Brigita Balsiene - Somatic Therapy and NARM

19/10/2026

I know this pattern because I’ve lived it.

The next job.
The next business.
The next training.
The next version of my life.

I’ve tried a lot. Pushed against the edges of life and reality, almost asking life to give me the boundaries I was never shown.

And I don’t regret the searching. I’ve always loved imagining possibilities, exploring and creating. That part of me is very much alive.

But I can also recognise how sometimes imagining the next possibility was more exciting than living the reality of what I had already chosen.

In my imagination, I could picture how wonderful something might be. But actually living it meant meeting uncertainty, disappointment, and sometimes discovering that it wasn’t what I wanted after all.

And I began to notice how quickly I could start looking for the next thing, rather than staying curious about what was happening for me in the present.

I still love dreaming, exploring and trying new things. I’m just becoming more curious about what’s drawing me towards them, and whether I can enjoy where I am without already needing to be somewhere else.

And speaking of imagination, this photo is actually from my life in London. Yes, the princess dress, the carriage, the whole fairy tale. It really happened. ☺️

19/10/2026

I still love exploring, learning and discovering new possibilities. I don’t think that part of me will ever change.

But I’m becoming more curious about what moves me towards something new.

Is it genuine interest, excitement, a sense of possibility?

Or is there also a feeling that somewhere else, doing something else, becoming someone else, I might finally find what I’m looking for?

Perhaps the difference isn’t in what we choose to do, but in how connected we are to ourselves while choosing.

And maybe we don’t have to stop searching or exploring. We can simply become more aware of what is moving us.

13/10/2026

As humans, we can direct our movement.

But what happens when we become curious about non-doing?

What happens if we feel the Earth and gravity as we take each step?

If we feel the connection with what is above and allow it to direct us?

If we allow the air to move us, from behind, from the front, from the sides?

Every movement asks us to connect with a moving force.

We can play with that. Between doing and non-doing, there is awareness.

Can we lean into non-doing and, with awareness of what surrounds us, choose the doing?

The doing whose exact shape we don’t yet know.

Like a rose, whose potential is already within the seed, but whose shape of becoming depends on the environment.

The same is true for a child.

But leaning into non-doing can feel deeply uncomfortable.

As children, we learnt that connection depended on what we did.

On anticipating, adapting, working out what we could be and what we could not.

Doing became a way to stay connected.

And so, when we stop doing, we may not feel supported.

We may feel the uncertainty that all our doing has helped us avoid.

Even yielding can feel like losing control.

And when the system can no longer sustain all this doing, it may protect itself through collapse.

What appears to be non-doing is still a constant doing, without awareness.

The system is still working, even when nothing appears to be happening.

Yet conscious non-doing is different.

We begin to notice what is supporting us, even when we are not trying to make something happen.

And from there, movement can emerge without knowing its shape in advance.

Plants grow upwards towards the sun and downwards, with roots towards the centre of the Earth.

Unlike plants, we can consciously change our planes and directions. We can choose where to move.

But perhaps what we can remember from plants is non-doing.

The potential is already within us, even when our environment has limited how it unfolds.

Sometimes we feel the heart connecting, desiring something we cannot yet name.

The heart only speaks in non-doing.

With awareness, we direct the heart into doing.

And that’s where the unknown becomes known.

07/10/2026

You can know exactly what hurts you and still find yourself staying.

You can know you want to say no and hear yourself saying yes.

You can be angry with someone and somehow end up wondering whether you’re being unreasonable.

You can know what you want until someone important wants something different.

And it’s easy to get frustrated with yourself in these moments.

But what if, instead of judging the response, you became curious:

Why do I respond this way?

As children, connection isn’t optional. We depend on the people around us, and we find ways to stay connected.

We learn what is welcome and what is better kept to ourselves. When it feels okay to reach and when to stop. When to speak and when to stay quiet. When to lean on someone and when it feels easier to manage alone.

And we can carry these ways of responding with us long after the circumstances have changed.

So you can know your partner isn’t your parent and still feel your whole body tighten when they’re disappointed with you.

You can genuinely want closeness and then find yourself pulling away when someone gets too close.

You can know you have every right to say no and still feel guilty as soon as you say it.

Sometimes you can see the pattern incredibly clearly and still find yourself right back in it.

Understanding matters. But understanding something doesn’t automatically mean you can respond differently.

For me, this is where the deeper work begins.

Not with trying to get rid of these parts of ourselves or making ourselves behave differently.

But with getting curious about what happens in the moment. What happens in the body. What choices seem available and which ones don’t.

And little by little, there can be more room.

To be close without disappearing.
To have boundaries without having to disconnect.
To need someone without losing your agency.
To be yourself without feeling that being yourself might cost you the relationship.

05/10/2026

We can understand where our patterns come from and still find ourselves repeating them.

I’m interested in what happens beyond understanding and what makes something different possible.

I explore this with clients in individual sessions, online and in Vilnius. If you’re curious, send me a message.

01/10/2026

There’s nothing wrong with changing your mind.

But sometimes the shift happens so quickly that we barely notice it.

A moment ago, I knew what I wanted.
Then someone important wanted something different.

What happened in between?

01/10/2026

23/06/2026

The wild strawberries were hidden beneath grass nearly up to my chin.

Summer at its fullest.

Sweetness tucked away where you have to slow down enough to notice it.

Someone might say it’s risky.

Ticks live there too.

You could get hurt.

So perhaps it is safer to buy berries from the market.

Cleaner.

More predictable.

Less alive.

As I moved through the field, I found myself thinking about the difference between fear and awareness.

Fear disconnects.

Awareness connects.

Fear says:
Stay away.

Awareness says:
Stay present.

Check.

Listen.

Feel.

Notice.

The body knows more than we often give it credit for.

Many of us learned to disconnect from our senses in order to adapt.

To focus on what others needed.

To stay safe.

To belong.

And over time, we can lose touch with the quiet signals coming from within.

The subtle feeling that something is right.

Or not right.

The sense that a season is ending.

That a role no longer fits.

That something in us is asking to be lived.

I wonder if belonging begins there.

Not in becoming who we need to be.

But in learning to stay connected enough to notice.

What are you sensing that you’ve been too busy to feel?

22/06/2026

Return.

Not because you got lost.

But because you spent so long adapting in order to belong.

Meeting expectations.

Taking care of everyone else.

Becoming who you needed to be.

Return.

To the place within you
where nothing needs to be proven.

Where you don’t need to have all the answers.

Where you can simply not know.

To the breath.

To the body.

To the parts of yourself
that quietly stepped aside
to preserve connection,
keep the peace,
or be who others needed you to be.

Return.

Not to become someone new.

But to reconnect with what has always been there.

Especially in times of transition.

When an old identity no longer fits
and the new one has not yet taken shape.

When what once felt right
no longer does.

There is no need to force clarity.

Life moves in seasons.

Some seasons are for blooming.

Others are for shedding.

Sometimes the next step begins by listening.

And by allowing more of yourself to belong.