trade.”

That is how every Courtesan reasons: the game seems fair to her because she sets its rules herself. But in such a game there is no intimacy — only victories.

By the end of the second year, the illusion began to crack. The men started demanding more — fidelity. Maria could feel the cage about to slam shut; she would drop them and find new ones. But with every new face, the emptiness inside only grew: she confirmed her sexuality again and again, yet couldn’t feel herself alive.

How does a game like this usually end? As a rule, with a single victory that erases all the ones before it. And then He appeared. Timur. A businessman whose status exceeded anything she had ever seen. Conquering him became an obsession for her: he was to be her ultimate trophy. Maria threw all her resources into it — she studied his tastes, staged their meetings, played on his weaknesses. Three months later, he was at her feet.

“I trust you,” he said one day, looking her straight in the eyes.

For a moment, Maria was thrown off balance. She was used to passion, to the game — trust was a word from some other life.

“I trust you too,” she lied, and her voice didn’t waver. That evening she was pleased with herself: the trophy was won, and won flawlessly.

But lies have weight. A month later, Timur learned the truth: one of Maria’s former lovers, stung by her coldness, sent him photographs, message threads, plans — everything she had hidden.

The reckoning took place in her apartment. Timur stood by the door, coat still on, printouts in his hands. He said nothing — he simply waited to hear what she would say.

Maria wanted to lie, to call it a setup. But she looked him in the eyes and understood: the game was over.

He left, the door closed, and Maria was alone. His cologne still hung in the air — the scent that yesterday had smelled of victory now smothered her.

She sank to the floor, hugging her knees, and for the first time in two years the voice inside her went silent: no excuses, no manipulator’s logic — only guilt, heavy and cold.

She glanced at her phone: ten missed calls from new admirers. They were waiting. They wanted the game. But Maria realized she had won the battle for Timur and lost the war for herself. With her own methods she had made a man miserable, and that knowledge burned worse than loneliness. Such is the Courtesan’s crisis: the greatest victory turns into the greatest defeat.

That night she didn’t answer a single call. She sat in the dark and asked herself: “Who am I when I take off the mask?” A Courtesan without an audience is just a woman who has forgotten how to feel. Maria knew she couldn’t go on living like this — but she couldn’t return to sincerity right away, either. She needed time. She needed to try becoming someone else — anyone at all, just not this one.

She lay down on the floor and felt the cold of the parquet against her back. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t want to seduce anyone. She simply wanted to vanish, so that she could reappear — but this time, real.

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Chapter 7. The relationship model · “TERESA”

The Illusion of Holiness: The Trap of Self-Sacrifice.

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The model takes its name from a historical figure — Mother Teresa, the Catholic nun who devoted her life to serving the poor and the sick. In the context of our method, The Phoenix Era, however, this is not necessarily a religious ascetic or a canonized saint. It is a psychological model of relationships between people, a deep archetype hidden beneath the mask of charity.

Through the lens of Adler’s individual psychology, this is classic hypercompensation of an inferiority complex. Unlike the “Phoenix,” who helps sincerely, out of an abundance of love, “Teresa” helps in order to appear good, to fill an inner emptiness with external proof of being needed. It is a way of buying love at the price of one’s own personality, turning self-sacrifice into a currency of communication.

The roots of this image lie in the concept of altruism — but an altruism distorted by guilt or a hidden resentment against fate. In Greek mythology, echoes of it can be seen in the figure of Hestia, goddess of the hearth, who sacrifices herself for others yet remains in the shadows, stripped of her own passions. The same single stereotype runs through every culture: a person who considers themselves unworthy of love simply for who they are, and who therefore desperately earns it with good deeds, as if they were indulgences.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the “Teresa” state of mind often broadcast thoughts that become both their moral shield and their cage. Here are the three core beliefs typical of this model, the ones you can hear in their inner monologues:

“A person should be known only by their good deeds.” (The belief that the personality is secondary; only actions matter; looks or talents mean nothing without service to others).

“What matters is not beauty but kindness.” (Devaluing appearance, sexuality, and personal desires in favor of moral superiority).

“If I don’t help, who will?” (A belief in one’s own indispensability through service; the fear that without them the world will collapse).

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

“Since I’m not beautiful, then I must be useful.” This quiet, almost inaudible whisper echoes in the minds of thousands of people. Appearance here often has no objective connection to the essence of the problem. A woman or a man with a genuinely beautiful body, given by nature, can hold extremely negative, distorted ideas about themselves. And conversely, a person whom those around them don’t consider attractive at all may sincerely believe they are a world-class beauty. A person’s ideas about themselves find their direct — and often tragic — reflection in their relationship model.

Here we encounter the phenomenon of body dysmorphic disorder (formerly called dysmorphophobia) — a painful preoccupation with an imagined or trivial defect in one’s appearance. A person who has carried this problem inside for years, like a heavy stone hidden against the chest, will inevitably try to find a way out through compensation. The psyche cannot tolerate a vacuum of self-esteem. Over time, such people seem to come to terms with the body parts or features they once saw as a flaw, and they begin to build a new defensive philosophy.

For example, a thought arises that becomes the foundation of an entire life: “So what if I’m not beautiful? At least I have a wonderful character.” In everything they do, they try to rise in other people’s eyes, and their achievements in life are gained precisely for this purpose — not for the sake of the deed itself, but for confirmation of their value. It has been noted more than once that every philanthropist, every person inclined to charity, possesses a self-sacrificing spirit. But in the “Teresa” model this spirit has a hidden motive. In such people, in keeping with the image of “Mother Teresa,” a desire arises to help the destitute and the needy, without pursuing any obvious selfish goal. And yet in this unconscious game, our hero may devote years to charity in order to compensate for their value in precisely this form.

The inner dialogue sounds like this: “Let me be a dull person, let me lack the gift to shine, but my deeds are always useful and necessary to society.” This applies not only to large, global charitable projects. In people with this kind of thinking, every interaction with every person in their circle is remembered for their compulsive, well-meaning gestures. Behavior flowing from this inner complex leads to development in only one direction — toward service, often at their own expense.

Similar needs can be observed in behavior that flows from a sense of guilt. But in the relationship model we are examining, we are dealing with a character inclined toward social work precisely as a means of self-affirmation. That is why we can call this approach the “Teresa” relationship model.

“Teresa,” regardless of profession, strives to be recognized as a good person thanks to her charity and selflessness in every action and every choice. The desire to please relatives, friends, acquaintances, colleagues, or partners in a relationship is a kind of conquest of public authority in the professional sphere, which earns her a worthy name. Everyone who keeps walking this path is working on their life mission, saying in their inner monologue: “I managed to do it, I am needed.” Let us remind you once more: people who build relationships on this life principle may in fact have no serious problems with their appearance at all. It is precisely their ideas — flowing from a deep inferiority complex — that distort the mirror of perception.

They may scale great heights in their careers, they may be famous for their deeds in society, but in personal relationships things unfold somewhat differently — often tragically. If some problem arises in a love relationship or with people close to her — and it will arise in her thinking precisely because of this complex — “Teresa” may suffer a serious shock. Because it is as if she receives a worthy answer from life itself, one that confirms her worst fears. That guilt acquires an inner meaning: “I deserve such unlove, because I am not good enough in myself.” This can happen even at the very summit of success, when the world gives her a standing ovation and a cold pillow waits at home.

Crisis of the model: The Scene of Recognition. Picture this: let us say that Mother Teresa, as a historical figure, enjoys great love and respect. (Even though historical research may contain various opinions about her, in reality we are relying on her public image as presented — an image of selflessness.) Now let us imagine a scenario that reveals the essence of the crisis. Mother Teresa takes a vow to remain unmarried and devotes her life to the sick and the destitute. Periodically traveling to the Vatican and receiving support from the Roman pope, she continues her work.

And then one fine day a man confesses his love to her. A woman who has never known such love is touched by this confession, sinks into dreams of love, and decides that her loneliness has gone on long enough! “She is a woman too, she has the right to be loved too.” Having acknowledged this desire to experience such feelings, she decides to respond in kind — but is met with a sudden and unexpected reaction from the man. She realizes that he loves her only as “Mother Teresa,” as a symbol, but that he is not interested in her as a woman. A vast abyss opens in her heart.

Those very flaws she had once considered her own come back to life, and the nightmares she had tried to forget begin tormenting her again. Having reached the apex of her career, she realizes that she earned society’s love not because she was attractive as a woman on the emotional level, but because she was a moral person with high spiritual values. Without realizing it, she had spent her whole life trying to rescue her traumatic thoughts — the ones flowing from her inferiority complex — through this kind of compensation. And now, confronted with the nightmare she had been fleeing all her life, she experiences the greatest shock of her life.

Having become the victim of such cognitive distortions, the consolidation of beliefs that arose in a person’s mind seems to be the only path to self-sacrifice. This once again confirms that emotions arise not from female sexuality, but from a desire born of deep spirituality — which, in this case, serves as armor. When she understands that sexuality, emotions, and spirituality are entirely different levels of perceiving a personality, she experiences enormous stress. Because all these years she had been trying to compensate for her woman’s happiness by winning people’s love and favor precisely through spirituality and service.

And here lies the true culmination: while going through a deep depression, “Teresa” realizes that she created this relationship model by her own decision, backing herself into the corner of holiness.

The way out of the crisis: Rebellion or Acceptance. Facing the bitter result of years of denying her own sexuality and personal desires may later lead to a change in this relationship model and, at the same time, to the emergence of a rebellious pattern of behavior.

In the “Teresa” relationship model, such self-sacrifice, such charity, must be answered with a reward. It seems to her that a certain “prince on a white horse” should come in exchange — one who will rate her highly. She believes that if she is loved for this quality of hers, that will be true, pure love. At the same time, a person with this kind of thinking has her own hidden criteria of choice. The one who falls in love with her must conquer her heart with his attractiveness as well, not merely appraise her deeds. In many cases, “Teresa” may sooner or later mistakenly take pleasant relationships, kind words, thoughts, a declaration of love for something greater than they really are. In that case, we may encounter signs of rebellion in her behavior.

A person may mistakenly interpret what is said in the way she was hoping for. She may take polite, kind words, thoughts, a declaration of love for something more. And then, learning that she is not loved as a woman, thoughts like “Why am I not loved?!” and “Am I not worthy of this love?” lead to an inner explosion, to rebellion.

How does this rebellion manifest itself? A person who constantly monitors her behavior and tries to earn love through good deeds and care may, upon learning that this approach utterly fails to justify itself, experience a serious feeling of anger. Rejection of the current relationship model usually happens when a person runs up against failures in her own life. If the bearer of the “Teresa” model one day rises up in anger, this may mark a transition to the “Puttana” model.

A concrete example from life: Let’s consider a situation described in the method to understand the mechanics of the transition. Suppose there is a woman with some flaw in her appearance (real or imagined) who, relying more on her spiritual qualities, has always preferred to be polite with people. If she accepts this flaw — which has turned into a serious psychological complex — for what it is, then in her dealings with people she will rely only on the richness of her inner world.

If one fine day a colleague says a kind word to this woman, she will take it for a declaration of love. This woman may even read an invitation to her birthday as an introduction to the family, as a step toward closeness. Meanwhile, the host invited many members of the team to the event — it was simple politeness. If “Teresa” attends the event hoping for a closer relationship, she may be highly sensitive about her own person in any conversation that takes place there. She will scan every word for hidden meaning.

And if, on top of that, the host introduces his fiancée to the guests at this event, a great storm may break out in “Teresa’s” heart. What happens if, beyond the disappointment, she reads this other person’s attitude toward her as an insulting move? At that moment, a powerful aggression may awaken in her heart, along with a feeling of distrust toward people.

If “Teresa” used to devote herself to good deeds and caring feelings in order to win people’s love, the changes that have now taken place in her thinking may lead to rebellious behavior. The more strength she once spent on self-sacrifice, the more her behavior now moves toward its complete opposite. She begins to declare that love does not exist, and begins to prefer sexual pleasure as proof of her vitality. She begins to meet people who agree to intimate relations at the earliest opportunity, without commitments.

Now relationships built with a member of the opposite sex, without any emotional bonds, will lead directly to intimacy. Even at this traumatic stage of the transition, she presents herself to people as someone open to crude jokes and intimate relations. That is why a crowd of people with unethical behavior now gathers around her. It is precisely the message she sends out to the world along this path that can lead to the “Puttana” relationship model we mentioned earlier.

On the other hand, if no serious trauma occurs within the “Teresa” relationship model, the need of people living in psychological complexes to constantly help others and assert themselves in this way will not lose its relevance. Can a love affair between a man and a woman happen within the “Teresa” relationship model? Yes — because if someone appears before “Teresa” who adores who she is, this can lead to building a shared life with him. In relationships built this way, the bearer of the “Teresa” mindset, whether man or woman, will need confirmation of her self-sacrifice.

The development of a mindset in this direction makes it possible to see how people who are not especially beautiful outwardly love and are loved. At this point, bearers of the “Teresa” relationship model accept the possibility of preserving moral norms without giving up love relationships, and of asserting themselves in society as worthy individuals. Any “Teresa” experiencing frustration must choose one of two paths. Either she withdraws into deep depression, or, as her horizons widen, she comes to know and accept herself and her desires. Those who remain in the depressive cycle, of course, can be helped to move in the right direction with psychotherapy.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Teresa” model — service to society, the search for recognition through good deeds, compensation for personal complexes.

Mother Teresa (Albania/India, 20th century).

Founder of a missionary movement, she devoted her life to serving the poor in Calcutta.

How the model showed itself: Her life became the gold standard of self-sacrifice in the public mind. Yet in the context of the model it is important to note that her need to serve was so absolute that it entirely replaced personal life. She sought recognition through suffering and service, which matches the archetype of compensation through good deeds. Her image shows how a lofty mission can become a way of hiding an inner need to be loved simply for who you are.

Florence Nightingale (Great Britain, 19th century).

Founder of modern nursing, nicknamed “The Lady with the Lamp.”

How the model showed itself: She gave up a traditional family life to serve the wounded. Her work became a way of fulfilling the need to be needed and significant, compensating for personal limitations through public good and moral authority. Her self-sacrifice became legend — but the price of that legend was personal happiness.

Princess Diana (Great Britain, 20th century).

Member of the royal family, actively involved in charity (the fight against AIDS and against landmines).

How the model showed itself: Her charity is often seen as a search for love and understanding, of which her marriage had left her starved. She used helping those in need as a way of communicating with the world and receiving an emotional response — typical of the neurotic “Teresa” seeking confirmation of her worth through service.

Jane Addams (USA, 19th–20th centuries).

Social reformer, founder of the settlement movement (Hull House).

How the model showed itself: She devoted her life to helping immigrants and the poor. Her work was a way of fulfilling a sense of social responsibility, but also a way of finding her place in the world through service to others — compensating for her personal limitations and finding her footing in public good.

Sonya Marmeladova (literary archetype, F. Dostoevsky).

The heroine of Crime and Punishment, sacrificing herself for her family.

How the model showed itself: A perfect literary example. She sells herself (at first) to feed her family, and later becomes Raskolnikov’s spiritual guide. Her personality is entirely dissolved in service to others, which strips her of any right to her own happiness in the conventional sense — but gives her moral superiority and a sense of being needed, both characteristic of the “Teresa.”

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

Depending on the context, a person may run into ingratitude or rebellion.

When self-sacrifice stops bringing the expected love, a crisis sets in.

The depressive exit: The person realizes: “I gave everything, and still they don’t love me.” The “Teresa” withdraws into herself and starts complaining about how ungrateful the world is. She keeps on helping, but now with a sense of resentment that poisons every relationship. This is the road to burnout and psychosomatic illness. She stays trapped in the victim cycle, waiting for a savior who never comes.

The aggressive exit: The person grows angry at her own “saintliness.” “Being good doesn’t pay!” The “Teresa” starts displaying the opposite behavior: she may allow herself luxury, selfishness, or sexual liberation. This is a move toward the Puttana model (rebellion against morality). And if she can come to see the true value of helping without expecting a reward, a transition to the Phoenix becomes possible.

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “TERESA”

Six months had passed since Maria walked into the beauty salon and walked out a different person. The makeup hid her exhaustion, but not her emptiness. So she decided to try becoming “good” — not for Omar, not for her admirers, but for the world. She signed up as a volunteer at a charity foundation.

The first three months were pure euphoria. She handed out food, listened to strangers’ stories, and felt needed. It seemed to her that she was being cleansed: even the grime under her fingernails after a day of cleaning felt like a mark of humility. She arrived at the foundation before everyone else and left after everyone else, thinking with relief that she no longer had to please anyone: it was enough to be useful. She wore plain clothes, gave up makeup, and in the mirror now saw not a face but a function.

One day Edgar, who worked with her at the foundation, offered her warm words of thanks — the very ones she had been waiting so long to hear. Maria smiled, and warmth spread through her chest. This was the confirmation she had been missing.

“I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do,” she replied.

Edgar let his gaze linger on her a moment too long, and she fancied she saw something more in it than gratitude. Maria froze, and something inside her gave a lurch. Hope.

Another year went by, and Maria became indispensable: she knew every person under their care and every one of their troubles. Edgar often stayed late with her, and they drank tea in the foundation’s kitchen, where the smell of cheap tea leaves mingled with the smell of bleach. Edgar talked about the people they helped, about the foundation’s plans, about how hard it could be to find money for the bare essentials, and she listened, catching every word like warmth from a stove. Maria felt needed — but she was waiting for more. She waited for the day he would see in her a woman, and not just a volunteer.

One evening, while rain drummed on the roof, Edgar took her by the shoulders and said, with sincere warmth:

“Maria, you’re like a mother to all of us.”

The word “mother” landed like a sentence. Not “woman,” not “beloved.” Mother. A function.

The thoughts crashed down on her, sudden and painful: “Mother. Not a woman. Not beloved. I’ve become a function again. I thought kindness could buy love, but all I bought was respect. And respect is cold currency. It doesn’t keep you warm at night.”

This is precisely the crisis of the Teresa model I spoke about in this chapter: she is loved not as a woman but as a symbol of kindness, and she — without ever realizing it — has painted herself into the corner of saintliness.

Maria looked down at her hands. They had grown rough from work. She remembered her nails from the Courtesan era — polish, care, almost an art form. Now her hands were simply a tool.

Edgar asked whether she had anyone in her life besides the foundation and its people. It took her a moment to answer:

“I have all of you. I have my work.”

He left, and she was alone in the kitchen. The tea went cold. Maria sat staring into the dark window, where a woman in a plain cardigan, no makeup, tired eyes, looked back at her. She was a “saint.” And she was alone.

She lay sleepless all night, remembering Omar and her mistakes, thinking that she had changed her way of life but had only changed the scenery. “I’m always selling — first the body, now the soul,” she thought. “Either way, it’s a transaction. I give in order to receive. I serve so that I’ll be loved.”

The next morning she showed up at the foundation, but something in her had already shifted. When yet another charge began to whine and demand help, Maria felt not compassion but irritation. “Why should I have to save you?” flashed through her head. “And who’s going to save me?”

She glanced at the mirror in the hallway, and for the first time in a year she wanted to put on lipstick — not for Edgar, but for herself. She realized her sainthood had become a cage, and if she didn’t get out of it, she would suffocate. Or turn bitter. Inside her, a rebellion was coming to a boil — still quiet, but real.

She picked up her phone and dialed the number of a beauty salon.

“I’d like to book an appointment. For tomorrow. Yes, the full treatment. And makeup.”

The voice on the other end sounded surprised, but Maria had already hung up. She stepped outside. The air was salty and cold, and she breathed it in deep. Teresa’s Model had given her a breather, but it hadn’t given her an answer. She needed something third — a place where she could be both kind and alive. Not a saint. Not a sinner. Just a human being.

10 / 22

Chapter 8. The relationship model · “INFANTA”

The eternal child — A trap with no way out.

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The name of the model comes from the title “Infanta,” which in fourteenth-century Spain was given to all of the king’s children except the direct heir to the throne. But in its deeper, etymological sense, going back to the Latin word Infans, it means “child” or “one who cannot speak.” In modern aviation, for instance, the term is used for children under two, who don’t occupy their own seat and fly on a parent’s lap, entirely dependent on them.

If you follow the logic of psychoanalysis, this is a fixation at an early stage of development. In our methodology, the “Infanta” is a relationship model in which an adult person, despite their age and outward independence, retains a childlike way of thinking. This is the archetype of someone who, in relationships, demands that their needs be met and that they be looked after in a “parent-child” style, shifting responsibility for their own life onto another person’s shoulders.

The roots of the image go back to family dynamics. In the terminology of our methodology, the “Infanta” means placing safety and care above independence and growing up. It is a model in which a person consciously or unconsciously gives up the right to make mistakes, preferring to be controlled but protected.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the “Infanta” state of mind often broadcast thoughts that betray their hidden need to be taken care of. Here are three core beliefs typical of this model, sounding like mantras in their inner dialogue:

“Everyone absolutely must have someone to lean on.” (The belief that independence is impossible, or deadly dangerous.)

“I can do anything — it’s not my fault anyway.” (Shifting responsibility for mistakes onto circumstances, fate, or other people.)

“Decide for me, I don’t know what’s best.” (Refusing to make decisions even in everyday matters, searching for an external impulse to act.)

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

“I can’t choose for myself.” Past a certain age, every adult should be capable of making decisions on their own. This is the axiom of maturity. And yet there are people who struggle with it even when choosing what to wear. They absolutely need someone to tell them which color to go with, because they rely on an external impulse for any action. Without a command from the outside, their engine of will stalls.

What cognitive distortions show up in the minds of those with immature thinking? Every time they need someone else’s help, such people cannot make decisions that matter for their own lives, explaining this away with all sorts of excuses and never leaving the victim position. They constantly need an adviser who will point the way, even in the most ordinary matters.

The main problem of infantilism is symbiotic relationships. The source of such relationships lies in childhood. Anxious parents, meddling in their child’s every affair, get in the way of the child’s choices and control their every step. They constantly frighten them with possible mistakes and criticize. As a result, an attitude takes root in the child’s mind: “I can’t manage,” which gradually leads to a lack of self-confidence. Thus the part of the Ego responsible for professional skills and independence lags behind in its development.

Infantilism is a psychological state that shows itself in a refusal to make decisions, a refusal to take responsibility, and an unwillingness to achieve necessary results, in which a person demonstrates a childlike pattern of behavior. It is a state in which a person places themselves in a position of dependence on others. With this kind of thinking, a person can hold any role, but they will clear every step they take with their “guardian.” They may frequently change their position — following, of course, special instructions from the outside.

The term “infantilism” in psychology goes back to the same Latin root (infans, “child”) as the title of the medieval Spanish princes. Who is an infante? At the beginning of the fourteenth century, in the Spanish kingdoms, only the direct heirs to the throne were called princes; the other children received the title of infante. Translated, infante means “infant.”

The child’s pattern of behavior is cited as an example in the theories of various specialists. For example, in Eric Berne’s Transactional Analysis, the crossing of EGO states (Child, Parent, Adult) is analyzed with certain results. Unlike Ego states, the “Infanta” model, once it has become fixed in the mind as a cognitive distortion, will manifest as a complex for a lifetime, in any situation. Regardless of roles and situations, the Infanta will rely on the choices of others. Even a person of high intelligence, a talented artist or writer, can suffer from the Infanta complex. They may achieve success in their work, but in some other sphere they will seek sublimation, constantly trying to test themselves in different places.

How does infantilism develop? Having been under their parents’ care their whole lives, they need parental advice in every matter and act the way their parents want. When they come of age, the choice of a job, starting a family — all of this comes down to emotionally attached parents or to other people in the parental role. In the working world, they depend on the opinions of colleagues, agreeing with their every thought. They need advice even on the smallest daily matters: whether to go on break, whether to attend an event, what to wear, when to come back. Such people are often called “easily influenced.”

You can openly observe the surrender of one’s own will and choice in many spheres of life. In family life, the “Infantas” — known as “mama’s boys” or “daddy’s girls” — run into a whole set of difficulties. Under the label of “living by their parents’ word,” they go through countless conflicts. And this attachment doesn’t have to be between mother and child. If an Infanta builds a family with someone prone to overprotection and control, sooner or later they will fall into emotional or material dependence on their spouse. Two Infantas will never get along under one roof. To resolve their internal family disputes, third parties will inevitably step in. Even at their own wedding, they will act on the opinions of the people around them. If those around them say “yes” to the question “should you start a family with this person?”, they will summon their strength and answer “yes.” But if family life doesn’t turn out the way they hoped, they will blame not their own unlucky choice — they will blame the advice of others. The main problem of people who refuse to take responsibility on themselves is that it’s hard for them to analyze a problem situation objectively. Because the Infanta is still a child: they bear no responsibility for their actions, and so they never take responsibility on themselves. They look for the causes of their problems not in themselves but in others. That’s why the Infanta is always dissatisfied and complains about everyone.

They oscillate between a feeling of admiration and one of regret. Regret is their life story. From the very start, they make decisions not on the basis of their own needs, but according to the subjective opinions of others — or for the sake of pleasing someone.

You will often meet people who, out of fear of making a mistake, cannot take responsibility on themselves. But that doesn’t mean everyone who acts this way is building the “Infanta” model. To show the difference, here is a small example: if a person suffers from uncertainty in any given situation and explains it as a fear of making a mistake, that’s simply a problem being lived through in the moment. In this case, if alternative paths and choices are open to the person, an explanation is given — and sooner or later the problem will find its solution. But when it comes to the “Infanta” model, what is expected is not people’s opinions, but a direct directive toward a solution — taken as an expected need.

People who build relationships on the “Infanta” model can, of course, be wonderful parents or good professionals, but they never grow into interesting, vivid personalities. Suppose, for example, a young Infanta marries a successful businessman. She will always listen to him and act the way he wants. To satisfy her husband, she will never go against his word and will run every single step by him. The authoritarian male image asserts itself through the Infanta, which is why he will spot his victim from afar. An “obedient” wife can be a perfect choice for such a needy man. From this angle, it’s a very successful match. For the Infanta, too, starting a family with someone resembling a decisive Father is a big win. But no matter how much she satisfies her husband, as a woman she will be boring to talk to and spend time with — she will wear him out. In that case, the man, gradually growing bored with his wife, will start spending more time with his friends. Because with no shared interests or desires between them, a deep spiritual chasm can open up. The “Child” and the “Adult” will find no activity that interests them both, because their interests are simply different.

But boring as this may be, children are usually never abandoned — and so it’s hard to abandon an Infanta, too. The Infanta is always inclined to be under someone’s care. Even if the spouse cheats, even if he stays out having fun with friends until morning, the Infanta in this relationship model will not give him up. No matter how severe the conflicts, no one leaves the Infanta. With the thought “What would he do without me? I feel sorry for him, I can’t leave him,” they always entangle themselves in these drawn-out relationships. It’s as if, through these thoughts, they are voicing their own fears on behalf of the other side. In their world, the Infanta, trying to seem weak and helpless, wants to awaken compassion in everyone. Those around them are forced to treat them like a child — and, when necessary, to scold them. The Infanta, in turn, can take offense and sulk at every word. And yet the “sulky child’s heart” will never be able to build a relationship with someone weaker than itself. It absolutely needs someone who knows how to give orders. For example, faced with the ordinary question “What should I wear?”, the answer “I don’t know” can spark a new fight. Two children cannot stay together on their own; there must be someone to take them under their wing. And so the Infanta, stuck in the position of the victim for life, will feel helpless in any relationship.

People who have emotionally separated from a parent either too early or too late cannot break the emotional bond. Many of them may fall into the “Infanta” model. Here we must note one thing for sure: emotional bonds do not depend on whether the person lives with the parent or apart from them. It can happen that a person lives in another country, apart from the parent, and yet ends up dependent on the parent’s moods from a distance. In many cases, this problem leads not to improvement but to conflict in the relationship with the parent. At some point, rebellious behavior, the separation itself, can create a serious problem in the relationship between parent and child. But the childlike way of thinking will keep showing up in their relationships. And if such people land in suitable conditions, they will develop the “Infanta” model.

At the same time, an Infanta can create long-lasting relationships even without love — these relationships will be built on responsibility. Because a person who agrees to a relationship with them must have an excessive sense of responsibility to accept such behavior without growing resentful. The other side, in this case, is often a carrier of the “Cinderella” model.

In this case, even if the sexual relationship is unsatisfying, unlike other models, the couple does not break up — because the foundation is the emotional bond of a parent-and-child relationship — and can stay together for a long time. Since the Infanta’s bond with the caretaker is not based on sexual desire, different people can take on this role — a parent, a sister, a brother, a grandmother, a grandfather, a neighbor, or a colleague — each person, at different periods of life, can replace the others by taking the Infanta under their wing. Subconsciously, the Infanta complains about their caretaker in front of strangers, as a form of insurance, and, watching their emotional reactions, decides whether they could become a caretaker in the future.

Since the “Infanta” model is rooted in the primitiveness of the personality, it is the most widespread relationship model of all. The “Infanta” model is the only model that, as it develops, can transform into every other relationship model — but no other relationship model can scale back down and return to being an Infanta. In other words, once a child has grown up, they do not shrink back.

But how can an “Infanta” grow? If one day the Infanta realizes that all their discontent and complaints trace back to themselves, they will go through a deep depression. This is precisely why psychological defense mechanisms block the acceptance of that thought. People with this mindset usually don’t even turn to professionals. For example, if a water pipe bursts at home, the Infanta doesn’t call a plumber — they go to the person who looks after them to solve the problem. Naturally, because of their difficulties with communication, they won’t reach out to a psychologist themselves either; they wait for a “Parent” to solve the problem for them. This way of thinking keeps the “Infanta” model fixed as the foundation of their lifestyle for a long time.

The depressive phase: in what situations does the Infanta experience a severe depression?

When the caretaker (anyone in the role of the Parent) dies suddenly.

When the caretaker abruptly abandons the Infanta at the demand of another beloved.

When the caretaker, because of health problems, can no longer give care — and needs care themselves.

When the caretaker demands excessive care in return for the care they give, or when there is sexual abuse or cruelty.

In such situations, depending on whether the Infanta experiences depression or anger, and on where and in what they see a way out, they make a defining decision. It is this decision that reflects a shift in moral values. For example, they repeat a question in their mind over and over: “What is the most important thing in life?” Since the need for gratification is maximal and professional skills are minimal, in most cases this decision takes an aggressive shape, and they come to consider any need more important, and worth satisfying. If they decide that material need is the most important value, they think “If I have money, I have everything” — and automatically build the “Lilith” model in their imagination. If they lost a caretaker over sexual desire, they think “People will do anything for sexual desire” — and bring the “Mistress” model to life in their thinking. Even if they have an unusual talent in this area, they will build relationships with future lovers on the “Courtesan” model.

In some cases, an Infanta going through a deep depression, if they turn their “drama” into a public story and manage to put their “tragedy” on the agenda of social media and the press, can gather a crowd of followers and fans around themselves, presenting themselves as “a victim of injustice,” and can learn to satisfy their needs by receiving material help and gifts from many people. If they keep up this venture, then — without bringing society any benefit and without possessing any talent — they will become one of society’s well-known figures and, using their fame, will be able to tap into various streams of income. In these cases, they are no longer an Infanta: they are building relationships on the “Geisha” model. In exactly the same way, if an Infanta suffering from material and moral dependence gathers around themselves other people who have fallen into the same situation and tries to solve the problems of this social stratum together, they will be able to formalize their work in the future as a non-governmental organization. Even after that, they may decide to dedicate their life to helping people with the same problem. In that case, they are no longer an Infanta — they are a “Teresa.”

However, in most cases, the Infanta, emerging from the depressive phase through change, goes on building relationships with people on the closer-to-home “Beggar” model.

At this stage of their life, if they turn to a specialist, they will be able to analyze their thinking and relationship models with the help of psychotherapy. In the course of psychotherapy, if they manage to realize that every single time a problem came up, they leaned on other people — they will get a chance to escape this relationship trap. They will see clearly that even when there was someone in their previous relationships who could make decisions for them, they immediately tried to surrender their will to that person. If the “Infanta” realizes this, they will want to let go of such classic psychological complexes.

Once he finds answers to the questions — “Who am I? What am I hiding? Which feelings am I running from? What am I afraid to show? Which of my qualities were my parents never supposed to know?” — he will understand that his silence originally stemmed from a fear of punishment. It is at this very moment that a new way of thinking begins to take shape. Now, paying more attention to his own feelings, he will start doing the opposite — trying to open up. In real life, he will speak aloud the things he was once ashamed of, try saying “no” when he doesn’t want something, and see the changes in his new behavior that come with these new thoughts. If someone laughs during a conversation, he will be able to handle the situation as it comes, instead of arguing or taking offense. He will begin to enjoy this pattern of behavior, and escaping his dependent position in society will give him true freedom of thought. He will act not out of compulsion, but out of desire.

After this stage, we can observe the Infanta taking on responsibility, seeing the changes in his life and the difference in his behavior. Growing as a person, he may decide to spend his life not with someone who will make decisions for him and satisfy his needs, but with someone to his liking. Healthy, mutual, loving relationships will then take center stage on his agenda.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Infanta” model — the inability to make decisions, the search for a caretaker, a childlike stance in adulthood.

Ilya Oblomov (literary archetype, I. Goncharov).

The hero of the novel Oblomov, a nobleman who cannot get off his couch and take the reins of his own life into his hands.

How the model shows up: A classic example of infantilism. He delegates everything to his servant Zakhar, dreams of an ideal, but takes no steps toward it. His life is a waiting game — for someone else (Stolz, Olga) to come along and arrange his happiness for him. He fears responsibility and change, preferring safe stagnation.

Tsar Nicholas II (Russia, 19th–20th centuries).

The last Emperor of All Russia, whose reign was marked by indecisiveness and the influence of his inner circle.

How the model shows up: A historical example of a man at the summit of power who was often unable to make independent political decisions, relying instead on the advice of his ministers, his wife, or Rasputin. His diaries and letters reveal a kind man, but one unprepared to bear the burden of single-handedly answering for the fate of his country — a man searching for support outside himself.

Peter Pan (literary archetype, J. Barrie).

The boy who refused to grow up and flew away to Neverland.

How the model shows up: A symbolic archetype of the Infanta. He lives in a world of games, where no one has to answer for consequences. He needs “mothers” (Wendy) to look after him, tell him stories, and mend his clothes — but he himself is not ready for a relationship between equal adults.

Britney Spears (USA, 21st century) — the period of conservatorship.

A pop star who lived for more than a decade under the legal conservatorship of her father.

How the model shows up: Despite worldwide success and money, she was deprived of the right to make decisions about her own life, finances, and even health. This demonstrates how an outwardly successful person can remain in the Infanta position if, inwardly, they delegate the right to their own life to another person (even through a legal structure).

Forrest Gump (literary/cinematic archetype, W. Groom).

A simple man who drifts along the current of life, following the advice of his mother and his friends.

How the model shows up: Although his story is told as a positive one, from the standpoint of the relationship model he never forms goals of his own. His successes are the result of following instructions (“Run, Forrest, run”) and of luck — not of conscious choice and strategy. He remains an “eternal child” in a world of adult decisions.

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

A person may be confronted with the loss of the caretaker — or with rebellion.

When the caretaking structure collapses (the death, the departure, the illness of the caretaker), a crisis sets in.

The depressive exit: The person realizes: “I can’t live on my own.” The Infanta falls into panic, feels utterly helpless. He may start hunting for a new caretaker at any price, even the price of humiliation (sliding into the Beggar model). Or, if he has some resources, he may monetize his helplessness, gathering support around his own “tragedy” (moving into the Geisha or Teresa model, if he starts helping others like himself).

The aggressive exit: The person is angry at the caretaker for abandoning them. “Why didn’t you take care of me?!” The Infanta may begin demanding attention aggressively, manipulating the other person’s guilt. Depending on which value they pick for survival, they may move into the Lilith model (money as safety),

the Mistress model (sex as safety) or the Courtesan model (charm as a tool). If they recognize the problem and start therapy, the path to growing up and moving on to the Phoenix becomes possible.

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “INFANTA”

A month had passed since Maria rented the cheap apartment. The keys in her pocket felt heavy as lead. The freedom she had dreamed of back in the Teresa model turned out to be not a bird but a stone. Who would tell her what to do next? Where to go? How to pay the rent?

It was in this state that she met Leon. He was older, self-assured, spoke clearly and loudly, and at once took everything into his own hands: “I’ll decide where we live. I’ll decide what you do.” Maria let out a breath. Beside him she didn’t have to think about bills, or work, or tomorrow — he thought about everything. She no longer had to choose, and that relief was like a hot bath after the street cold.

For the first three months she felt safe. Leon chose the restaurants, the movies, even her clothes. “Blue will suit you,” he would say, and she bought blue. “You shouldn’t be seeing that friend,” he would say, and she stopped calling her. Maria felt protected, like a child hiding behind a parent, and little by little she stopped thinking for herself. Why bother, when he was there?

That is how the Infanta model shows itself: a person hands another the right to decide, and in return receives the peace of a child for whom the grown-ups have already decided everything.

One evening Leon was, as usual, thinking out loud about what they would do next, and suddenly stopped mid-sentence. He looked at her closely.

“And what do you want?”

Maria froze: the question hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine. She wanted to say “I don’t know,” but she remembered her diary notes, remembered that feeling of the golden cage. Was she in a cage again?

Inside her a quiet but insistent voice spoke up: “I’m handing someone else the right to my own life again. I’m behaving like a child. It’s comfortable when they decide for me. But where am I in all this? If he leaves, what will I become? An empty space.”

Leon frowned. He felt awkward — what he needed was an obedient shadow, not a partner.

“You’re being strange today. Fine, we’ll decide it.”

But Maria was no longer listening to him. She looked at her hands, which had trembled not long ago at the mere thought of having to decide anything herself, and saw that now they were calm. She understood that her safety had been bought at the price of her own Self.

That evening she didn’t wait to see where he would take her out to dinner. She called a taxi herself, picked the café herself, and paid the bill herself. When the waitress brought the menu, Maria decided for herself, for the first time in three months, what she would eat, and that simple decision cost her as much effort as if she were learning to walk all over again. These were small steps — but they were her steps.

When she came back, Leon was already asleep. Maria sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him. He was strong, but she no longer wanted to be weak beside him. She realized that in this position she had given herself a breather, but had not let herself grow. She was like a plant that had been transplanted from a small pot into a big one, yet was still kept in a greenhouse.

The next morning she packed her things. Leon woke up and saw the suitcase.

“Where are you going? Up to your old tricks again?”

Maria didn’t answer — she was buckling the suitcase. Then he added:

“You won’t manage on your own.”

“Maybe not. But I want to try.”

She walked out of the house. The air was fresh, and in her pocket lay the key to a new apartment she had rented herself — cheap, small, but hers. She breathed in deeply. The Infanta model was behind her now, like a shed skin. She was afraid, but for the first time in a long while this fear belonged to her alone. And that was the beginning of real growing up.

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Chapter 9. The relationship model · “CINDERELLA”

The Shadow of Guilt — The Trap of Servitude.

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The model takes its name from the fairy-tale heroine Cinderella (French: Cendrillon), a girl raised in harsh conditions, forced to serve her stepmother and stepsisters in order to earn the right to happiness. Yet in the context of our method, “Cinderella” is not a victim of circumstances but a carrier of a deep guilt complex.

If we follow the logic of psychoanalysis, this is an introjection of parental expectations. A person becomes convinced that love must be earned through suffering and service. This is a psychological model in which altruism becomes the currency used to buy safety and acceptance. In the terminology of the method, “Cinderella” is a model in which a person fears being rejected the moment they stop being useful.

The roots of this image reach back into family dynamics. In Greek mythology, echoes of it can be seen in the figure of Hephaestus — the blacksmith god who, despite his lameness, served others in order to be accepted on Olympus. Across all cultures we find the same stereotype: a person who takes responsibility for other people’s emotions, believing those emotions are their own fault.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the “Cinderella” state of mind often broadcast thoughts that become their life’s credo. Here are the three core beliefs typical of this model:

“If I don’t help, who will?” (A belief in one’s own indispensability through suffering.)

“Without me, they’ll be lost.” (A fear that those around her won’t survive without her sacrifices.)

“I have to earn the right to be loved.” (A belief that love is a reward for service, not a gift.)

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

“Their pain is my fault.” At the heart of the “Cinderella” model lies a guilt complex whose roots often reach back into childhood. It is a psychological debt to one’s parents, formed at an early age. It is as if a person spends a lifetime trying to atone for a crime they never committed, punishing themselves through service. “As if life were one long penance,” she thinks. And so, to win the title of “obedient child” or “good person,” she takes responsibility for the feelings of others and considers herself guilty of any problem her loved ones face.

In cognitive therapy terms, this is personalization. “I should have prevented it,” “I should have known,” “I felt it would happen” — even for decisions made by other people. This complex takes shape when parents frequently complain to a child about their fate, their lot in life. For example, if a parent criticizes a child without grounds, the child develops insecurity and an inferiority complex. But if a parent constantly broadcasts their own suffering, the child — not knowing how to solve the parent’s problem — responds with empathy and lives through the mother’s emotions alongside her.

If such parental behavior becomes chronic, the child develops a lasting habit: feeling helpless and guilty for being unable to ease the parent’s suffering. To avoid facing the same scenes later on, the child tries to prevent them in advance. So whenever something happens, the child — without waiting for the parent’s emotional reaction — immediately takes responsibility on themselves, as if to lessen the parent’s “suffering.” This is how the guilt complex forms in childhood, and in adulthood the person constantly feels responsible for everything happening around them.

The mechanism of guilt and conflict. Another motive underlying the guilt complex is frequently witnessing scenes of conflict between parents. During the period when values are forming, a child feels small and helpless in the face of threat. Gripped by fear, they try, in their own world, to prevent the conflict in all sorts of ways. Crying, screaming, withdrawing into themselves — none of these behaviors works, and thoughts take root in the child: “There’s nothing I can do,” “I can’t protect Mom.”

To avoid becoming the cause of their parents’ quarrels, they try not to make mistakes. What’s more, if a parent plants in the child’s mind thoughts like “I’m staying together for your sake,” “I’m exhausted, I’ll leave and take you with me,” this deepens the feeling of guilt even further. In the child’s logic: “They fight because of me, so I have to do something to make it stop.” And every time, their attempts to reconcile them end in disappointment. With their many attempts, they seem to be trying to bring them together and keep them that way.

Thus, in many societies, the self-sacrificing parent — seen as a positive figure, giving up many of life’s opportunities under the banner of “I am sacrificing myself” — cultivates in children feelings of guilt, submission, and rescuing. This is precisely why the guilt complex is one of the most widespread psychological complexes in the world. The number of people falling into depression as a result of conflicts over this issue exceeds 300 million worldwide and grows with every passing day. Every year more than 700 thousand people die by suicide because of depression — yet during the periods when they consider themselves healthy, these people display the Cinderella model in their relationships.

Behavior in relationships. In many cases, the children of cold and insufficiently loving parents experience these same feelings. It seems to the child that they aren’t good enough to deserve love. As if, to attract attention and receive care, they must do everything they possibly can. They must perform some good deed worthy of their parents’ praise, so that it is for this very work that they win their parents’ love.

People suffering from this complex need, in adult relationships, proof that they are worthy of love. They cannot believe a declaration like: “I love you simply for who you are.” If they are told: “I love you for your character, for your beauty,” it will seem strange to them. Winning this love, satisfying their partner, doing things for them becomes duty number one.

If we recall the fairy-tale Cinderella, we will see that in the story she pays no attention to her appearance. In reality, she can be well-groomed and attractive at the same time. But if she believes this is not enough to be loved, she will not take compliments on her looks seriously, and at the same time she will keep thinking that what she has done for this person is not enough. As a result, Cinderella truly does not feel loved, constantly complaining about loneliness and being unloved.

The transaction of care. If, in a relationship, what matters is satisfying the partner in every possible way and winning love, then in this relationship model the main indicator is precisely guilt. Even when she meets a very good and kind person, Cinderella will try to take on more of the burden than necessary. At work, to satisfy management, she will stay after hours and selflessly agree to take on extra duties.

Of course, for those around her, Cinderella is very convenient. Many people can take advantage of her. For example, even in schools and workplaces, if you watch parents who put themselves forward for organizational work and take on a great deal of hard work with no material gain whatsoever, it becomes clear that emotional interests lie at the heart of this relationship model. Sometimes the promotion of such activity in any sphere, even in the workplace, may be mistaken for a material interest. But in reality, very often such people do everything they can for one reason only: to win the goodwill of others and their love.

For example, when preparing for a trip, an organizer with this approach makes lists, contacts every single person, collects money kopeck by kopeck, does the calculations, and then often stresses: “Do you think I need this? I do this fussy, thankless work for you.” If the question follows: “Why for us, exactly?”, they will not be able to find an answer, because they themselves do not know. Behind this inner emotional struggle lie the basic motives, of which they themselves have no concept. If everyone unequivocally expresses gratitude and appreciation, this will satisfy the Cinderella completely.

Suppose that on the eve of the New Year, an idea comes up at school to put on a celebration for the children. And not a single parent wants to take on the organizing work. Cinderella begins to complain, not hiding her astonishment: “How can you behave like this, really? You want to leave the children without Father Frost, without a celebration?” If in this case no one steps forward, she will still try to do something. Because even if the children end up without a celebration here, she will feel guilty at the thought that “I could at least have organized it, and the children would have had fun” — such thoughts will give her no peace.

Another example: at work, one of the colleagues cooks food not only for herself but for the whole team at lunchtime, and perhaps spends her entire salary on just such things. In return, she sees an attitude of: “We can’t do without you,” “What would we do without you, really?” This turns into a constant need, like genuine spiritual nourishment. Later, once this behavior has become a habit, those around her will take it as a matter of course. In this situation, not receiving the emotional response she hopes for, Cinderella will feel guilty out of a sense of responsibility. As if the food she cooked was not to anyone’s taste and the people were left hungry. The next time, she will try all sorts of ways to do even more. Thus she falls into the trap of her own thinking, and the only way out of this “no-way-out” situation is to work together with a professional specialist. Otherwise, ignoring the root of what she has lived through, after a certain age these people complain about their fate and lot, about the injustice of people toward them. Such people, endlessly repeating these complaints, are like a person drowning in a swamp, trapped in the Cinderella relationship model, forever praying for help.

Crisis and Transitions. What has to happen for the bearers of the Cinderella relationship model not to fall into such a trap? If someone with the “Beggar” mindset meets such a person, it is precisely for this reason that a long-lasting toxic relationship cannot be brought to an end. As a result of mutual frustration — that is, when in each of these neurotic relationships both sides satisfy their unhealthy needs in just this form — the painful relationship seems to become a “spiritual need” for both of them.

What has to happen for Cinderella not to fall into such a snare? If the “Beggar” keeps exploiting Cinderella, sooner or later, when he can no longer live up to her expectations of love, the charge between them will build, and Cinderella’s cup of patience will overflow. If the “Beggar” one day says: “And what have you ever done for me, really?”, Cinderella’s nightmare will reach its peak. At that moment, the realization that her efforts were futile and the search for the cause within herself can plunge the bearer of the Cinderella model into a depressive state.

Depressive phase. Cinderella in depression. If this state becomes a permanent chronic condition, it will of course be difficult to detect the cognitive distortion in her thinking. Because she has grown used to this state and cannot imagine that things could ever be any different. But one day the feeling of being unneeded may make Cinderella stop and think, giving rise to certain fears about leaving this role. It is precisely this nightmare that can push her out of her comfort zone and become the source of a new way of thinking.

Having never received a worthy appraisal from people, Cinderella, at the next stage, may think like Lilith: “Everything can be bought with money,” and after that she may begin building relationships in the Lilith style. In this case she does not develop as a person; on the contrary, she regresses spiritually — before, she always sacrificed herself to be useful to others and could not spare any time for herself. She could neither grow as a person nor build up her professional skills. Because the perpetual excuse “I have too much work, no time for that” kept pulling her away. Once she switches to the Lilith model, she starts trading those same skills for money. Acquiring neither new skills nor high spiritual values. As a result, what she used to do for gratitude and love, she now does for money. As if she were taking revenge on people for seeing nothing in return.

Aggressive phase. It is very rare for Cinderella to fall into the aggressive phase. Because people prone to such a relationship model are more inclined to blame themselves. Guilt is a direct road to depression. Unable to demand anything for herself, even though she always puts her own wishes last, she can make fierce demands when it comes to getting help for others. Someone may violate her rights, manage to subdue her, and accuse her for a long stretch of time — but if anyone allows themselves even the slightest remark toward her loved ones, the ones under her care, that person may be met with Cinderella’s great wrath.

Cinderella, who always considers herself indebted to others, cannot express the aggression inside her, because she is afraid of harming the other side. But when she sees injustice toward the people under her care — since it is now the other person who is at fault — she can direct all the aggression she has been suppressing for years, with full force, at that person.

But if, in the course of her habit of blaming herself, she experiences a new trauma — for example, because of her helplessness her loved ones put pressure on her — Cinderella may rebel. In this case, finding herself “cornered,” she may try to behave aggressively and make her charity, or the injustice she has faced, public. At this point her thinking changes — “You didn’t know my worth; I’ll go where they do.” Now Cinderella no longer wants to help anyone, and so her cognitive level will enter a new stage. At this time she will be ready to sign on to bigger undertakings in order to do something greater. Now the inner “screaming individual” will want to prove to everyone that she is a person society needs. And here — a new competence takes shape for the Teresa relationship model.

There is, however, another path of the aggressive phase, one that leads to the Beggar model. When the cup of patience overflows, Cinderella may decide: “I have given so much; now let them serve me.” She begins to feel that the world owes her. This feeling, as a right to receive benefits, becomes the bridge to the next model.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Cinderella” model — service out of guilt, the inability to say “no,” the search for love through sacrifice.

Penelope (Mythological archetype, Homer).

The wife of Odysseus, who waited twenty years for his return, refusing all her suitors.

Manifestation of the model: A symbol of fidelity and duty. She sacrificed her youth and the chance to build her own happiness to wait for her husband, feeling responsibility for his home and his son. Her service was dictated by a sense of obligation and guilt toward her family, should she break her vow.

Katerina Ivanovna (Literary archetype, F. Dostoevsky).

The heroine of the novel Crime and Punishment, a widow suffering for her family.

Manifestation of the model: She feels guilty for the calamity that befell her children, sacrifices her health for them, and constantly reproaches herself and her husband (posthumously) for their fate. Her service is steeped in pain and the sense that she must atone for the sins of her loved ones with her own suffering.

Dorothea Brooke (Literary archetype, G. Eliot).

The heroine of the novel Middlemarch, who married an elderly scholar.

Manifestation of the model: She suppressed her personal desires and aspirations in order to serve her husband’s work, considering it her highest duty. Her life became an example of how a sense of obligation and the desire to be useful can eclipse one’s own personality and happiness.

The Wives of the Decembrists (Historical archetype, Russia, 19th century).

Women who followed their husbands into Siberian exile, giving up their privileges.

Manifestation of the model: Although this is an act of love, in the context of the model it stands as an example of extreme service and self-sacrifice for the sake of duty and husband. They took upon themselves responsibility for the fate of their spouses, considering it their moral obligation, despite the personal losses and suffering it cost them.

Empress Alexandra Feodorovna (Russia, 19th–20th centuries).

The wife of Nicholas II, who worked as a nurse of mercy during the war.

Manifestation of the model: Despite her exalted position, she personally cared for the wounded, taking on a heavy physical and emotional burden. This service was dictated by a sense of duty and responsibility toward her country and its soldiers, which fits the archetype of self-sacrifice for others.

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

According to the context, a person may be met with ingratitude or rebellion.

When sacrifice fails to bring the expected love or gratitude, a crisis sets in.

The depressive exit: The person realizes: “I gave everything, and no one values me.” Cinderella withdraws into herself, feels useless. She may begin to believe that love can be bought (a shift toward Lilith’s model), selling her services instead of giving them freely. She regresses, ceasing to grow as a person, because “there’s no time for herself.”

The aggressive exit: The person rages against those who hurt her charges. Cinderella rarely gets angry on her own behalf, but she fiercely defends her “children” and loved ones. If the pressure becomes unbearable, she may revolt, making her sacrifice public (a shift toward Teresa’s model on a societal scale). Yet if she comes to feel that the world owes her for her suffering, she begins demanding care from others. That sense of the world being in her debt becomes a bridge to the Beggar model.

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “CINDERELLA”

Three months had passed since Maria rented her cheap apartment. The keys in her pocket no longer felt heavy — on the contrary, they had grown light, almost weightless. But freedom frightened her with its emptiness. In the silence of her own apartment, Maria heard only her own voice, and that voice whispered: “You must be useful. Otherwise, why are you here?”

She signed up as a volunteer at a shelter for the homeless — but not the way she had the first time, when she was chasing holiness. This time she was chasing the feeling of being needed. She scrubbed floors, handed out meals, washed clothes, and every time a homeless man nodded to her in thanks, something warm spilled inside her. It was a drug — better than likes on the internet, better than Leon’s submission.

And again, quietly and insistently, the inner voice spoke up: “Why can’t I say ‘no’? Am I afraid they’ll take offense? Afraid of becoming unneeded? I’m Cinderella again. I’m buying their love with my time.”

Six months went by, and Maria became indispensable — at the shelter, in the project, among her friends. Everyone knew: if you need something, ask Maria; she won’t say no. She arrived first and left last, and her phone kept ringing into the evenings: someone needed help with a move, someone needed a babysitter, someone simply needed to talk, and she refused no one. Her hands grew rough, shadows settled under her eyes, but she felt alive. Until she met him.

His name was Anton. He came to the shelter for help — tall, with intelligent eyes and empty pockets. There was such helplessness in his gaze that Maria’s heart clenched.

“I have nowhere to live,” he said quietly. “Just for one night.”

Maria looked at her keys — the keys to her own apartment.

“I have a couch,” she said. “Just for one night.”

The night stretched into a week, the week into a month. Anton didn’t look for a job: he said he was searching for himself. Maria worked for two. She brought him food, paid the bills, comforted him when he felt low, and felt like a rescuer — just as in childhood, when she made peace between her parents. Leaving in the mornings, she set out his breakfast; coming home, she found the dishes unwashed and him on the same couch, yet she never once reproached him: a reproach, it seemed to her, would make her a bad person.

Sometimes, alone, she asked herself: “Why am I doing all this?” The answer came at once: “Because if I don’t help him, he’s lost. Because without me he’s nothing. Because this is how I earn the right to be loved.”

Does that logic sound familiar? It’s the very same guilt complex we discussed in this chapter: Cinderella is convinced that love must be earned through service, and that someone else’s well-being is her personal responsibility.

One evening Anton came home drunk and hurled his keys onto the table.

“You’re suffocating me, Maria. Suffocating me with your care.”

Maria froze. The basin of laundry slipped from her hands, and the water spread across the floor, cold and dirty.

“I do it for you,” she whispered, and her voice trembled.

He left, slamming the door, and Maria stood alone in the middle of the puddle. She looked at her hands — they were shaking. The inner voice had gone silent: for the first time in six months there were no excuses, no guilt — only the truth.

She sat down on the floor, right in the water. The cold seeped into her bones. She thought about her apartment, her job, her friends. She had been carrying them all, because she was afraid they would collapse without her. But they hadn’t collapsed. She was the one collapsing.

She sat there until morning, staring at the water where the light of the streetlamp shimmered — and in that reflection she saw a woman tired of saving the world. She understood that the feeling of being needed, however sweet it was, was still robbing her of her own life. She served others so she would never have to face herself.

In the morning she wiped the floor, washed the shirts, folded them into a bag and left it on the landing. For Anton. If he came back. And if not…

Then she picked up the phone and dialed the center.

“I won’t come in today. Or tomorrow. And I probably won’t come at all anymore.”

The voice on the line was surprised:

“But then who will…”

Maria felt something new boiling inside her — not guilt, but anger.

She hung up before the caller could finish. For the first time, she didn’t apologize. For the first time, she made a demand. Something clicked inside her, like a snapping branch.

Cinderella died. But what was born in her place wasn’t the Phoenix — it was someone else.

Maria went outside. The air was fresh and cold, and she breathed it in deeply, but there was no freedom inside. A feeling lingered: she was owed something. “The world owes me,” she thought. “I gave the world so much. Now let the world serve me.”

She took out her phone and dialed her friend’s number — not to ask how things were, but to say: “I feel terrible. Come over. Bring food. I have nowhere to go.”

She wasn’t asking — she was demanding. And in that demand there was a new, dangerous power — the power of someone who believes that his suffering entitles him to other people’s resources. The Cinderella Model was behind her now. But ahead, a new Shadow was already looming — the Shadow of someone who lives off another person’s guilt. The Shadow of the “Beggar.”

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Chapter 10. The relationship model · “BEGGAR”

The world owes me — The trap of the right to receive.

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The name of the model comes from the word “Beggar.” Within our methodology, this is not necessarily a person holding out their hand on the street. It is a deep psychological archetype of entitlement, in which a person is convinced that the world owes them something.

Seen through social psychology, this is a distorted perception of fairness. In the terminology of our methodology, the “Beggar” is a model in which a person demands that their needs be met at the expense of others, giving nothing in return, and justifies this by their “special destiny” or “suffering.” Unlike the “Infanta,” who feels weak and submissive, the “Beggar” feels like a victim entitled to compensation.

The roots of this image reach back into childhood scenarios where needs were met without effort. In Greek mythology, echoes of this can be seen in the figure of Irus — a beggar who aggressively demanded alms from Odysseus. Across all cultures runs the same stereotype: the person who considers other people’s resources their own by right of birth or by right of suffering.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the “Beggar” state of mind often broadcast thoughts that become their manipulative instruments. Here are the three core beliefs typical of this model:

“If you have it, why won’t you share?” (The belief that another person’s success is somehow a shortfall owed to them).

“The world owes me for my suffering.” (Justifying demands through the position of a victim).

“A friend in need is a friend indeed.” (Using friendship as a lever for extracting resources).

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

To our great regret, in any society today you will find people who practice begging. And there are plenty more who are not formally beggars but bring a beggar’s mindset into their relationships with those around them. So who exactly are these “beggars”?

In this discussion, beggars should be divided into several categories. The first are those who have turned it into a craft: in a number of cases, they are seemingly forced into open begging by outsiders. Some Romani — a people known throughout the world for their historically nomadic way of life — engage openly in begging, treating it as a profession.

The second are those who exploit religious, national, and public values for selfish ends: they create fake pages on social networks, circulate fabricated photographs and videos, and play on people’s feelings in order to obtain money or other assistance.

The next category includes those who have genuinely fallen into need and are grasping for a last hope out of what seems like a dead end. Yet even here there are psychological reasons why a person perceives themselves as so helpless.

Some people in society, without begging in the literal sense, invariably evoke pity in those around them, shifting the burden of their own needs onto others. In such cases, a person makes themselves dependent on others and, without even noticing it, agrees to accept their conditions in exchange for help.

In the language of cognitive therapy, this is an external locus of control. Such people are convinced that their well-being depends not on their own efforts but on the generosity of those around them. As a rule, from childhood they received unearned praise: all their whims were indulged without the slightest effort on their part. Paradoxically, this combines pride and a sense of superiority with a complete inability to grow. They cannot tolerate criticism, are disinclined to learn, and yet consider themselves better than others.

The “Beggars” who live at someone else’s expense and manipulate those around them like parasites for their own benefit spend their daily lives demanding something from everyone. Often they ask to borrow money, making false promises, and afterward play the victim, produce every kind of excuse, and dodge responsibility in every way they can. People who build relationships with others purely to meet their own needs play the eternal victim, complaining ceaselessly about life and fate.

The Psychological Mechanism. A person arrives at the beggarly cast of mind when, in childhood, parents shower them with unearned and groundless praise, indulging their every whim without the slightest effort on the child’s part. Arrogance then takes shape in this personality, and they begin to feel superior to others. But being disinclined to learn and unable to bear criticism, they prove incapable of developing within society. A person who cannot meet their own needs yet believes, for some invented reason, that they are better than everyone else assumes — much like a monarch (in the Middle Ages, the pope anointed kings as chosen by God, and thus power passed by inheritance from father to son; the head of that power was called the monarch) — that everyone is in their debt, and demands the immediate fulfillment of their wishes. In modern society, such an attitude is, of course, condemned, and so a person unwilling to change their habits expresses their demands in a different form — appealing to some moral value, they ask and they beg. The moment they utter a word about spirituality and receive a refusal, they unleash a torrent of reproaches on the one who refused, striving to make society condemn that person as “a bad person.”

Why is it that some people of modest means, even as they complain, still strive to work and earn their bread by honest labor? While others, holding steady jobs, put far more effort into coaxing something out of everyone they meet at every opportunity? What cognitive distortions must people emotionally inclined toward begging possess for a “Beggar” Relationship model to take shape?

The self-esteem of those carrying the Beggar relationship model is extremely low. From the very start they fail to recognize their own worth and know nothing of their abilities and talents. For this reason, as a defense mechanism, they become aggressively demanding toward those around them while at the same time considering themselves above everyone. That is why they do not strive for self-development and want to get everything at once, without effort. To this end they make a special point of displaying their most vulnerable sides. Ask such people “How are you?” and they invariably answer: “Oh, it’s hard, nobody helps me.” Their self-confidence falls so low that they are unable to properly assess their own capabilities. As a rule, psychologically they operate on the conviction “I can’t, it won’t work out for me,” and they see all possibilities in another person, striving to seize those same possibilities for themselves. That is exactly why they tend to devalue the successes of others while feeling deep envy toward them and being ready to be cruel. — “They have more than they deserve. And I deserve more than any of them. What they own is mine by right” — slogans like these lie at the heart of the beliefs of many thieves and murderers. Recall the hero of Dostoevsky’s novel Crime and Punishment: when Raskolnikov committed his crime, he was convinced he was thereby restoring justice.

If a “Beggar” meets someone’s attention and affection, he immediately finds his victim in that person and begins to exploit them. This does not mean the bearer of the Beggar relationship model will go around saying “give me money” every day, everywhere. For instance, a man complains to a woman that his wife left him, that he is unhappy, alone, homeless, and doesn’t know what to do. The woman, instantly moved to pity by his plight, takes him into her home. That is precisely the plaintive pattern of behavior which, on the other hand, is perceived as weakness. And the one who accepts it is driven by the need to play the savior. Unlike “Cinderella,” the “Beggar” will never try to give something back. Without any effort, forever appealing to pity, he will work to get his way. For example, in a personal relationship he will constantly beg for love. Comparing himself with others, he will pity himself. A woman may end up beside such a man not because he is close to her, but because she feels sorry for him. Needless to say, such a relationship goes on without a drop of joy.

Now imagine what happens when “Cinderella” meets a “Beggar.”

“I need your love. My mother never showed me that kind of care. I want to be loved too, like everyone else. I beg you — don’t leave me. You’re my only one; apart from you I have no one.”

“Don’t worry, you can trust me completely. Whatever you need, I’ll do it. My home is your home.”

Even living together, these two will struggle to build a healthy relationship. Cinderella is the woman who will strive to please her partner at any cost and in the end will suffer through the relationship without a drop of joy. A man can share the same fate. The bitter outcome of a relationship built on unhealthy needs is either separation or an agonizing life together.

When two unhappy people meet, a tragedy is born: they mistake intense emotional upheaval for love. The needs of both are satisfied, yet both feel inadequate. This emotional attachment points to a problem of dependency between two people with complexes. That is why in separation both experience intense turmoil and anxiety. When they are together, the anxiety subsides, and they cling to each other all the more tightly. This is why they live in terror of losing the relationship. And in separation they experience the tragedy so acutely that the whole world seems meaningless and empty to them. This state sometimes reaches nihilistic despair. There is only one way to cut this knot: while they are together, these people are convinced that they have no psychological problem at all, and even when it is pointed out to them directly, they will not admit a third person into their symbiosis. Only if some sudden change occurs in their lives, or interference from authoritarian loved ones separates them, will they perhaps turn to a psychologist to soothe the pain of separation. The tragedy of separation can be so unbearable that people fall into severe depression and even contemplate suicide, if only to quiet the ache in their hearts. To grasp how widespread this phenomenon is, one need only listen to classic works of art about separation. In Azerbaijani folklore, songs of parting have always been on everyone’s lips, for each one awakens the feelings of millions of people. One might recall Rashid Behbudov’s song Ayrılıq (“Separation”).

To avoid reaching that kind of separation, couples caught in mutual frustration struggle to find the resolve to change their lives.

The toxic union: the “Beggar” and the “Cinderella.” Relationship psychology places particular emphasis on the dangerous bond between the Beggar and Cinderella models. This is a classic example of neurotic symbiosis. Driven by guilt, Cinderella is unable to leave the Beggar, even when the relationship becomes unbearable. She considers herself responsible for his life, convinced he will perish without her. The Beggar, in turn, uses her guilt as an instrument of manipulation.

The Cinderella model seeks at every turn to justify her partner’s negative lifestyle with all sorts of excuses. Telling herself things like: “You don’t know him — he’s such a good person, it’s just that luck keeps turning its back on him, envious people won’t let him get anywhere...” — she deceives herself. Guided by such beliefs, even without finding a worthy life partner in him, she tries at least to fill his need for love. “At least I won’t abandon him — otherwise he’ll be lost, he can’t live without me” — a truly self-sacrificing Cinderella is fully capable of satisfying all the needs of the Beggar model.

This neurotic approach works — for a while. Cinderella, pleasing everyone around her and forgetting herself, does receive emotional nourishment, after a fashion. But one day her nerves give out, and the needs she has suppressed for years begin to break through to the surface — she stops indulging the games of a partner with beggarly tendencies. And that is when the true conflicts erupt.

Why does such emotional upheaval happen? The Beggar is not used to hearing “no.” His inclination toward parasitism has always made it easy to get what he wants. Once his needs are satisfied, even donors like Cinderella grow stale, and the way opens to ever-new demands. So the Beggar’s victim cannot endure this relentless pressure any longer and refuses to keep indulging him — the cup of patience overflows. In this confrontation, the victorious Cinderella is able to break the vicious circle, yet the bearer of the beggarly relationship model immediately sets out in search of a new victim. Having found someone else suffering from a guilt complex, excessively responsible and unable to say “no,” he plays out the same scenario once again. As a rule, those who live by the beggarly mindset always keep several victims close at hand — so that if one refuses, they can fall back on another. Once someone extends a helping hand, the Beggar never gives it up willingly. For instance, if in a family the woman bears all the burdens while the man idles away his days at home and out on the street, the woman may one day rebel.

“So what kind of man are you?! For fifteen years you haven’t been able to find a proper job, you lounge around doing nothing, you’ve dumped the whole weight of the family on me — and on top of that, you keep me in your debt. I’ve had enough of you!!!”

Even if this rebellious protest comes from the woman, someone accustomed to the beggarly relationship model will invariably start begging her for mercy all over again. And if that fails, they will surely find somewhere else to go.

“You’re the only one who understands me. With her it never worked, I endured it for so long, but I can’t bear the humiliations anymore. I’m a man too, it wounds my dignity, so many demands — my back is already buckling under the load. I have no one but you. Don’t turn away from me...”

With pleas and incantations, the Beggar — by fair means or foul — will invariably find his way to the heart of a new Cinderella. If a kind-hearted person opens the door to the petitioner for even a single day — “Come in, I’ll help you, don’t stay alone in a situation like this” — the Beggar will turn into a long-term resident of that house. The Cinderella who took him in out of pity, for the very same reason, will not be able to throw him out. She will put up with him for a while, and then once again become the classic heroine of the same endlessly repeating life story.

“Why does everyone who enters my life always use me? I want to meet a normal person too, someone who will take care of me. After all, I’m a woman too...”

You’ve probably already guessed the reason for such complaints. And the one who abused begging, once they’re out the door, collides with yet another “aggressor” guilty of their misfortunes. In their life story, such characters are beyond counting. They are ready once more to explain to the next victims just how merciless life is. As if every separation strips them of everything and forces them to start from scratch.

But if you look closely, it turns out that in fact he invested nothing in these relationships — neither materially nor spiritually: he did not invest, he exploited. This means our hero is no savior; seeing himself in the role of the victim, he invariably strives to live at someone else’s expense. It is his own choice. And when you get down to it, in his relationships with people he has always been only the one who takes, and the moment he met resistance, he automatically switched into hostility mode. By criticizing the other side and awakening guilt in them, he only strengthened his own position.

“Beggars” who build relationships with this kind of mindset are never able to awaken strong feelings and emotions. They will never be able to build relationships in the manner of the “Courtesan,” let alone the “Geisha.” After all, even here it would take a certain potential and the ability to realize oneself in a particular craft. They are not inclined to learn — not because they lack the mental capacity. It’s simply that the thinking formed within the Beggar relationship model is alien to learning from the very start. And a person who doesn’t strive for personal growth cannot develop socially either. To achieve anything in this direction, a person must first realize that they are capable of succeeding in some field and helping others. If they begin to think this way, they are already stepping away from the “Beggar” position. If begging stops seeming to them the only way out, other possibilities and paths can be sought. They see all sorts of people around them who take care of them every day, and believe it is only thanks to them that they stay on their feet. If such a person were put face to face with these people and pushed into an open confrontation, they might begin to see the state of affairs differently. For them, this would be colossal stress and emotional upheaval.

It takes a great deal of time to move away from a mindset built up over long years, one that generates a particular model of behavior. They may come to see that such an approach leads to failure from the very beginning. All their life, the main purpose of continuing unneeded relationships was to satisfy false needs. Arriving at this thought, they experience a “crack of awareness” in their thinking, yet the process of forming a new mindset may still take a long time. On the one hand, they recognize their true problem; on the other, uncertainty sets in. After all, for many years they have relied on one and only one means of survival.

To get out of this position, a person needs a new angle of vision. It’s as if, having once needed the help of this or that individual, they now begin to see around them not separate people as the saving hand of life, but the opportunities it offers. Various job positions can always seem like a way out; however, when the person finds no answer to why they have never taken advantage of them, they will come up with all sorts of excuses. That is precisely when statements beginning with “yes, but...” start multiplying. If you notice such a contradiction in many people’s speech, know this: the person is crushed under the weight of their own excuses. The victim position is considered deplorable precisely because it holds a person back from developing. And a personality lagging behind in its own development will sooner or later become captive to one false behavior model or another. Over a long time, the same mindset systematically generates the same behavior in different situations. The habit of leaning on an outstretched helping hand from everyone they meet finds its place in the Beggar relationship model in exactly this way.

In society, such people, following a false ideology, strive to assert themselves in all sorts of ways. They see extracting benefit at someone else’s expense as the only way out. Unlike the Lilith model, the “beggar” gives the person standing before them nothing in return. Within the Beggar relationship model, the so-called “gigolos” — men who live off a woman and endlessly beg her for money — consider themselves superior to other men and put on a performance of feigned love. They live off a woman, but being insincere, incapable of taking on responsibility, and above all unable to give her a sense of confidence and trust, they cannot make her happy. Exploiting her weaknesses, they invariably manipulate her for their own ends.

A “Cinderella” drawn into such relationships, suffering from a guilt complex, carries the “Beggar” on her shoulders all her life. Such women, as a rule, turn into forgotten, love-starved, lonely, abandoned creatures. “At least there’s some kind of man in the house” — that is how they console themselves. In exactly the same way, when it is a woman who carries the Beggar relationship model, she, like Cinderella, draws a man toward herself and tirelessly deepens his feelings of guilt and inferiority. One of the most powerful causes behind the formation of such personalities in society lies in vulgar customs and traditions. Another cause is a purely psychological factor: parents who experienced hardship in childhood, by unconditionally fulfilling every whim of their children, lay the foundation of this kind of thinking. In behavioral therapy there is the notion that positive actions should be rewarded. However, when the reward comes without the slightest effort, the child does not grow into a fully formed personality and applies their one innate skill in all its various forms — crying, screaming, stamping feet. In modern society, carriers of this relationship model justify such behavior by attributing it to “Generation Z”: impatient, unable to bear criticism, incapable of accepting the word “no,” invariably displaying idleness and feigned fatigue. On the other hand, we keep coming across ladies who, having watched stories on social media, dream of living the life of rich “oligarchs.” You recognize them by their characteristic statements in relationships between a man and a woman: “A man, if he wants to date me, has to earn at least this much money,” “I would never date a poor man,” “I only date oligarchs,” “What has he ever done for me to date him? Where are his expensive gifts?”, “A man must give me expensive gifts, fulfill my desires, but that doesn’t mean I have to do anything for him in return. I don’t date men who expect something in return for their gifts” — and other meaningless, spiritually impoverished judgments. As a result, such people — the most vivid specimens of the Beggar relationship model — no longer ask to have their needs met; they demand it as their due and consider themselves above other women. At first glance, this relationship model might be likened to the Lilith model. Yet there is a fundamental difference between them: “Lilith” is ready to do anything for money and knows how to get it — she is capable of building long-term relationships. The “Beggar,” meanwhile, makes one-sided demands but is incapable of giving anything in return. That is why the Beggar relationship model can only temporarily coexist with the “Cinderella” and “Teresa” models. In any other case, even the Beggar’s very first demand either meets harsh criticism or is simply laughed at. Mature people are capable of resisting begging in any of its forms — a request, a plea, a demand, threats. At the same time, there is an enormous difference between resisting begging and showing mercy. Mercy is bound up with the desire to help a person in need, regardless of their personal choice — and it is received with sincere gratitude. The Beggar relationship model, by contrast, begins with an insincere appeal, and the present need itself stems from the person’s own conscious choice. If a young, healthy person capable of working decides, instead of mastering a profession and acquiring a specialty, to take up begging, that is their personal choice. And giving such a person material assistance is neither mercy nor charity. It is yielding to their manipulation. That is why, in most societies, the Beggar relationship model is considered the lowest rung of the social ladder — below even Lilith.

At first glance, the “Beggar” might be likened to the “Infanta,” yet there is a substantial difference between them. The Infanta sincerely believes herself to be as weak as a child, experiences these feelings, and, living in constant fear, unfailingly needs support. She submits to her protector without question, fulfills his demands, and shapes her behavior to fit his decisions. The Beggar, on the other hand, is not looking for a single protector — he demands something from everyone in a row. His claims show up in relationships openly and explicitly — not only through pity, but through hatred, aggression, intimidation, and at times outright blackmail. The person who meets his needs he actually holds in contempt and tries to avoid becoming dependent on. Toward this person he feels not satisfaction or submission, but the opposite — a hatred that only grows. As if seeing in others holders of far greater privileges, he cultivates hatred for them within himself. Feeling aggression and hatred toward people, he deceives them and thereby justifies his own behavior. Luring people into a trap, he experiences inside something like satisfaction. This category includes petty swindlers as well as those who blackmail people in all sorts of ways to extort money. Whatever form they take — all of them belong to the Beggar relationship model.

“Beggars” are forever searching for ways to profit from other people’s needs. They always justify behavior built on exploiting someone else’s earnings. Begging is considered the most dangerous behavior model for society. The lower all moral values sink, the higher hatred of people rises. If in the “Puttana” or “Lilith” model a person placed material values above all others for the sake of happiness, for the sake of meeting their own needs, in beggarly thinking the goal is rather to seize someone else’s income. The hatred can be so strong that even false prayers, in the end, turn into a curse.

That is why people say: “Another man’s bread tastes bitter.” Do a good deed a thousand times, fail to do it once — and it’s as if all that goodness gets trampled underfoot. This behavior comes straight from beggarly thinking. To the “Beggar,” the fact that you have what he does not is somehow your fault.

Crisis and transitions. When those around him stop giving (everyone has rejected the manipulation), a crisis begins. The negative path (Crime or Lilith): when no one gives voluntarily, the Beggar may turn to theft or to selling his body (a transition to the Lilith model). The mindset shifts from “everyone owes me” to “for money, I’ll do anything.” This is the path of degradation, though at times it develops certain skills. The positive path (Personal growth): if the person realizes that this path leads to a dead end, he can begin searching for objective ways to achieve what he wants.

In society, we most often encounter the negative model: despite the Beggar’s efforts, no one willing to help is left around him; he has quarreled with everyone, and no one falls for his manipulation anymore. Then the “Beggar,” unable to meet even his minimal needs, goes through the crisis of this behavior model, starts pondering a new way of relating, and the first thing that comes to mind is selling his own body or turning to crime. Once he resolves to sell himself, he has already moved away from the idea that “everyone owes me” and goes on living by the conviction that “for money, I’ll do anything”: his claims on people diminish, he becomes inclined toward mutual arrangements, his manner of relating changes, and he begins to pay more attention to the needs of those around him. Continuing in this direction — even having started by selling his body — he eventually notices what exactly people are willing to pay more for, and strives to provide those services. He moves from the Beggar model to the Lilith model, and as he develops further, he may even advance to the Geisha model. Whatever the occupation, it is the mindset a person lives in and the foundation on which they base their decisions that determine their current relationship model.

Let’s not forget: a relationship model belongs to no profession and no nationality. It can change only through the personal thinking and decisions of the person themselves.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior corresponded to the “Beggar” model — a sense of entitlement to receive, living at others’ expense, manipulating through pity.

Rodion Raskolnikov (Literary archetype, F. Dostoevsky).

The hero of the novel Crime and Punishment, who considered himself entitled to dispose of other people’s lives for the sake of a “higher purpose.”

Manifestation of the model: His philosophy — “am I a trembling creature, or do I have the right” — is the quintessence of the Beggar’s mindset. He justified the crime by claiming that the world was unjust and that he had the right to take what belonged to others to restore the balance. This is an intellectualized form of begging.

Count Alessandro Cagliostro (Historical figure, 18th century).

An Italian adventurer and mystic who traveled across Europe.

Manifestation of the model: He lived off his patrons, wielding manipulation, mysticism, and flattery. He created no real value, yet skillfully exploited the trust and resources of the nobility, constantly moving from one patron to the next as the resources ran dry or the deception came to light. A classic example of living off other people’s resources while giving nothing back.

Irus (Mythological archetype, Homer).

A beggar from the Odyssey who aggressively demanded alms from the heroes.

Manifestation of the model: He is the symbol of aggressive begging. He didn’t ask — he demanded, hurled insults at those who refused, and believed that his status as a victim entitled him to other people’s resources. This is an ancient archetype of hatred toward anyone who has more.

The modern “Digital Beggar” (Social archetype).

Bloggers collecting donations for “treatment” or “projects” with no accounting, manipulating their followers’ emotions.

Manifestation of the model: They use social media to monetize pity. They craft the image of a victim of circumstance, demanding financial support from their audience while offering no real value or product in return.

Ippolit Matveyevich Vorobyaninov (Literary archetype, I. Ilf and E. Petrov).

The hero of The Twelve Chairs, a former nobleman incapable of work.

Manifestation of the model: A man of the old order who believes the world owes him for his birth. He doesn’t want to work — he wants to get everything at once (the chairs with the treasure), and he manipulates those around him (Tikhon), assuming they are obliged to serve him because of his status.

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

Depending on the context, a person may face rejection — or begin to grow.

When the resources of those around them run dry (when everyone has rejected the manipulation), the crisis begins.

The depressive exit: The person realizes: “No one wants to give me anything.” The Beggar plunges into despair. He may turn to crime or to selling his body (the shift to Lilith’s model) to obtain resources by force or by exchange. This is the path of degradation — though sometimes it forces a person to finally learn real skills (the path toward the Geisha).

The aggressive exit: The person is angry at the world. “You’re all greedy!” The Beggar starts openly demanding, blackmailing, threatening. Hatred grows. This is the road to isolation and crime. Yet if the person recognizes the futility of this path, they may begin to seek objective ways of getting what they want (trade, labor) — and that becomes the first step toward maturity, toward the Chameleon as the adaptive stage before the Phoenix.

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “BEGGAR”

The phone had gone silent. The last message still hung on the screen: “Maria, find a job. I can’t do this anymore.” She stared at the words the way one stares at a verdict that has already been read out: the letters didn’t move, didn’t change — they simply stood there.

Two months had passed since Maria stopped saving Anton. The apartment where he had recently lived now echoed with emptiness, and she felt used — like an object someone had picked up, toyed with, and set back on the shelf.

In the first three weeks she began calling her friends — not to ask how they were doing, but to ask for things. Friends sent money, brought groceries, and every transfer, every bag left at her door settled into her soul as confirmation that she was right. Maria felt like a queen ruling over other people’s guilt — and she didn’t even look for work. Why bother, when they were obliged to help? She demanded attention, pity, comfort, and whenever someone was slow to respond, she turned aggressive.

An inner voice whispered justifications, and they sounded convincing: “They have more. They owe me a share. It’s only fair. I’ve suffered more than anyone.” The more often she repeated this to herself, the firmer her belief became: a thought repeated a hundred times turns into a wall. This is the external locus of control we talked about: instead of seeking well-being in her own efforts, a person seeks it in other people’s generosity.

By the end of the second month, the phones had gone quiet. Messages went unanswered, and the screen she had recently gazed at with the confidence of a hostess now looked like a dark window into an empty room. Maria went outside. The cold wind struck her face and slipped under her clothes, as if testing how much warmth she had left.

She stopped by a park. A woman sat on a bench feeding the ducks. Maria came closer, and the woman, catching her gaze, clutched her bag in alarm — the way people clutch the last thing they’re afraid to lose.

Maria froze. In the stranger’s eyes she saw fear — the very fear she herself had sown around her with every call, every demand, every message written in expectation of an instant reply. “Is that really how my friends looked at my name on their screens?” she thought, and the thought was colder than the wind.

The next morning she got up, walked to the mirror, and washed her face. The cold water sobered her: what she washed away wasn’t fatigue but the conviction that the whole world owed her.

At the very first agency she walked into, Maria spoke quietly — not demanding, not begging, simply calling things by their names:

“I need any work at all…”

They took her on as a cleaner. It was beneath her former status, and her pride still tried to object. But it was the only way out, and for the first time in a long while Maria didn’t demand what was “owed” to her — she agreed to earn what could be earned with her own hands. And so the first crack appeared in the old model, and through it seeped a faint but genuine light.

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The fire of change · results of the search: · the ashes of neurotic masks

We have completed the first stage of our investigation. Before us now lies a panorama of human shadows — ten relationship models, which we have examined in detail. This is a classification of the neurotic behavioral patterns that psychological practice encounters. These are ten survival strategies a person chooses in an attempt to fill an inner emptiness with external surrogates.

Lilith sought security in gold, convincing herself that love could be bought. But the currency of feelings doesn’t convert into a bank account. Puttana turned pain into rebellion, shouting at the world to drown out her own fear. But aggression builds no bridges — it only burns them down. Hippie fled responsibility into the illusion of freedom, but freedom without purpose becomes a wind that doesn’t know where to blow. Geisha sought admiration on the stage of life, trading sincerity for applause. But the ovations fade, leaving behind only the exhaustion of the performance. Mistress clung to her partner like a life raft, mistaking dependence for love. But no one can breathe someone else’s air forever. Courtesan turned relationships into a hunt, collecting victories. But trophies can’t embrace, and the cold of collected achievements seeps into the soul. Teresa sacrificed herself, buying the right to exist through suffering. Infanta was afraid to take a step without permission — an adult body with the soul of a child. But life doesn’t wait for someone to give the command. Cinderella carried other people’s burdens, believing it was her duty, and dissolved into caring for others. But someone else’s load doesn’t straighten your back — it only breaks the spine of the personality. Beggar demanded his due from the world, feeling like a victim of circumstance. But the world owes us nothing, and demanding love as a tax is doomed to refusal.

If we follow the logic of depth psychology, all these models share one thing: they are built on false needs. Instead of communication and love, the person sought security, attention, power, or an excuse. It is an attempt to quench thirst with salt water: the more you drink, the stronger the thirst. Neurotic models are defense mechanisms that arose as a reaction to trauma but hardened into stereotypes. They do not create wholeness; they merely preserve the pain.

When a person experiences the collapse of each of these masks, when they understand that neither gold, nor rebellion, nor freedom, nor sacrifice has given them the answer, they find themselves at a crossroads. They no longer want to be Lilith or Cinderella. But they do not yet know who they really are. To survive in society, to avoid being rejected, they begin trying on the masks of those around them. They become convenient for everyone. They reflect other people’s desires like a mirror.

The transition from neurotic relationships to the model of healthy relationships.

Beneath all these neurotic behavioral models lies one highly significant factor. Every disharmonious relationship model is built to satisfy a person’s unhealthy needs. By unhealthy needs we mean needs that lie beyond direct communication and love. To make this clearer, let’s look at an example. From birth, a person has a set of physiological and psychological needs. Food, water, air, sleep, the elimination of bodily waste — all of these are physiological needs. If they are not satisfied promptly, a person’s life is in danger — they may die. Security, communication and love, respect and self-actualization — these are psychological needs. If psychological needs are not met in time, there is no real threat to a person’s health. And yet, for a person to feel happy, those needs must be met. It is precisely in the process of satisfying psychological needs that a person, developing, takes shape as a personality and earns a worthy place in society — under their own name, with their own abilities and talent. The psychological need for communication and love mentioned here is the only healthy need on which relationships can be built. In other words, every person needs to feel not alone, to feel a loving sense of belonging to a community, and to be loved. This need, which unites people, builds society, develops humanism, awakens feelings of mercy and empathy, and elevates a person spiritually. If, however, people prefer to satisfy not this need through their relationships but some other one — or if they pursue personal and social goals tied to no needs at all — this gives rise to unhealthy needs. For example, a person builds a relationship in order to feel secure. This is an attempt to satisfy one need by means of another. To draw an analogy with physiological needs, it is as if a person, wanting to quench their thirst, decides to get more sleep. Or tries to stifle hunger with deep breathing. Compared to physiological needs, this, of course, sounds absurd. After all, everyone knows: if a physiological need is not satisfied in time, no matter how much a person deceives themselves — death is inevitable. As for psychological needs, when a person tries to satisfy one of them by means of another, they deceive both themselves and those around them. Naturally, if unhealthy needs are glaringly obvious in a person’s relationships, this is no accident. It is evidence that the person has not yet matured as a personality — is not yet ready to satisfy their own needs independently. And it is under the pressure of whichever need they feel weakest in that they experience inner tension, building relationships to satisfy it. Thus, unhealthy needs influence a person’s thinking, their spirituality, their values, their life principles, their convictions and, of course, their relationships with other people.

Such unhealthy emotional bonds are often built not on genuine, sincere love but, in most cases, on the satisfaction of a sexual need. That is why relationships born of these neurotic behavioral models are unstable and inauthentic. These relationship models resemble a theatrical performance. The person believes in it, deceives everyone around them — and in the end complains that they cannot be happy.

Is there, then, a relationship model born of healthy needs?

A person who has tried out all the false relationship models, who has recognized the lie at their foundation, has found the courage to renounce them, and after that has decided to build their life only on sincere love flowing from the heart — such a person is like the Phoenix: they have turned their past to ashes with the fire of truth and created themselves anew. This is the Mature Personality, one who stands out from others at first glance: captivating with a radiant smile, disarming with sincerity, moving with courage toward their own dream. Is it possible for a person to be a Phoenix from birth? If you meet such a person, know this — it is a miracle; this child is holy.

Before we plunge into the depths of the Phoenix’s relationship model, let’s examine the path that leads to healthy relationships. How does it happen that a person, once their thinking has changed and they take both themselves and all the needs of life into account, stops making mistakes in dealing with people?

First of all, it is worth noting that the book The Phoenix Era, as a study guide, makes it possible to identify the particular mindset that keeps a person within one relationship model or another for a long time. If a person wants to be free of unpleasant feelings, they will begin to observe themselves. On this path they will be guided no longer solely by their personality type but above all by the thoughts that hinder them. Knowing what kind of mindset reproduces the same reactions and situations over and over, they will begin to investigate the causes that gave rise to this mindset — in order to change it. On the path of personal growth, in order to free themselves from the same thoughts that influence their consciousness, they will begin to take action — deciding what and how to change in the future. Only then can a person protect themselves against the recurring scenarios of their own life.

The cause of psycho-emotional complexes also lies in the way the mindset takes shape in the course of a person’s personal development. The convictions that lay the foundation of a personality’s identity contain, above all, information about what a person is by nature. When a person realizes: “Since by this age I have taken shape as a bearer of such persistent feelings, the cause lies in my thinking. Why do I invariably find myself faced with the same attitude toward myself? What makes me repeat these actions again and again?” — with this awareness, a person is able to move into The Phoenix Era faster.

Knowing this path, every person is capable of working on themselves tirelessly at the stages of personal growth. This is the sure path to a healthy, sincere life filled with love. No other assumptions offer this possibility. In the human world, it is not enough merely to know about various pathologies. Since many schools offer no information about the mindset that holds a person’s behavior within its former frames, it is hard to quickly find the way to a solution. In The Phoenix Era this is possible.

How does the transitional period unfold? If a person in a stable behavioral model encounters unpleasant circumstances and unconsciously looks for ways out — their choice turns toward the search. Like someone drowning at sea, flailing with all their strength, they begin to look for a path to salvation. They are ready to seize the first thing that comes to hand. In such circumstances, a strange, unfamiliar process may be born in them against their will. The behavioral model of a person who has followed different ideas all their life and run into new difficulties every time can be given one more name — the Chameleon relationship model.

Thus the Chameleon is born.

This is not the finale. This is the antechamber. This is the last frontier before the true “Self” rises from the ashes. After the Chameleon comes the territory of healthy models, where a person lives not for survival but for meaning. But to reach it, one must pass through adaptation.

Season 2. The Fire of Change. The Ashes of Neurotic Masks

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Chapter 11. The relationship model · “CHAMELEON”

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The model takes its name from a living creature — the chameleon. This reptile can change the color of its skin to match its surroundings, becoming invisible — or, on the contrary, strikingly bright — whenever it pays to do so. In the context of our method, the “Chameleon” is a person who has mastered the art of adaptation but lost their own color.

From the standpoint of evolutionary psychology, this is the highest form of social conformity. It is a transitional stage. To reach the level of the Phoenix, a person inevitably passes through the stage of the Chameleon. It is the moment when someone, having sampled every neurotic model, realizes that not one of them delivers wholeness. They begin trying each on for size, becoming convenient for everyone — but a stranger to themselves.

The roots of the image lie in politics and diplomacy. In the terminology of the method, the “Chameleon” means placing external success above inner sincerity. It is a model in which a person speaks the language of their interlocutor — and forgets their own.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the “Chameleon” state of mind often broadcast thoughts that conceal their inner emptiness. Here are the three core beliefs typical of this model:

“With every person, you have to speak their language.” (The belief that sincerity is less effective than adaptation).

“I have everything, and yet something is missing.” (A sense of existential emptiness against the backdrop of outward success).

“A person comes into this world alone and leaves it alone.” (Justifying inner loneliness with a philosophy of fatalism).

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

The path through chaos toward adaptation. A person often begins their journey with infantile dependence (the Infanta), then tries to buy safety (Lilith, the Mistress). They rebel against the system (the Puttana, the Hippie), try to conquer the world with talent (the Geisha, the Courtesan), or sacrifice themselves for others (Teresa, Cinderella). Sometimes they fall to the very bottom, demanding help (the Beggar).

If we follow the logic of the source, all of these models are neurotic. They are built on false needs. When each one comes crashing down, they find themselves searching. They start looking for a way out. And the first solution they find is adaptation. They understand: to survive, you must be convenient. In this way they come one step closer to the Chameleon.

Psychological mechanism: The Chameleon has a broad outlook. They know that different peoples hold different values, and they accept it. “Everyone has their own opinion, and everyone deserves respect” — that is their favorite phrase. They avoid conflict, because they read another person’s mood masterfully. In any company, they are a welcome guest. They get invited to events; they succeed in their career, especially in politics or diplomacy.

In transactional analysis terms, this is a block on one’s own Self.

The Chameleon does not know what they themselves want. They confuse their own desires with the desires of those around them. On the outside they look understanding; on the inside they suffer from loneliness. They ask themselves: “I don’t know what I want. Why do I live?”.

Loneliness in a crowd. This is the key marker of the model. A person may be surrounded by friends, family, and colleagues — and still feel like a stranger. “I have everything — work, family, friends — and yet something is missing, as if there’s some unknown need” — that is the Chameleon’s typical complaint. Unlike other models, where a person suffers from a lack of resources or love, the Chameleon suffers from a lack of self.

The transition to the Phoenix: The Moment of Truth. How does a Chameleon become a Phoenix? For that, an inner upheaval is needed. A person must understand that adaptation is not the way. They must find their Mission. To illustrate, let’s take Miyamoto Musashi. The great Japanese samurai of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, a master of the sword. He won every duel — and came to understand that strength does not lie in the sword. Legend has it that once, unarmed, fending off attackers with an oar, he realized: mastery lives within, not in the instrument. He burned his old knowledge and founded a new school. So it is with the Chameleon. When they find a value that matters more than the crowd’s opinion, they burn their masks. They stop adjusting — and start leading.

The Phoenix is the final destination. The Phoenix is a mature personality. This is not a myth; it is a psychological reality. A person who has burned their neurotic models in the fire of awareness and been reborn in sincerity. They do not manipulate — they love. Their need is not safety or success, but connection and love for the sake of the process itself. This is the level where a person cares for others not for the sake of approval (as Teresa does), but because it is their nature. Like the Phoenix bird in the legend of Noah’s Ark, which asked for no food so as not to trouble Noah — and for that was granted eternal life. It is a symbol of mercy and independence.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Chameleon” model — adaptability, success, but a search for an inner mission.

Charles Maurice de Talleyrand (France, 18th–19th centuries).

A diplomat who served successive regimes (Louis XVI, Napoleon, the Restoration).

Manifestation of the model: a master of adaptation. He survived where others were sent to the guillotine. Successful, wealthy, influential — yet his memoirs betray a weariness born of the endless masks. A classic political Chameleon, searching for stability in an unstable world.

Niccolò Machiavelli (Italy, 15th–16th centuries).

Philosopher and statesman, author of the treatise The Prince.

Manifestation of the model: he understood the mechanics of how power adapts better than anyone. His teaching that the end justifies the means is, in essence, a manual for the Chameleon. Yet in his personal life he clung to republican ideals, which reveals the inner conflict between adaptation and conviction.

Oscar Wilde (Great Britain, 19th century) — his late period.

A writer who played the role of the aesthete in society while suffering inwardly from being misunderstood.

Manifestation of the model: in society he was the Chameleon, crafting an image. In prison and exile he began to write sincerely (De Profundis), burning his own mask. An example of moving from the Chameleon to a deeper self through suffering.

Henry Kissinger (USA, 20th century).

Secretary of State, famous for his diplomatic flexibility.

Manifestation of the model: the ability to find a common language with any leader in the world. His success and influence were at their peak, but critics pointed to the absence of a clear moral position — typical of the Chameleon model, where adaptation matters more than truth.

Joseph Fouché (France, 18th–19th centuries).

Statesman and chief of police, who survived the French Revolution, the Directory, the Consulate, the Empire, and the Restoration.

Manifestation of the model: they called him “the Chameleon of the Revolution.” He served any master, keeping his power and influence intact. His ability to bend with any political wind was legendary, yet in his contemporaries’ memoirs he remained a tragic figure, because no one ever knew his true face.

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

According to the context, a person may face an existential crisis.

When adaptation stops bringing satisfaction, the crisis begins.

The depressive exit: The person realizes: “I am successful, but I am not me.” The Chameleon withdraws into themselves and starts searching for meaning in psychology, yoga, art. This is a search for themselves. If they find a Mission, they move on to the Phoenix model. If not, they remain forever searching.

The aggressive exit: The person is angry at the world because success did not bring happiness. They may become a cynical manipulator, using their adaptability solely for power. This is being stuck in the Chameleon without moving toward the Phoenix. And yet, if they find a value higher than the crowd’s opinion, they become a Leader.

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “CHAMELEON”

Two years had passed since Maria took the job as a cleaner. She was no longer a Beggar: she had learned to work, learned to survive. But she had also learned something else — to be accommodating.

First she simply adjusted to the schedule, then to her boss’s moods, then to the clients’ tastes. She became a mirror: if a client wanted to talk, she talked; if he wanted silence, she kept quiet. She was perfect, and they noticed her. Six months later she was offered the position of administrator in another office — a higher salary, better status.

Maria accepted and became a mirror again. With colleagues she was easygoing; with management, deferential — and they praised her. “You’re our best employee,” the director said. A year later another big company lured her away with a manager’s position. This was success — the very kind she had dreamed of back in the Lilith era.

Another six months passed. Maria sat in an office with a panoramic window, and the city lay at her feet. She had a good salary, friends, a man who said he loved her. In the morning she put on the suit the director liked; in the daytime she spoke the words the clients liked; in the evening she smiled the way her man liked. But in the evenings, on her way home, the same question sounded in the silence of her apartment:

“Who are you?”

She looked in the mirror, and a successful woman with empty eyes looked back. She remembered her past lives: the Lilith who demanded money; the Puttana who screamed; the Cinderella who endured; the Beggar who pleaded. Now she was the Chameleon — all of them at once, and none of them.

The inner dialogue started slowly, like a heavy wave: “I adapted. I survived. But I am not living. Did I come into this world alone, to leave it alone? No. That is a lie. That is a defense.”

That is the trap of the Chameleon model: a person adjusts to other people’s expectations for so long that one day he no longer recognizes his own face. There is success, but no one there who could live it.

She picked up a book from the desk — The Phoenix Era. Its pages were filled with her notes. She read about Miyamoto Musashi — about how the spirit matters, not the sword.

She did not know the answer to her question. But she knew that adaptation is a dead end: to be convenient is to be invisible. And she wanted to be visible, even if it hurt.

The next morning she came to the office, but something in her had already changed. When a colleague started gossiping, she didn’t join in and calmly said, “I’m not interested.” The colleague was surprised. When the boss offered her unpaid overtime, she replied, “No. I have plans.” The boss frowned. Just yesterday she would have volunteered to stay until midnight, if only to avoid seeing that displeased look.

Maria felt fear, and the Chameleon inside her panicked: “You’ll be fired! No one will love you!”

But beneath the fear was something else — solid and hot, like a coal under ashes.

At lunchtime she went up to the roof. The city roared below; she took a deep breath, and at that moment her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was Edgar — the one from the foundation. She used to ignore his calls, but this time she answered.

“Hello,” she said without a mask, in her own voice.

Edgar didn’t talk long: he was inviting her to come. Maria closed her eyes. The wind tossed her hair, and she remembered all her models, all her masks — Lilith, Puttana, Cinderella, the Chameleon. Now she saw that these had been steps — a staircase she had been climbing.

“I’ll come,” she said. “But not as an employee. As myself.”

She put the phone away. Below, the city hummed; above, the sky, and she understood: the Chameleon must die — not physically, but psychologically. The masks must burn, so that something real could rise from the ashes.

She didn’t know what lay ahead: therapy, the School, the path of the Master. But she knew one thing: she no longer wanted to change her color. She wanted to shine.

Maria turned to the door. Below, her job was waiting for her; ahead was Life. She took a step — not a step of adaptation, but a step of choice.

It was the first step toward the Phoenix.

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Chapter 12. The relationship model · “PHOENIX”

THE END OF THE PATH.

RISING FROM THE ASHES

We have come to the end of our investigation. Having passed through the labyrinth of neurotic masks — from Lilith to the Chameleon — we have reached the point where survival ends and life begins. This is the territory of healthy relationship models. Here a person stops being a victim of circumstances or a manipulator of reality. They become a Creator.

The Phoenix is not just another model. It is a state of maturity. It is the ability to live sincerely, without hiding behind defense mechanisms. If the neurotic models were built on false needs (safety, power, justification), the Phoenix builds relationships on genuine values: Sincerity, Love, and Mercy.

This is the level where a person realizes: they are the Master of their own destiny. Not because they control the world, but because they control themselves. They no longer change color, like the Chameleon. They shine with their own light.

THE PHOENIX

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The model takes its name from the mythical bird, the Phoenix, which burns in fire and is reborn from its own ashes, renewed. Within our method, this is the symbol of psychological transformation. A person burns up their neurotic patterns and is reborn as a mature individual.

In mythological terms, this is immortality through change.

The Phoenix is not afraid of the death of the old “self,” because it knows that life will continue in a new form. In the terminology of our method, the Phoenix stands for the priority of inner meaning over outer success. It is a model in which a person acts from their essence, not from the expectations of the crowd.

The roots of this image reach back into ancient legends. In the Jewish legends of Noah’s Ark (the midrash), there is mention of a bird that asked for no food, so as not to trouble Noah in his hour of hardship. For this mercy and delicacy, it was granted the gift of eternal life. It is a symbol of conscious care, free of selfishness.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the Phoenix state of mind radiate thoughts that set both themselves and those around them free. Here are the three core beliefs that define this model:

“I accept myself and others without conditions.” (The belief that a person’s worth does not need to be earned.)

“My life is my choice.” (The awareness of responsibility for one’s own decisions and emotions.)

“Love is an action, not a transaction.” (The understanding that care is given freely, with no expectation of return.)

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

From adaptation to authenticity. The Chameleon survives by adapting. The Phoenix lives by creating. The shift from the Chameleon to the Phoenix is the hardest stage of all. It takes courage to throw away a comfortable mask and show the world your true face. It is the moment when a person stops asking, “What will they think of me?” and starts asking, “What do I feel?”

In terms of humanistic psychology, this is self-actualization. The Phoenix possesses wholeness. His thoughts, words, and actions match. He feels no inner conflict, because he has nothing to hide. His energy is not spent maintaining illusions; it flows into creativity and growth.

In the Christian world, the Phoenix carries the symbol of eternal life. Burning in fire and turning to ash, it rises again in an even more wondrous form. In the Persian and Sufi tradition, the same symbol is embodied by the Simurgh bird. One could also cite the Azerbaijani folk tale of Melikmamed. The legendary Firebird, in the etymological sense, carries that very same essence.

In ancient Egyptian mythology, the tears of this legendary mystical bird, called the Phoenix, were considered a healing balm. Identified with the Bennu bird, it stands for the living sun, born anew. The incorruptible power of the Phoenix, rising from its own ashes, embodies the sound mind of a mature individual.

A mature person is one who cannot be manipulated. One who, fearing nothing, cherishes sincere relationships.

According to many mythological traditions, unlike the other figures, the Phoenix has always embodied peace and tranquility — mercy toward life. One legend says that on Noah’s Ark, unlike all the other creatures, the Phoenix alone fed on dew, demanding neither attention nor care. When Noah asked it why, the Phoenix answered that it did not want to trouble him. For this mercy and gentleness, it was granted the gift of eternal life. This is the symbol of conscious care, free of selfishness.

There are many other legends about the Phoenix as well. Though the versions differ in the mythologies of Ancient Egypt, Greece, China, and Rome, they are united by a single symbolic meaning — a legendary creature that returns from death and soars skyward once more — the Phoenix. In Chinese mythology, the Phoenix (Fenghuang) is revered as the king of birds and a symbol of the feminine principle. In Greek and Roman mythology, the Phoenix is depicted as a bird that burns itself in fire and is reborn from its own ashes. In the image of the Phoenix, we can watch, metaphorically, the birth of healthy relationships.

When a person puts to death within themselves those false images that they themselves created in their heart, and arrives at a new conviction — “I no longer want to live this way. If I want to help someone, it is not to get something in return, but simply so that they may be happy” — that is exactly when truly pure bonds of love begin to form between people. Eternal love exists only in this form.

One of the most important and most far-reaching themes for every person in society is relationships built on the pure feeling of love. At the root of all insincere contact between people throughout life lies a lack of love. Global problems such as urbanization, the demographic crisis, and food shortages — each of them affects a person’s way of life to one degree or another, yet the feeling of love has always touched, and continues to touch, everyone. The outstanding philosophers, writers, and filmmakers who turned to this theme worked tirelessly to enlighten people. But since there was no unified system at the foundation, each attributed the painful situations that arose to a different problem.

Among the winners of the 2012 Cannes International Film Festival was a film called Amour. Awarded the Palme d’Or, it later also won an Academy Award, for Best Foreign Language Film. The plot centers on scenes of care and attention between two elderly people. It shows an elderly woman suffering from hemiplegia — paralysis of one side of the body following a stroke: part of her body is paralyzed, yet her husband personally cares for her. At times he treats her roughly, but he still feeds her with his own hands and looks after her. The two elderly people no longer share a sexual relationship; neither worldly goods nor material things interest them — but their communication and their care for each other are still alive. To think not of one’s own needs, but of the feelings and needs of another person — this idea is conveyed in the film with the most delicate tenderness. The director sought to show that in the final moments of life, when nothing else — neither spiritual nor material values — matters anymore, Love can still live. This is the greatest gift given to a human being. And the sooner a person recognizes this gift, the sooner they will find peace of mind and happiness.

If the causes underlying each of the relationship models are rooted in errors of thinking and are not eliminated, no room will remain for pure feelings between people. Beliefs resting on false ideological principles, the influence of inner complexes on the decisions one makes — all of this is what breeds mistakes in behavior. The chief feature of the Phoenix relationship model lies precisely in this: when a person overcomes all the psychological barriers left over from the past, the ground appears for new, healthy bonds between people to take shape.

If we recall other theories: in the “Karpman drama triangle” there are three fixed images — Victim, Persecutor, Rescuer. Yet within each of them, the neurotic way of thinking and the unhealthy relationship model endlessly replace one another, and the person can never break out of this game. A neurotic position is present in each of these patterns of behavior. Finding themselves in an unpleasant situation, a person swaps their behavior for another neurotic one, and in the end a healthy model of thinking never takes shape. For example, colleagues working together may go through conflicts of various kinds. Someone in the Rescuer position will invariably strive to help a colleague who keeps landing in difficult situations because of their own mistakes. But one day this weak colleague gets promoted, and the Rescuer position in the triangle may change. Noticing a certain coldness on the colleague’s part, they may toss out ironically: “Someone got a promotion — doesn’t notice us anymore” — and feel hostility toward them. After that they will begin to behave toward them not as a Rescuer, but as a Persecutor. It is precisely the neurotic way of thinking that pushes them into such behavior.

In Eric Berne’s transactional theory, among his ego states of Child — Parent — Adult, only within the “Adult” position do the traits of mature thinking unfold. Awareness of these traits is considered a psychotherapeutic tool for changing a person’s behavior. But for the change to happen, awareness alone is not enough. Once this decision is made, one must begin separate work to bring the desired into reality.

The traits of a healthy psychological portrait are described in many theories. Thus, Adler’s theory points out that a person suffering from psychological complexes, no matter how many years they spend compensating for them, will never be able to feel whole and happy. Only by becoming aware of their complexes and renouncing the path those complexes dictate will they gain a way of life capable of making them happy.

And yet, even though all these theories yield an understanding of the healthy position of mature thinking, they do not give an exhaustive answer to the question of how relationship models should unfold in a life scenario. Not in the sense of how a mature person should ideally act at this or that moment — but what should their unchanging position in life be? What should the steady, unshakable relationship model of the Mature person be — in personal life, in the business sphere, with friends, with superiors, with a beloved, with a child, with animals, with any living creature on our planet, with the events taking place in society? How should one behave even with an aggressive person so that their aggression does not grow but gradually subsides? Mature thinking, understanding the causes of another’s inappropriate behavior, does not allow conflict with them.

“What made you angry? What did I do to make you so furious — tell me openly, and we’ll solve this problem together.”

The mature person...

What has to happen for a Chameleon to become a Phoenix?

In search of an answer to this question, let us turn to history. In different eras, there have been moments when a “Chameleon,” casting off everything of the past at once and becoming a “Phoenix,” turned into a figure of history. Such leaders have appeared throughout history across the most varied fields. In the behavior of each of them, whatever their field, you can see similar patterns. They set aside everything they had learned before and followed a new identity, a new style, a new mission.

Miyamoto Musashi — a Japanese samurai of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, who in his time achieved perfection in swordsmanship. Legend has it that no master of the blade in all of Japan was his equal. Even so, every samurai considered it his duty to duel Miyamoto Musashi, to prove the superiority of his own school of combat. In those days, when two samurai crossed swords, the loser inevitably forfeited his life. Naturally, Miyamoto Musashi always emerged the victor, and every time he was forced to kill the man he had defeated. His era was full of such challenges. He always won and never knew defeat. That is precisely why his school of swordsmanship was considered the strongest. It was Miyamoto Musashi who embodied the virtuoso art of wielding two swords at once. And yet, even though his school was considered the most authoritative of its time, that alone was not enough to make his name endure in history. So what had to happen for a true change to occur in a person’s thinking and way of life?

Consider this: for a Chameleon to become a Phoenix, a revolution must take place in his thinking. To pin down this change at the cognitive level, let us examine this historical moment, as reflected in the life of the Japanese samurai.

One day, Miyamoto Musashi went out in a boat to fish. He had no swords with him, of course. When he pulled up to the shore, two samurai blocked his path and tried to attack. The samurai of a hostile school, seeing that the famed master was unarmed, decided to seize the moment. After all, the killing of a master swordsman would spread across the whole country as a historic victory. Without a sword in his hands, Miyamoto Musashi took up the fight with the boat’s oar and tried to hold them off. And what caught his attention during that struggle? Their movements had nothing to do with sword technique. If you choose the right position in a confrontation with an attacker — you can overcome your opponent unharmed even without a sword in your hands. Once he had won, he understood: his mastery was not tied to the sword. Even without any weapon at all — if a master knows the principles and rules of combat, inner strength and composure matter more than a weapon in the hand.

It was after this discovery that Miyamoto Musashi founded a new school of combat. The creation of a school where mastery of spirit, not the weapon, wins gave birth to a new philosophy in Japan. From then on, everyone knew: instead of perfecting the creation of exotic weapons, better results come from mastering the art of combat at a deep level and from governing one’s own attention — rather than from proficiency with this or that weapon or technique. Miyamoto Musashi wrought a revolutionary upheaval among the samurai schools of Japan and became one of the most celebrated people of his time. Today Miyamoto Musashi is known not only in Japan but throughout the world — as an artist and as a philosopher. His enduring fame as a historical figure began precisely when he cast aside everything he had learned before. This is not about knowledge and skills. When, one day, the information a person has carried in his thinking for many years gives way to an entirely different understanding, a special state arises in the makeup of his mind. When the entire former approach sinks to zero in consciousness, a new beginning is born at its foundation.

The sharpened word of truth will strike, Flashes like lightning through the night, Rings louder than a blade of steel — It tears the mask from him, reveals The liar’s empty dreams at night.

The fire will burn the past away, Scatter the ashes of past years, Intention is the soul’s one needle, That stitched the thread of fate in her —

And like the sun at break of day, Stepping into a bright new age, From ashes, flame, and burning heat — The New Man rises to his feet.

(In the spirit of Miyamoto Musashi)

The meaning expressed in these lines also points to changes taking place at the cognitive level — in the very foundation of psychology. Many politicians and people with a leader’s soul, in order to resolve the problems they have carried in their hearts for many years and to win the love of their people, must above all come to know themselves.

“I, as a politician, do not want to please individual people. I want to give something greater — to bring about a revolutionary change that will remain in history.” If a person becomes aware of this, he is capable of carrying that mission in his heart for years. But when he proclaims it and strives to bring it to life, more and more people begin to love him, and to love him more deeply. The mature person who carries this relationship model within, having secured a place in society, is able to earn people’s respect and gather numerous followers around himself. Every victory, every success on the path to his mission echoes across the whole world. This phenomenon is found not only among religious and political figures, but also among figures of art. People capable of realizing themselves as individuals possess the power to write their names into history in letters of gold.

THE THREE PILLARS OF THE PHOENIX.

Sincerity. The Phoenix does not lie to himself or to others. He admits his mistakes and weaknesses without feeling shame. This gives him enormous strength, because honesty disarms manipulation.

Love. This is not neurotic attachment (as with the Mistress), nor self-sacrifice (as with Cinderella). It is the ability to see another person as an individual and to respect their freedom.

Mercy. This is the highest form of empathy. The Phoenix helps not because he must, but because he can. Like the bird from the legend of Noah’s Ark, he senses the boundary where help turns into imposition.

The Phoenix School. The methodology describes how the path to the Phoenix often runs through community. A person cannot transform in a vacuum. They need a mirror in the form of other people who have walked this path. There is a hierarchy of growth: from student to Trainer, from Trainer to Master, from Master to Grandmaster. These are not titles of power; they are levels of responsibility. The Grandmaster is not the one who commands, but the one who serves as an example.

Crisis and Affirmation. The Phoenix has no crisis in the neurotic sense. His challenge is keeping the light alive in a dark world. Sometimes those around him are not ready for the Phoenix’s sincerity, and they try to pull him back into the game of masks. But the Phoenix is steady. He knows: if you have stopped growing, you have begun to die. That is why his path is constant learning and passing on experience.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Phoenix” model — maturity, wholeness, service without self-sacrifice.

Viktor Frankl (Austria, 20th century).

A psychiatrist who survived the Nazi concentration camps.

Manifestation of the model: In inhuman conditions he found meaning in survival — helping fellow prisoners. After his release he created logotherapy, the doctrine of meaning. His life is an example of rising from the ashes of tragedy through a conscious choice of one’s attitude toward suffering.

Nelson Mandela (South Africa, 20th century).

A politician who spent 27 years in prison and became president.

Manifestation of the model: Instead of revenge, he chose reconciliation. He burned away the resentment (the ashes of the past) to build a new nation. His ability to see his former jailers as partners in dialogue is a mark of the Phoenix’s highest maturity.

Marcus Aurelius (Rome, 2nd century).

Emperor and Stoic philosopher.

Manifestation of the model: Possessing absolute power, he preserved inner modesty and responsibility. His “Meditations” is a diary of self-improvement. He served the state not for glory, but as the duty of a rational being. An example of the wholeness of power and spirit.

Leo Tolstoy (Russia, 19th century).

A writer who traveled the path from society lion to spiritual seeker.

Manifestation of the model: In his maturity he renounced privilege and his copyrights, striving to live in harmony with his conscience. His search for truth and his refusal to put up with the hypocrisy of society demonstrate the path to authenticity despite the pressure of his surroundings.

Miyamoto Musashi (Japan, 16th–17th centuries).

Samurai, philosopher, artist (the completion of the path).

Manifestation of the model: If in the Chameleon model he adapted himself to the enemy, here he founded his own school, the “Niten Ichi-ryū,” and wrote The Book of Five Rings. He ceased to be a warrior-killer and became a master of the path, passing his knowledge on to descendants. This is the final stage of the master’s transformation into a teacher.

5. EXITING THE MODEL (GROWTH AND SERVICE)

According to this methodology, the Phoenix has no exit into another model, because this is the summit.

The Phoenix is not a fixed point; it is a process.

Growth: A person deepens their knowledge, becomes a Trainer, then a Master. They help others walk the path of transformation.

Service: The highest form of the Phoenix’s existence is passing on the fire of knowledge. When a person becomes a Grandmaster, they understand that leadership is not power — it is responsibility for the light you carry.

Cyclicity: The Phoenix understands that the path is endless. Every day is a new rebirth. The main thing is not to stop, and not to let the ashes of the past cover the fire of the present again.

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “PHOENIX”

A year had passed since that phone call from Edgar. Maria sat in the council hall, surrounded by people who had walked the same path. They called themselves Masters. But today, something bigger than everyday business was being decided.

She remembered her journey: cleaner, manager, Chameleon. She remembered the book she read at that turning point — The Phoenix Era. Back then, it seemed the book had found her on its own. Now she understood: it was she who had found the book, because she had grown ripe for it.

Group therapy changed her. She learned to say “no” without guilt, to help without a sense of obligation, and to love without a bargain. She became a trainer, then a Master. Her groups were the best because she didn’t teach theories — she shared her scars. The people who came to her recognized themselves in her stories, and that was exactly why they began to believe there was a way out for them too.

The meeting of the Council of Masters took place in a spacious hall. Maria sat not at the head of the table, but among equals: there were no bosses in this room. There were only those who had taken on the responsibility of guarding the methodology and supporting those learning to run groups.

“We are not electing you as our leader,” said one of the masters, an older man with a soft voice. “We are inviting you into the Council. Because the path you walked on your own, with no hints, has become an example. You know the pain of every model from the inside. That matters more than any diplomas.”

Maria paused for a moment. All her former faces flashed before her eyes for an instant — from Lilith counting her money to the Chameleon changing its color — and she thought that each of them had once been her pain, and had now become her knowledge.

“What would I be doing?” she asked.

“Watching to make sure the trainers don’t stray from the ethics. Helping when someone gets stuck. Taking part in decisions about new programs. No more and no less than any of us.”

“And I won’t stop running my groups?”

“That’s your choice. A Master may run groups, or may not. What matters is guarding the knowledge and passing it on to those who are ready.”

Maria nodded. No crown was being placed on her head — she was being offered responsibility. And that is not the same as power: it is heavier. But it was her choice.

So ended the path that had once begun with a cold golden bracelet. The Phoenix is not the one who never burned — it is the one who managed to rise from their own ashes.

“Knowledge without practice is dead.

Practice without knowledge is blind.

Join them together — and you will find your wings.”

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SECTION 1. THE GAME PRACTICE “THE PHOENIX ERA” · The Concept of the Game

The game practice The Phoenix Era is a living organism within the methodology. It is a space where theory becomes experience and words turn into feelings. The game was not created for winning in the classic sense — it was created for awakening. It is a mirror in which each participant sees not who they want to appear to be, but who they truly are.

The mission of the game: by living through the twelve relationship models, the participant recognizes their neurotic patterns, sees them from the outside, and receives the key to moving into a healthy model of behavior — the Phoenix model.

Format: group dynamics with 8 to 24 people. One full cycle of the game takes about 2–3 hours. Participants: Players, the Author, the Phoenix, the Master.

Game Technique: Three Circles of Rebirth

The game is built on the principle of ascent. It consists of three rounds, each of which opens a new level of awareness.

Round One: The Labyrinth of Masks (45 minutes)

Goal: to reveal hidden roles and find the Phoenix. At the start of the game, each participant is dealt a face-down deck of cards. Each card shows one of the 12 relationship models. The player sees their own card but must keep it hidden from the others. This is their secret role, their “mask” for this game.

1. The Situation: The Author describes a life situation — a family conflict, a workplace dilemma, an ethical choice, or a crisis. Example: “You’ve found a wallet with a large sum of money inside. No one is around. What do you do?”

2. The Reaction: The Players enter into dialogue. Each speaks and acts strictly according to their hidden card. Lilith will suggest keeping the money. Teresa will suggest donating it to charity. The Beggar will insist to everyone that the find must be taken. The Phoenix will suggest finding the owner.

3. The Hunt: The Author observes the behavior, analyzing words, intonations, logic. Their goal is to figure out who is who.

4. The Verdict: The Author points to a player and names their model. If the Author is right, the player reveals their card and is out of the game. If the Author is wrong, they are out themselves, the decks are reshuffled, and a new Author is appointed.

Round One ends only when the Phoenix has been found. This is the key condition. As long as the Phoenix stays hidden, the masks cannot be fully cast off.

Round Two: The Light of the Phoenix (45–60 minutes)

Goal: to see the healthy model in action. The Author: the player who held the Phoenix card and was found in Round One. Now they become the guide.

1. The Request: The remaining Players bring forward difficult, tangled situations from their real lives — unresolved conflicts, fears, dead ends.

2. The Phoenix’s Answer: The Phoenix gives no ready-made advice. They show what they would do in the player’s place, demonstrating Sincerity, Love, and Mercy in action.

3. The Dialogue: The Players may argue with the Phoenix. The Phoenix’s task is to hold the light without sliding into neurotic reactions (resentment, aggression, excuses).

Round Three: The Path of the Master (45–60 minutes)

Goal: therapeutic integration and consolidation of the experience. The Author: the Master (a professional therapist, a trainer of the Phoenix School who has completed special certification).

1. The Analysis: the Master reviews the game that has just been played, showing the Players where they acted out of trauma and where they acted out of awareness.

2. The Work: the Players receive assignments — to relive a situation from within the Phoenix model. The task sounds like this: “Try saying no not with Puttana’s aggression, but with the Phoenix’s confidence.”

3. The Therapy: the Master helps the participants connect their in-game reactions to their real-life scripts.

Closing: a discussion circle. Each participant formulates one intention: which model they choose in real life after the game.

Roles in the Game

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Section 2. The diagnostic test “THE map of relationship MODELS”

This test consists of 100 statements. Each statement reflects a particular model of behavior in relationships. Read each statement carefully and rate how well it fits your current state of life. Answer honestly. There are no right or wrong answers here. This is a tool for self-knowledge, not an exam.

Rating Scale

BLOCK 1. The “Lilith” Model (Questions 1–8)

1. I believe that money guarantees security in a relationship more than feelings do.

2. If a partner has no financial stability, I see no future with him.

3. I judge potential partners by their status and their means.

4. Love can be bought, if you have enough money.

5. I feel safe only when I have a financial cushion.

6. In a relationship, gifts and provision matter more to me than words of love.

7. I don’t trust people who have no material resources.

8. Without money, a relationship is doomed to fail.

BLOCK 2. The “Puttana” Model (Questions 9–16)

9. I don’t care what other people think of me.

10. I am ready to break the rules to prove my freedom.

11. My rebellion against the system matters more to me than a quiet life.

12. I attract attention through scandals and provocations.

13. Everything is allowed to me; I do whatever I want.

14. I know best — don’t teach me how to live.

15. I take pride in the fact that I can fall very low and feel no shame.

16. Society is hypocritical, and I have the right to answer it in kind.

BLOCK 3. The “Hippie” Model (Questions 17–24)

17. Life is fleeting; you need to live here and now, without planning the future.

18. There is no need to prove anything to anyone, including career achievements.

19. I prefer freedom to commitment, even if it means instability.

20. You should try everything in this life, including the forbidden things.

21. Planning the future is pointless — everything will change anyway.

22. I avoid long-term commitments in relationships.

23. Working for money is slavery; I choose freedom.

24. My desires matter more than the opinion of family or society.

BLOCK 4. The “Geisha” Model (Questions 25–32)

25. The admiration of the crowd matters more to me than the love of one person.

26. My talent demands sacrifices, and love is the first of them.

27. Reputation is the only thing you cannot afford to lose.

28. I am ready to sacrifice my personal life for success and recognition.

29. I am loved only for my achievements, not for who I am.

30. I feel alive only when I am valued as I deserve.

31. Loneliness surrounded by admirers is my normal.

32. I am afraid that without my achievements I will become uninteresting.

BLOCK 5. The “Mistress” Model (Questions 33–40)

33. With him, my life is secure; safety matters more than freedom.

34. I love him, so I will forgive everything, even betrayal.

35. He cannot live without me; I am his salvation and his support.

36. I am more afraid of being alone than of being in a dependent relationship.

37. I am ready to wait for years, just to be near him.

38. Without a partner, I feel incomplete and lost.

39. I forgive everything, because I’m afraid no one else will ever choose me.

40. My worth is defined by whether I am needed by someone.

BLOCK 6. The “Courtesan” Model (Questions 41–48)

41. A person may have many lovers in life; that is normal.

42. He will not resist my charm; I can always win him over.

43. Love is a game in which I must always win.

44. The number of victories matters more than the quality of the relationship.

45. I collect attention from the opposite sex to confirm my own worth.

46. I am bored in stable relationships; I need the hunt.

47. I change partners when they stop fascinating me.

48. My sexuality is the main weapon I have.

BLOCK 7. The “Teresa” Model (Questions 49–56)

49. A person should be known only by their good deeds.

50. What matters is not beauty, but kindness and serving people.

51. If I don’t help, who will? I am irreplaceable.

52. I sacrifice myself so that I will be appreciated and loved.

53. My needs don’t matter compared to the needs of others.

54. I feel guilty if I rest while others are working.

55. Holiness and self-sacrifice are my path to recognition.

56. I help people to prove that I am good.

BLOCK 8. The “Infanta” Model (Questions 57–64)

57. Every person must have someone to lean on; it’s impossible to manage on your own.

58. Everything is allowed to me — after all, I’m not to blame for my mistakes.

59. Decide for me; I don’t know what’s the best thing to do.

60. I’m afraid to make decisions without advice or permission.

61. I need someone who will guide me through life.

62. I feel helpless without another person’s support.

63. Making mistakes is scary; better to let someone else decide.

64. I wait for someone to come along and arrange my life for me.

BLOCK 9. The “Cinderella” Model (Questions 65–72)

65. If I don’t help them, they will be lost; it’s my responsibility.

66. Without me they won’t cope; I must be there.

67. I must earn the right to be loved through service.

68. I can’t say “no,” even when it’s hard for me.

69. I feel guilty if I refuse to help.

70. My desires must come last.

71. I carry everything on my shoulders, because there’s no one else.

72. If I’m not appreciated, it means I haven’t done enough.

BLOCK 10. The “Beggar” Model (Questions 73–80)

73. If you have something, why won’t you share? It’s only fair.

74. The world owes me for my suffering and hardships.

75. A true friend is known in times of trouble — he must help.

76. I demand help because I have the right to it.

77. Others are obliged to take care of me; I am a victim of circumstances.

78. If people don’t help me, it means they are bad and greedy.

79. I am not to blame for my situation; others are.

80. People must give to me, because I have nothing.

BLOCK 11. The “Chameleon” Model (Questions 81–88)

81. With every person you need to speak their language; sincerity is less effective.

82. I have everything, yet something is missing inside me.

83. A person comes into this world alone and leaves alone — that is fatalism.

84. I am convenient for everyone, but I don’t know what I want myself.

85. I avoid conflicts by adjusting to the mood of the person I’m talking to.

86. I am outwardly successful, but I feel an inner emptiness.

87. I confuse my own desires with the desires of those around me.

88. To be convenient means to be accepted; that matters more than the truth.

BLOCK 12. The “Phoenix” Model (Questions 89–100)

89. I accept myself and others without conditions or demands.

90. My life is my choice; I am responsible for my decisions.

91. Love is an action, not a deal or an exchange.

92. I can say “no” without guilt or excuses.

93. I help people not to earn approval, but because I can.

94. My thoughts, words and actions match; I am whole.

95. I am not afraid of mistakes; they are part of my growth.

96. I build relationships on trust, not on control.

97. I feel my own worth regardless of external success.

98. I live for meaning, not for survival or approval.

99. I can be vulnerable without losing my strength.

100. I choose sincerity, even when it’s inconvenient.

SCORING INSTRUCTIONS

Step 1. Add up your score for each block

Add up all the points within each block (8 questions, except for Phoenix — 12 questions).

Step 2. Calculate the average score for each model

Step 3. Identify the dominant model

Step 4. Find your dominant model (Step 3) on the archetype strength scale: the number beside it is your result, from 1 to 12

Results 1–4: You are in models of strong dependence. This is your starting point. Awareness is the first step toward transformation.

Results 5–8: You are in a transitional period. You already have some independence, but neurotic patterns remain.

Results 9–11: You are close to the peak. All that’s left is to take a step toward sincerity and wholeness.

Result 12 (Phoenix): Congratulations. You are on the path of maturity. Remember: the Phoenix is a process, not a point of arrival.

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Section 3. The “PHOENIX” deck: description of the cards

3.1. Character cards (24 in total)

Each archetype is represented by two cards — a light side and a dark side. All 24 character cards are used in play.

3.2. Situation cards (24 in total)

The situation cards set the context for play in the first round. The author reads out the situation, and the players respond according to their hidden character card. Bonuses are awarded based on the results of the round.

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SECTION 4. THE ETHICAL CODE OF A CONSULTANT OF THE “PHOENIX” SCHOOL · Core Principles

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Section 5. The therapeutic personal development program

The Phoenix School: from the game to life

The game is the front door. Beyond it, a long corridor of transformation begins. The Phoenix School of Methodology offers a systematic personal development program for those ready to walk the path all the way to the end.

The philosophy of the School: we don’t teach people to be “proper.” We help them be real. Our goal is not to fit someone into a standard, but to reveal a person’s unique essence by freeing them from neurotic shackles.

Structure of the training

How to begin the path

1. Read the book — it’s your map of the terrain.

2. Find a game — attend an open game session of The Phoenix Era in your city or online.

3. Take the diagnostic — learn your current Model (100 questions in Section 2).

4. Join a group — begin therapy with a certified Trainer or Master.

5. Become the light — complete the training and start helping others find their wings.

“The Phoenix is not afraid to burn. It knows: ashes are not the end of the story. They are the fertilizer for new life.

Welcome to The Phoenix Era.”

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Afterword · A message to the traveler

“Knowledge is fire. You can burn yourself, you can warm yourself, you can light the way. The choice belongs to the one who holds the torch.”

Dear reader,

You’ve turned the last page. The text is over. But it’s precisely in this silence, between the final period and the closing of the cover, that the most important thing begins.

Remember the beginning of the journey? We talked about how you are the Master of your own destiny. Back then, it might have sounded like a pretty metaphor, like a promise made by a stranger on a train. But now, having passed through the labyrinth of twelve models, having seen the faces of Lilith, having heard the cry of Puttana, having felt the comfortable mask of the Chameleon, you know: this is not a metaphor. This is the anatomy of your soul.

We gave you a map. We showed you where the swamps of neuroses lie, where the mirages of safety hide, and where the territory of freedom begins. But a map is not the territory. A book is not life.

As the French writer Bernard Werber wrote: “Death is not the end, it’s simply a transition to the next level”. I will put it differently: Birth is not the beginning. The beginning is the moment when you stop being what circumstances made you.

Right now you are standing on a threshold. You hold a key in your hands. It is not the book. It is awareness. You can close it and put it on a shelf. Tomorrow morning you’ll wake up, drink your coffee, put on the usual mask, and head to work. You’ll play the role of the Chameleon so that people love you. Or the role of Cinderella so that no one leaves you. That’s the safe path. The path millions choose. The path where ashes remain ashes.

Or you can take a step into the fire.

In the Appendix, you found the rules of the game. But the most important game doesn’t happen at a table with cards. It happens here. In your chest. In the moment when you want to lie so you look better. In the moment when you want to make demands because you feel like a victim. In the moment when it’s easier to stay silent than to speak the truth.

In that moment, remember the Phoenix.

The Phoenix is not afraid to burn. It knows: ashes are not the end of the story. They are fertilizer for new life. Every time you choose sincerity over convenience, you burn off an old skin. Every time you choose love over safety, you grow a new wing.

We built the School. We wrote the method. We designed the game. But all of it exists only if you want it to. Don’t wait for permission. You are already the Master. Don’t fear mistakes. A mistake is simply experience that will become part of your feathers.

The world has too many people playing roles. The world is suffocating under masks. It doesn’t need another reflection in a crooked mirror. It needs your light. The real one. Not polished, not safe — alive.

So what comes next?

Close the book. Look in the mirror. Not at the clothes, not at the hair. Into the eyes. Ask yourself: “Who is looking back at me?”. If you see exhaustion there — give yourself rest. If you see fear there — take a step through it. If you see fire there — don’t put it out.

Go where your soul burns. Find your people. The ones who are also tired of masks. Come to the game. Become a Trainer. Become a Master. Or simply become Yourself.

P.S. Important:

This book is not an advertisement for the school and not an invitation to join a community. It was conceived as a standalone tool. If you read it, took the test, played with friends, and changed your life — that is the main result.

Everything else — the School, game practices, training — exists only for those who need it. And does not exist for those who don’t. Choose what resonates. Your path is yours alone.

The Phoenix Era does not arrive by the calendar. It arrives when at least one person decides to stop being ashes.

You are that person.

Take flight.

The End of This Book.

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Bibliography:

1. Fundamental Textbooks and Local Authors (Azerbaijan)

These books are used as the core teaching materials in institutions of higher education:

Bayramov A.S., Alizade A.A. — Psychology. (A university textbook).

Amrahli L.Sh. — Methodological Problems of Psychology.

Alizade A.A. — Psychological Problems of the Modern Azerbaijani School.

Valiyev M.V., Mustafayev A.M. — Psychology.

Gasimova L.N., Makhmudov R.M. — Pedagogical Psychology.

Pashayev A.Kh. — Social Psychology.

Aliyev B.G. — Psychology: a university textbook.

Jabbarov R.V. — Developmental Psychology and the Psychology of Human Development.

2. Classics of World Psychology (Literature in Translation)

The most famous works translated into the Azerbaijani language:

Sigmund Freud — Psychopathology (The Psychopathology of Everyday Life).

Erich Fromm — The Art of Loving.

Viktor Frankl — Say “Yes” to Life (A Psychologist in a Concentration Camp).

Daniel Goleman — Emotional Intelligence.

Alfred Adler — Understanding Human Nature.

Jean Piaget — The Language and Thought of the Child.

Robert Cialdini — The Psychology of Influence.

Carl Gustav Jung — Lectures on Analytical Psychology.

3. Scientific, Methodological and Supplementary Materials

Sources useful for research and practice:

Institute of Education of the Republic of Azerbaijan — Psychological bulletins and collections.

Mammadov A. — Clinical Psychology.

Gamzayev M.A. — The History of Psychology.

4. Electronic Resources and Journals

The journal “Psychology” (Published by Baku State University).

The electronic database of the Azerbaijan National Library (anl.az).