Dmytro Telushko’s Fairy Tale Therapy Workbook (Hardcover) has been released. It is not just a collection of fairy tales and not another polished self-development book. It is a working space for adults who want to look closely at their recurring stories: in relationships, partner choices, work, self-attitude, and the habit of waiting, rescuing, staying silent, proving, enduring, or being convenient.

This book can be read, but it is meant to be practiced. To write in it. To pause. To return to questions. To see a fairy tale not as a childhood fantasy, but as a language through which the psyche speaks about adult things: fear of abandonment, shame around desire, the ban on choosing oneself, and an old role that once helped a person survive but now narrows life.

Fairy tales stay with us longer than it seems. As children we hear stories about towers, forests, roads, forbidden rooms, rescuers, witches, helpers, and heroes. In adult life the scenery changes: a tower can become isolation, enchanted sleep can become emotional freezing, and a dragon can become the fear of telling the truth.

Fairy-tale therapy helps not because a tale “heals” by itself, but because it creates safe distance. It may be hard to say directly, “I am waiting to be chosen while I do not choose myself.” Through Rapunzel, who lives in a tower and sees the world through someone else’s rule, this truth becomes easier to approach.

That is the strength of the practice book. It does not label the reader. It invites a person to see their story without devaluing it.

In Dmytro Telushko’s approach, “Kazkoterapiia” combines three levels.

The first level is the tale as an image. The reader meets familiar plots not to find a moral, but to recognize inner dramaturgy: where the hero escapes, stays silent, waits for permission, or rescues out of fear of losing love.

The second level is psychological explanation. After the image comes a reading: what role may be hidden in the plot, what script decision may have formed, what once protected the person, and what it costs now.

The third level is practice. The book leaves room for writing, observation, small choices, and journaling. Awareness without action can remain a beautiful thought; a small action, even one honest sentence or one boundary, already returns authorship to the person.

One story that can be seen through the practice book is Rapunzel. On the surface it is a tale about a girl in a tower, long hair, and a prince. Read as a script, it opens a very adult theme: isolation, control, waiting for external rescue, and the slow return of one’s own voice.

Rapunzel can represent a person who grew up in a system where love was confused with control. They may have heard: “the world is dangerous,” “do not stand out,” “we know what is right for you.” The tower then becomes an inner habit: do not go out, do not try, do not risk, do not want too loudly.

In this reading, the long hair is a way of contacting the world, but contact still happens according to an old rule. Someone must come. Someone must climb. Someone must see. Someone must choose.

Here one of the book’s main motifs appears: if a person learns to choose themselves, someone may truly be lucky to meet them and choose them. But the first movement is not waiting until someone guesses our value. The first movement is daring to understand ourselves, to see our tower, our role, our prohibition, and gradually reclaim the right to choose.

While working on “Kazkoterapiia,” Dmytro was not only collecting material for the reader. He was also going through his own process of self-knowledge. Working with fairy tales illuminated script decisions that often live quietly inside a person: where I choose a familiar role instead of a living desire, where I wait for permission, where I try to earn the right to be myself.

This made the book a living author’s product rather than a cold manual. One can feel the path of a person who does not stand above the reader saying “I already know everything,” but walks beside them: exploring, making mistakes, clarifying, noticing, and learning to choose himself.

These reflections matter because they change the tone of the book. “Kazkoterapiia” is not about becoming a perfect version of oneself. It is about returning to contact with the real self: a living person who can be afraid and unsure, yet still take a small step toward their own life.

The book can be useful for a person who feels that similar plots repeat in their life.

For example, the rescuer role appears again in relationships: “I will endure, understand, pull them out, help, and then I will be valued.” Or the invisible person role: “It is better not to ask, not to disturb, not to be difficult.” Or the role of someone constantly proving their worth through work, care, explanations, endurance, and usefulness.

When a script is unconscious, it feels like reality. A person thinks: “this always happens to me,” “I am never chosen,” “love must be earned.” Fairy-tale work helps notice: maybe this is not how the whole world is built; maybe an old story is reading reality in my place.

Then space for a new choice appears. It does not have to be huge. Sometimes one small step is enough:

Such steps gradually change life — not through magic, but through the return of authorship.

The book offers many entrances into the self: through the drama triangle, the setting of a tale, an unfinished plot, a familiar role, the body, and today’s emotions. The reader sees not only explanations, but actual pages where they can pause and write their own answer.

Reading the book helps you see the map. Working through it helps you meet yourself inside that map.

Speed is not important here. The practice book does not need to be completed “correctly.” You can stop at one question, return a week later, write briefly, argue with the text, or agree slowly. It is not a school notebook for a grade; it is a space for an honest dialogue with your own story.

The book may be especially valuable for people who:

“Kazkoterapiia” is a self-reflection tool, not a replacement for psychotherapy, medical care, or crisis support. If practices bring up strong anxiety, panic, numbness, self-harm impulses, or the feeling that past experience is pulling you in, it is better to stop, return attention to the body and the room, and seek professional support if needed.

The book does not transfer responsibility for life onto a text. But it can help reveal the place where responsibility slowly returns to the person: “What am I repeating now? Do I want this? What small choice is possible today?”

Do not try to “remake yourself” in one evening. It is better to choose one tale or one spread and ask:

These questions are simple, but not superficial. They move a person from the abstract “I need to change my life” to a concrete place where life can actually begin to change.

For example, Kolobok in this reading is not only a story about running away. It asks: am I escaping something that wants to use me, or am I simply moving without my own direction? Do I have not only “away from,” but also “toward”?

The Fox opens another theme: visibility. Where do I want to be seen but hide? Where am I afraid of being noticed? In what safe form can I already allow myself more presence?

Dmytro Telushko’s practice book “Kazkoterapiia” is available on Amazon:

If fairy-tale therapy resonates, you can continue with other MriyaRun materials:

For practice, these can also help:

Fairy-tale therapy is a way to explore inner experience through plot, images, characters, and symbols. In adult self-reflection it helps a person see life scripts more gently, without direct self-blame.

It is for adults who want to explore recurring scenarios, old roles, waiting, boundaries, fear of choice, self-knowledge, and the desire to learn how to choose themselves.

No. It is a tool for self-reflection and writing practice. It can support personal work, but it does not replace psychotherapy, medical care, or crisis support.

It combines fairy-tale plots, psychological explanations, author reflections by Dmytro Telushko, and practical tasks. It is not only a text to read, but a route to move through step by step.

When a person does not choose themselves, they often wait for someone else to give permission, love, or value. Choosing oneself returns authorship: I see my desires, boundaries, and scripts, and I can build closeness from real contact rather than from waiting to be rescued.