Universal points.

Through the reset phase
you have to support the nervous system (from here on — NS).
Why?
Because, for fuck’s sake, we’ve been running on pure stress for way too long,
and the NS straight up needs help.
Magnesium.
Yes.
Sing whatever the hell you want to sing — magnesium is always necessary.
Calming herbs.
But not mint.
Never mint.
Otherwise — monk, instantly.
Something like chamomile and similar stuff.
Pills, but plant-based.
You have to stop twitching.
Calm down.
Level out.
Nobody wants us irritated and nervous.
Everything goes toward calming the NS.
Diet does its job
(I wrote about it earlier).
It should level hormones into a flat line by now.
Boxing supports and evens out male hormones.
Running is gold — without it, no way.
So everything works as a system:
Beets.
Garlic.
Sour cream.
Carrots.
Walnuts.
Almonds.
Pine nuts.
All of this straightens us out
and sets the spine straight.
We’re no longer twitchy.
We’re slow.
Not fussy — and powerful.
We move toward the goal
like a shark toward its prey.

Critical aspects.
The woman is not going through the reset.
She’s basically afraid to breathe.
Her husband is changing, and she’s praying he keeps going —
but she has no idea where it’s coming from.
She’s still there.
In the same life.
So we don’t pressure her right away.
We don’t attack.
She needs time.
Or at least some ground under her feet.
Like, “Yes, I’m trying.”
Don’t forget: she’s not in therapy.
For her, everything is the same as before.
She genuinely thinks he’s preparing her for a catastrophe —
either they’re about to be evicted,
or he’s cheating.
Because for so many years he did nothing for her,
so why would he start now?
Which means there must be terrifying reasons behind it.
And she’s fucking scared.

Universal truths.
Hair tied up
is complete bullshit.
In any scenario — if her hair is tied up,
the sweet one is no longer with us,
and that so-desired feminine energy has been pulled away.
She’s in get-your-shit-together mode.
Business mode.
This must never be allowed.
Her hair must always be loose around the alpha.
If she’s too relaxed — that’s also complete bullshit.
I mean all these hoodies, stretched pants,
oversized T-shirts,
and all that.
It’s not about trust.
It’s about the fact that
we’re no longer the object of her desire and lust.
Which means she’s thinking about something else.
Or someone else.
Not necessarily acting on it —
but who the hell wants to think
she’s checking out other men?
That’s complete bullshit.

Solution.
We carry a flask.
Oh, fuck off.
What does this have to do with me?
If someone’s been twitchy and nervous for that long,
we’ll have to level out somehow.
The body is still shaking.
So — we use pressure.
It’s simple:
Positive behavior gets reinforced with compliments.
Negative behavior is simply ignored.
There are a couple of dirty tricks — but later.

So, our woman comes out of the shower.
She smells good, applying creams and all that.
We stand there with a face
like we’ve just been told
dividends will be paid two weeks early.
The alpha stands with a sincere little smile.
The alpha looks at her.
She’ll start waving him off, maybe teasing like,
“What are you, an idiot?”
We endure.
We endure.
And we straighten up.
Because fact:
a woman can’t withstand his attention.
Everything inside her starts rising.
And soon she’ll want to sleep with him.
But she’s scared of his strength,
so she’ll try to close the door, kick him out —
anything to make him loosen his grip.
But an alpha is an alpha.
Hmm.
I think it’s time to play.
The alpha stands, leaning against the doorframe,
still looking at her.
She no longer knows what to do with herself.
We press further.
Stand.
Stand.
And…
We come closer.
Stroke her hair.
Tell her how good this haircut looks on her — this styling, the hair, whatever.
The woman waves it off like,
“What the hell are you talking about?”
But the alpha is serious.
He wouldn’t have married an ugly one.
He tells her —
honestly and straight:
“You’re beautiful.”
She gets shy.
We’re back on top.
Niiiiice.
A whole day of endless concessions, indulgence, catering to the alpha,
forgiveness for everything possible and impossible.
The alpha is taken care of.
That’s it.
This is our golden ticket.
Next.
She’ll start glowing in the morning.
Soon she won’t put on some shit like a hoodie or men’s pants anymore.
No.
She’ll pull herself together.
What if he notices again?
What if he gives her attention again?
What if he actually sees her — for real?
Perfect.
We got the game.
And we’re leading.
She’ll dress up.
Even if it’s still some kind of shit
and looks more like a bedsheet.
But the alpha is glowing.
“You’re such a beauty.”
Key.
It’s important to reinforce the pattern here.
The more we point out how beautiful she is,
the more she’ll start trying.
And maybe we’ll see again
the woman we married —
well-groomed and sweet,
not eternally tired and twitchy.
Brrrr.
And finally — physical contact.
The alpha is not staring at the TV.
No.
He’s here.
He’s switched on.
He comes up to her.
Gently strokes her hair.
Looks her in the eyes.
Remember:
these two minutes will buy us
a weekend full of bliss.
And attention —
zero.
Zero-zero.
Zeeeero
percent of mental nagging.
She’s too stunned.
How attentive he’s become.
How caring.
And it feels to her like
she’s falling in love with him again.
Exactly, woman.
Come on.
Come on.
So we stroke her back.
Press her against the kitchen island.
Kiss her neck, her hair.
We let her know:
woman, you’re beautiful, and I love you.
From here — your call.
If there’s desire,
gently invite her along.
But properly.
So she doesn’t think
this was some setup.
No.
We gently and softly invite her
to come with us.
She glows.
Looks at the alpha
like the man of her dreams.
We fist-bump.
If you want not just a weekend,
but a whole week of calm —
order her flowers again.
Lots of flowers.
Oh, and then you can play your card.
The woman is devoted to the alpha.
She wants him.
She married
the best man in the world.

Key.
Most likely she’ll start taking a long time to get ready.
Now she does her hair, makeup, clothes, all that.
We don’t sit there with a face like,
“When will this be over?”
Because if someone again doesn’t notice
how hard she tried for him,
the woman will slide back into
“whatever, I’ll wear anything” mode.
We’ve already been through this.
So pull yourself together.
Shine.
Sing to her.
Sing until you feel sick.
Then sing some more.
Yes.
Yes, yes, yes.
Fuck off with the whining.
If you don’t want to invest —
go live with a scarecrow.
You want a beautiful wife?
Then you’ll have to notice
when she’s beautiful
and how hard she tried.
Put on fake lashes?
We react immediately —
say how beautiful it is.
New nails?
We’re already singing.
Yes, yes, yes.
You won’t die.
You’ll have to start seeing.
Noticing.
But then —
hallelujah, she’s a beauty again,
and we’re proud to have her again.
Niiiiice.

Key.
Clothes are the key.
The more often she wears pants,
the worse things are.
It means she’s still in control,
and the alpha still hasn’t taken the weight off her.
This, guys, is complete bullshit.
Next.
If she puts on anything that attracts attention —
even if it’s just a skirt —
that’s a signal.
And it’s screaming:
“Hey, man, I need all your attention,
or I’ll cry and get warmed up by men
who aren’t so stiff and rigid.”
So we watch the clothes.
Any cleavage.
Anything tight.
Anything that stands out even a little.
All of it is a direct signal
that she’s not getting enough attention from the alpha.
You’ll have to lie constantly.
“Oh, you look so good.”
“Oh, that looks amazing on you.”
But for fuck’s sake — obviously.
If she figures this out, we’re done.
Just done.
Completely.
If she cracks this,
she’ll crack everything else too.
And that’s it.
That’s all.
So keep it natural.
As natural as possible.

Key.
Even if at the next table
two hot girls start having sex —
we don’t look.
We don’t look at other women at all.
We are blind.
Selectively blind.
This is forbidden.
Never look at other women.
Never.
The world has collapsed,
women don’t exist,
there is only your wife.
That’s it.

Key.
Be a gentleman.
Critically important.
You always court her.
And with that little smile,
like you’ve just been told
you never have to work again.
Open doors.
Offer your hand.

Key.
You must never give her your strength.
Never.
Open a jar?
Of course, of course.
Lift a chair?
Of course, of course.
Move a couch?
Of course, of course.
She should rely on you for strength.
You must not, for fuck’s sake,
hand over your strength to her.
Never.
Do I even need to explain
what effect this has?
What’s basic and obvious for men
is almost porn for women.
Every time he protects her,
every time she’s scared at night
to go to the bathroom,
every time he opens a jar
or moves a couch —
deep inhale.
You won’t understand this.
It’s the same as if she changed into a maid outfit
and forgot to put on panties,
while constantly bending over.
I think that makes it clear.
Yes, it’s shocking.
But it’s true.
Male strength alone
is enough to make women come
just from the sight of it.