What If No One Notices the Good You Do?

I don't think we realize how deeply it runs...this expectation of reciprocity. It's buried in us like an ancient reflex we never questioned. Not just when we give big things like gifts or favors, but in those small moments that make up the fabric of our relationships. The effort you put into a conversation that the other person seems distracted through. The thoughtful gesture you make for someone that passes without comment. The way you remember their birthday, their struggles, their preferences, and wonder if anyone is keeping track of yours with the same care. These moments happen to all of us, almost daily, like little papercuts on our sense of connection.

And it's not anger that settles in first when we're left hanging. It's something quieter. More tender. A bruise forming under the skin that nobody else can see. That mix of embarrassment and disappointment we don't even have a proper name for. You touch it sometimes when you're alone, replaying the interaction, wondering if you're just being too sensitive, if maybe they're just busy, if perhaps you're asking for too much. We all do this private accounting in the silence of our minds, questioning if our expectations are unreasonable.

 

I feel it most on ordinary days, not during big conflicts or dramatic fallings-out. Walking away from a conversation where I opened up about something important and got a distracted nod or quick subject change in return. Putting effort into something like a meal, a project, an apology that was treated as forgettable or simply expected. Those moments when you're left standing there, holding the weight of what you gave, while the other person walks away unburdened, unaware of the small hollowness they've left behind. Everyone experiences this, from childhood friendships to workplace relationships to our most intimate bonds.

How I hate when I catch myself thinking about it, when I notice that mental scorecard materializing in my consciousness. Tallying up who's giving and who's taking, who remembers and who forgets, who makes the effort and who coasts on the efforts of others. It feels so small, so contrary to what I believe about love being free and unconditional. But the thoughts come anyway, especially when exhaustion or insecurity has worn down my better nature: "They didn't even notice what that cost me. Why do I bother reaching out when they never initiate? Would anyone care or even notice if I stopped trying?" I suspect we all have these thoughts but rarely admit them aloud, afraid they reveal something ungenerous about us.

What hurts most is carrying this invisible weight while looking completely fine on the outside. Nobody sees the calculation happening behind your eyes during ordinary interactions. The way you're measuring what's safe to give next time, how much emotional energy you can afford to invest. The little pieces of yourself you decide to hold back because those parts weren't treated carefully before. We become architects of invisible walls that no one knows they're bumping against. We smile and say "It's fine" when it isn't, because explaining why would require exposing too much vulnerability.

I've noticed something about this feeling though. When I let it drive me...when I start giving less, expecting less, risking less in relationships...I don't feel protected like I thought I would. I just feel more alone. More disconnected. The walls I build to keep disappointment out keep everything else out too—spontaneity, depth, those unexpected moments of connection that can't happen without some risk. I end up feeling safer but smaller, and I suspect this is the invisible tragedy playing out in many relationships that have cooled without any clear breaking point.

That line from Luke has always haunted me: "lend without expecting anything back." Not just money, though that would be hard enough. But everything that constitutes giving in human relationships. Your time when you're already tired and stretched thin. Your attention when you'd rather be elsewhere or your mind is pulling you toward your own concerns. Your kindness when it would be easier to be cold or simply neutral. The way you remember details about someone who might not remember anything about you. Their coffee preference, the name of their childhood pet, how their voice sounds when they're trying not to cry. These are the currencies we exchange that no one accounts for except ourselves.

I think about how God loves us, at least as I've come to understand it. With this ridiculous, excessive generosity that doesn't make any sense by human standards of transaction and return on investment. Loving us through our oblivion, our ingratitude, our distraction, our failure to notice or appreciate. I want to love like that. And goodness! It's not because I'm trying to be saintly or superior, but because I've tasted what it feels like to be loved that way, to be given to when I had nothing to give back, and it changed me. It's the kind of love that doesn't make you feel indebted but inspired to pass it on.

I fail constantly though, as we all do. There are days when someone's indifference breaks something in me and I pull back. I've felt the coldness wash over me...that moment when you decide "I'm done trying with this person" because the imbalance feels too stark, too hurtful. And every single time, it's brought me nothing but emptiness. No satisfaction. No vindication. No sense of having proven something important. Just distance, which eventually hardens into something more permanent if not addressed. I wonder how many relationships around us between friends, family members, partners are frozen in this state of mutual withdrawal. 🤔

So I'm learning to catch myself in those turning points now. The moment after disappointment when I can choose to either close up or stay open. Not in a doormat kind of way. There's definitely a difference between loving people and letting them consume you without boundaries. But in a way that says, "This is who I am, regardless of what comes back to me."  It's both a vulnerable place to stand and somehow also stronger than the alternative, like a tree that bends in the wind rather than breaking because it's too rigid.

I've been on both sides of this exchange throughout my life. I've been the distracted one who didn't notice someone else's effort until much later, if at all. I've been the one waiting for acknowledgment that never came, replaying my words and actions to see where I might have misstepped. It's so easy to misread each other, to let these small hurts accumulate until there's too much distance to cross without someone being brave enough to make the first move. I think of how many relationships in our lives with parents, siblings, old friends sit in this limbo of unspoken injuries.

But I keep coming back to this simple truth, and I think it's something we all recognize when we're honest with ourselves: I don't think we're looking for impressive love. We're not looking for grand gestures or perfection or someone who never disappoints us. We're looking for consistent love. Someone who keeps showing up, not because it's exciting or because they're getting something immediate out of it, but because they've decided you're worth loving through all the ordinary days. Through the silences and the misunderstandings and the times when neither of you is at your best. Through the seasons when you have plenty to give in return and the seasons when you're running on empty.

That's the love I'm trying to grow into, imperfect as my attempts often are. Not flashy. Not without disappointment or moments of keeping score. But steady. Present. Choosing to believe that love matters, even when it's not reflected back to me in ways I can easily recognize. Because when I love this way, I feel most like the way God designed me and most connected to something larger than my own needs and hurts. And I think that's something we all hunger for, beneath our fears of being taken for granted: to love freely and to be loved the same way in return.