People lose wallets, phones, keys. It happens. These days it’s easier – when you lose a ticket, you can print another one; when you forget passwords, there’s an app that will remind you. We no longer try to remember some things at all – phone numbers, addresses. These changes are natural; technological solutions change our behavior: the internet is always at hand, where we can find what’s interesting, what we need, how to find it, what to do, what to avoid, and how to distance ourselves from our experiences and thoughts.
People have always lost themselves, but we can’t yet search for ourselves with the help of smart apps. Artificial intelligence will soon “help,” but we still can’t find online what we feel right now or what we want. However, we can read endless advice about how people in similar situations feel and what they want. The information source in our palm attracts more than inner experiences.
I won’t deliberate whether this is for better or worse. I like changes and I believe in humans’, as well as all living beings’, ability to adapt to changing circumstances.
I’m interested in something else. I see how partners lose themselves in relationships. When we start searching, as meticulously as you would search for keys, it turns out they didn’t even notice they had lost themselves. When keys aren’t in their usual place, you quickly realise you need to go searching because you won’t get into your house. Wait a few more years and this example won’t be suitable, because in many places we’ll enter just by looking at a screen, where an app will already unlock for us. But when you lose part of yourself and there are no traces left that it was pushed aside, shamed, criticised, reasoned away as foolish – what remains is emptiness, or inexplicable hunger, even nostalgia – like longing for something and you don’t know what.
A middle-aged man, who lived both before and during the era of mobile memory substitutes, is surprised when I ask him: roughly since when have you lost yourself? He can’t say. Then I suggest “guess.” I get the answer that it was two years ago. During a two year crisis with his partner, he somehow understood that there was no place for him, that worries, problems, and difficult experiences belonged only to her, and she needed to be cared for.
He got used to pulling his experiences, desires, and needs aside so he could quickly react to her dissatisfaction. That quick reaction usually limited itself to two directions – either he had a solution to the problem, how to overcome difficulties in the situation: find a doctor, organise a babysitter, buy necessary things, or withdraw and not talk about what’s difficult, live through daily routines and solving current matters, and not share himself.
My ability to detect when and how a part of oneself was lost can feel hopelessly inadequate. In such moments, the search turns to what remains—what can awaken now—while the partner begins to open, to voice their desires.
Young couples often embark on a search for where their intimacy, and with it their sexual connection, has disappeared. We may trace the path back to causes—whether real or imagined—that can no longer be changed, or instead turn our gaze toward the present, toward what is missing now: what in their exchanges has become lost, hidden, or withdrawn.
When I hear phrases such as, “I’ll think about what you said,” or, “This question feels completely incomprehensible to me,” or, “I’m not ready to talk about this yet,” I recognise that the partners have chosen not to be present with one another in this moment. They drift instead into analysing past events, into preparing for a conversation that never arrives, into holding firmly to conclusions already drawn, or into a future that remains indefinitely postponed.
It is no surprise, then, that they have distanced themselves from both emotional and physical experience—finding neither pleasure in closeness nor curiosity about what is unfolding second by second in their bodies, with themselves, and with each other. Presence is replaced by absence; immersion, by distraction.
Technology strips away part of the feeling, because emotion is never carried by words alone. Texting severs the space for clarification, locking expression into a single word and a single, fixed meaning. What disappears is the multi-layeredness—the complexity and the personal undertones woven into real presence.
What happened?
What am I feeling?
What does this mean to me?
How does it represent who I am?
Technology leaves no space to withdraw, because connection can happen anywhere, at any time—I’m drinking coffee in Amsterdam while Viktoras is buying a hat in Shanghai.
Emotional distancing unfolds gradually, in such small steps that the traces of what has departed are soon forgotten. The part of a person that is unclear, unknown, mysterious, unpredictable, selfish, and fragile becomes hidden—pushed into the subconscious, emerging only in dreams. Only what is acceptable to the partner remains, or what we believe is suitable: being available, caring, fulfilling the role of wife or husband, not standing out, not desiring something impossibly strange that we cannot justify to ourselves or explain to others.
Partners often say they are “growing distant from you,” yet it seems to me they are distancing from themselves, in a way that prevents them from truly being themselves in a relationship with another. They withdraw both from the other and from the part of themselves that seeks presence, depth, and connection.
There can be little space in a relationship. Then a partner must create space within themselves. It’s like sitting in the middle seat on an airplane, feeling cramped—but when you pull out your headphones and choose your favorite music, you recover, even though nothing has physically changed. We can always choose where to direct our attention—and what to redirect it from.
When I hear a partner complain that they aren’t being heard or that their questions and statements go unnoticed, I become curious about how many unnecessary sounds, phrases, and self directed comments fill the space—how all of it becomes noise to the other person, prompting them to close off. He may still be loyal, yet unfaithful, and the wife no longer recognizes him as a person.
“What’s the point?” asks a man who is constantly seeking new acquaintances with women. “After a few meetings, I realize that I don’t experience closeness, which is what I need most at this stage of life.”
When I ask how he is in relationships, how he keeps himself from closeness, he spends the next half hour lost in storytelling. As I step in, that I no longer collect story details, the question still remains unanswered. We begin to explore how his detailed narratives actually close him off—from others and from himself. The part of him that craves closeness grows impoverished.
By telling stories, he manages his image in the eyes of others, and cannot surrender to being truly seen, understood, and felt. “Let them hear about me, who I am” can only happen when there is more of him—let him simply be in his own presence. For now, he covers himself with stories. This is growth: embracing and holding close one’s own imperfection.
Copyright Notice:
© Dr. Vilija Girgždė and Alma littera. All rights reserved. Original title: “Mes skirtingi, negi skirtis?”
English translation of the chapter provided by the author for educational use at Scuola Gestalt di Torino (https:// www.scuolapsicoterapiagestalt.it/)
This text may not be reproduced, distributed, or used commercially without written permission from the copyright holders.
Information about Vilija Girgždė, Ph.D:
**Professional Background:**
Vilija Girgždė is a psychologist (Vilnius University) and Gestalt psychotherapist certified by GATLA (Gestalt Associates Training Los Angeles) with continuous practice of 16 years. She has defended her dissertation on the topic of experiencing differences in couples .
**Couple Dialogue Practice:**
She runs “Couple Dialogue” – a practice offering couples’ Gestalt psychotherapy, individual psychotherapy, supervision for those working with couples, and training. Sessions are conducted both in-person (in Vilnius) and remotely in Lithuanian and English . Contact information: vilija@coupledialogue.lt
**Media Appearances and Public Engagement:** She has given numerous interviews in popular magazines and portals, as well as podcasts on couple relationship issues . She
has appeared on LRT (Lithuanian National Radio and Television), including:
– An interview about her book “We Are Different. Should We Really Break Up?” published in 2023 on the radio show “Here and Now”
– A discussion with fellow psychotherapist Viktoras Keturakis Ph.D. about parents’ influence on romantic relationships
**Published Work:**
Her book “Different As We Are. Must We Really Break Up?” (2023) explores personal and cohabitation dilemmas in committed relationships. Drawing on real stories in which readers may recognize their own thoughts and experiences, it offers insights on how to remain true to oneself in a couple while allowing one’s partner the same freedom.
**Philosophy:**
Her approach emphasizes that “every couple is unique” and that being in a couple involves the dilemma of being together while remaining oneself. She believes that rigid attitudes limit relationship creation and should be reviewed . She advocates that when partners turn to who they are rather than who they should be, relationship creativity begins .
