Frankl was a clinician first. He did not think reading was sufficient. Three ways to do the work on your own, one page for the day you decide you have had enough, and an hour with a person. Everything but the hour runs entirely on your device: no account, no email, nothing sent anywhere.
The responsibility audit. The eulogy. The tragic reframe — with Frankl's own caveat that it is only for what cannot be changed. The values stack. Future authoring, borrowed with credit. The why statement. Each one is a card with an honest evidence grade, and each one will hurt a little, which is the point.
Twelve questions across the three assumptions and the three paths. At the end you get a reading of what you wrote — not a diagnosis, a mirror — and then you write your own sentence, beginning I am here to… It is saved on your device and you can print it.
The day it turns is not a mood; it is a decision with a date on it, read through Frankl, and only for what can be changed. Four lines on one card: the date, what you have had it with, a reason that is for someone else, and the first small discipline. Then a week of doing the last one.
One hundred unflinching questions for a man or woman who has decided to stop lying to themselves. Fears, secrets, regrets, desire, money, mortality, the body, the past you don't talk about. Two versions, one in a man's voice and one in a woman's. Uncomfortable by design.
When a page is not enough. A one-hour conversation with the man who built this site, with the one rule in force: he asks, and he does not tell you what your life is for. If your situation calls for a clinician, he says so early and helps you find one.
Two design decisions, both taken from the evidence. First, every tool here ends in a commitment or an action, not in more searching — because the research is clear that searching for meaning without finding it is associated with being worse off, not better. Second, none of it is a substitute for a clinician.