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 .