1. The Value Problem
What problem does your thing solve for the person buying it? Not for you, not for the world, not for "people who are ready to step into their next level." For one specific buyer, what does your thing do?
Honestly, this is the hardest of the three to figure out. It looks like it should be the easiest, because you know what you do; you've been doing it for years. But knowing what you do and being able to say what it's worth to someone else, in a way they immediately get, are two different skills. Most of us have the first and mistake it for the second.
The bar is this: the value has to be stupidly simple. Stupidly simple to state, and stupidly simple to understand. Not clever. Not comprehensive. Not "holistic." If someone needs three follow-up questions to understand what they'd get, you don't have a value statement yet; you have a description of your process. "I teach you how to make money" passes the bar. "I help you align with your abundance blueprint" does not, and it doesn't matter how true it is.
The way I get people there is a narrative. (This is the short form. Your Offer Path runs the same question through the Four Noble Truths at full length; do this version first, and when it feels thin, that is where you go.)
You don't write the value statement first. You write the story that makes the value obvious, and then the statement falls out of it. Five questions, in order:
Who needs your thing? Pick one. Not a demographic, a person. If you serve many kinds of people, you still pick one for this exercise; you can run it again later for the others. Generality is where value goes to die.
How did they get into that situation? Nobody wakes up in a problem. There's a path in, and if you can describe it, the person reading it recognizes themselves, which is most of the work.
What happens if this continues, or gets worse? Suffering has a trajectory. Say where it goes. This isn't fear-mongering; it's the first noble truth, stated plainly for one person.
How does your thing help? Now, and only now, you talk about what you do. Notice how much shorter this is when it comes after the first three.
What does it lead to? What does life look like after? Not the session; the week after the session, the year after. This is what they're actually buying.
When you've written those five, read them back and ask: could a twelve-year-old tell me what this person gets? If not, keep cutting until one could.
Who needs your thing? One person. Describe them so specifically that they would recognize themselves, and how they got where they are.
What happens to that person if nothing changes? Then: how does your thing help, and what does it lead to a month, a year later? Write it as a story, not a pitch.
Now the statement. In one sentence a twelve-year-old would understand: what does this person get from your thing? If it takes two sentences, cut.