the psychology of being taken for granted - JUN #15

The Daily Laws - Robert Greene - June 15th - the art of presence and absence.

There’s another version of the boy who cried wolf we never talk about.

The one who didn’t lie.
The one who kept showing up so much, no one looked up anymore.
The most reliable, but the most invisible.
Until he didn’t.
And suddenly, everyone noticed.

But by then, he’d already learned the truth: presence, when constant, becomes invisible.

We underestimate what we always have access to.
It’s a cognitive glitch.
A psychological trap.

Psychologist Robert Zajonc (my Polish pookie) coined something called The Mere Exposure Effect in 1968 - the idea that the more we’re exposed to something, the more we tend to like it… But only up to a point.

After that? Familiarity stops breeding fondness… and starts breeding boredom (uh-oh!)
Comfort turns into complacency.
We tune out, zone out, stop appreciating.
Not because the thing (or the person) changed, but because we stopped noticing.

It’s a subtle shift, but a dangerous one.

Because it means even love can be dulled by routine.
Even loyalty can be overlooked if it’s always just… there.

In behavioural psychology, this is known as habituation - the process by which we respond less and less to something that’s familiar or repeated over time.
No matter how amazing this item, thing, or person is, no matter how lucky we are to have it/them in our lives. We overlook all of this, like background noise.

In 1979, psychologists Philip Brickman, Dan Coates, and Ronnie Janoff-Bulman found something wild in their study on long-term happiness: even lottery winners return to baseline levels of joy not long after their win. And paraplegics, too, return to near-baseline happiness levels after their accidents.
Why?

Because we adapt.

To pleasure.
To pain.
To people.
Even to the hotness level of the Cheetos - until we need the next-level ‘thing’ just to feel something.

And once something (or someone) is always there, we stop feeling the urgency to nurture, protect, or even value it.

Robert Greene puts it like this:

In other words? You become forgettable.

This is especially true for the quiet ones.
Eventually, people stop asking if you’ll show up… because they assume you already have.

But that’s exactly when the respect starts to fade.

We don't respect what feels endless.
We respect what feels rare.

Absence isn’t abandonment.
Sometimes it’s the only language left.

Greene writes:

So when you stop being the yes-man, the default friend, the unconditionally available one… people notice.
It doesn’t make you cold.
It makes you real.
Scarcity breeds clarity.

There’s also a phenomenon in social psychology known as social exchange theory -the idea that relationships are maintained through a balance of costs and rewards. The moment someone is giving too much, and receiving too little, resentment starts to brew… often quietly, and often from those who least expect it.

Because you want to be generous.
You want to be kind.
But even kindness needs boundaries.
Even love needs regulation.
And sometimes, love looks like stepping back - not because you care less, but maybe because this is the time to pour back into you.

Here’s what I’ve learned:
Not everyone deserves all of you.
And even the people who do, don’t need all of you all the time.
And that’s okay.

Your absence, when intentional, makes your presence more powerful.

It’s not about playing games.
It’s about protecting your energy.
Especially from those who confuse your constant availability with a lack of value.
Especially from those who never think to ask how you are, because they’ve grown used to you being fine.

So what do you do?

You stop being a “yes” to everyone and start being a “yes” to you.
You let people feel the space you leave behind.
You learn the art of retreat, not as punishment, but as presence recalibrated.

Let them wonder where you went.
Let them feel what it’s like when you’re not the one holding it all together.

Let them realise you weren’t weak for always being there.
You were strong for staying so long.

In social psychology, this is known as the scarcity principle - we assign more value to things that are less available. (This goes quite nicely with the Ben Franklin Effect post I did a few days ago… thank me later). Marketers know this. That’s why everything’s “limited edition.” But this runs deeper than branding… it applies to people too.

Don’t let the most important people become an afterthought. Like the air in your lungs, or the ground beneath your feet… you don’t think to thank it. Until it’s no longer there.

That’s the paradox of presence: the more consistent someone is, the more likely we are to forget the miracle of their consistency.

Meanwhile, the ones who love us without condition become the residual beneficiary - the person who receives what’s left of us.
The scraps of time after the urgency of work, the drama of flaky friends, the emotional leftovers.
And in turn, they get a tired, distracted, apologetic, late version of us.

But they’re always the ones we assume will understand.
And they usually do. That’s the heartbreak of it.

They love us so deeply that we forget to choose them actively.
We stop prioritising what’s secure and chase what feels scarce, as we feel we have something to prove.
Until one day we realise we’ve given our best to the ones who demanded it… and not the ones who deserved it.
Because we assume they'll always stay.

Think of that friend who always checks in.
The parent who doesn’t ask for much.
The sibling who shows up even when you forget to say thank you.
The partner who quietly carries the weight with you.

They’re not background characters in your story.
They’re the spine of it.
They’re the foundation.
They’re some of the legs under your table.
And if you’re lucky enough to have someone like that, stop waiting for a dramatic reason to appreciate them.

It’s a ‘the grass is greener’ moment.

But love is not an unlimited resource.
Attention, effort, presence - none of it is owed.
And everything, eventually, runs out.

So take this as your sign: don’t wait for absence to teach you the value of presence.

There’s a saying: “Say it while they’re still here to hear it, not when you're giving a eulogy.”
Because no one wants to be remembered as someone you meant to love better.
No one wants to be your beautiful memory… they want to be a cherished part of your now.

So say it all.

There is power in noticing.
In celebrating what’s solid.
In choosing to water the connection that’s already grown roots instead of chasing what looks flashier in bloom.

Because when you realise that presence is a gift (not a guarantee), you start treating it with the love it deserves.

And per that ‘the grass is greener’ point?
I personally think that it’s partly true… but more so that the grass is greener where you water it.

Just a thought.

- Kornelia

:)

(P.s July by Noach Cyrus plays beautifully after reading this)