To Be Known: When Others Don’t Seem to Care

Recently, I found myself in a familiar situation—meeting lots of new people. As an extrovert, that’s usually a joy. I love hearing people’s stories, finding shared connections, and making others feel seen. But this time, something felt different.

I noticed a pattern: people didn’t ask questions. Conversations stayed shallow. No one seemed interested in who I was beyond a polite greeting. At first, I brushed it off. But over time, a subtle ache crept in.

“Do they not care?”

“Is there something unlikable about me?”

“Am I too much?”

As a pastor, biblical counselor, and leader, I’ve wondered if my role causes others to put their guard up. Maybe they assume I’m analyzing them, or that I have it all together and don’t need connection. I get it. But the silence still stings.

As a biblical counselor, much of my work involves truly getting to know a person—their life history, major events, both joyful and traumatic. In the counseling process, knowing someone deeply is essential. But there’s an assumed trust and a shared goal in that context. I recognize that this likely shapes my expectations. It’s what I do, and it’s incredibly rewarding. So naturally, I find myself wondering: why wouldn’t others want to take the time to know me?

The desire to be known is woven into the fabric of our being. In fact, it goes all the way back to the garden. Adam and Eve were “naked and unashamed”—fully known and fully loved (Gen. 2:25). That’s what we’re made for. But ever since sin entered the world, we’ve been hiding—from God, from others, even from ourselves. The result? Shallow relationships, misunderstood motives, masked hearts.

Yet in this ache, there is a gift.

Scripture tells us something astounding:

“But if anyone loves God, he is known by God.” (1 Corinthians 8:3, ESV)

“O LORD, you have searched me and known me!” (Psalm 139:1)

God doesn’t just tolerate us. He knows us. Intimately. Completely. There is not a sigh or a stray thought or a misread moment He doesn’t understand. He sees the full you—your wounds, your weariness, your longing to be known—and He loves you still.

That changes everything.

It doesn’t make the loneliness disappear. But it does recalibrate our hearts. When people fail to see us, we can rest in the truth that God does. When others don’t ask, don’t notice, don’t lean in, we can still feel secure in His unshakable affection.

And we can ask Him to grow us into people who do see others. Who don’t just talk, but listen. Who move toward the overlooked. Who love with the same pursuing, attentive love we’ve received.

Maybe you’ve felt what I felt—disconnected in a crowd, wondering if you matter. Let this be your reminder: you are already known. Already loved. Not because you’re interesting, or funny, or worthy in the eyes of others, but because God made you, redeemed you, and delights in you.

Let’s bring that truth into our relationships. Let’s risk asking deeper questions, linger a little longer, and look past the surface. We may not always be received in kind—but we will be living in step with the One who knows us best.