The King Hates Being Ignored

Can you hear me now

There’s something I learned on the farm that I didn’t recognize at the time.

When you walk past a certain heifer in the pen and don’t look at her, don’t acknowledge her, don’t give her so much as a nod — that’s the one who will step sideways into your path.

Not the calm one.
Not the secure one.

The one that needs to be noticed.

You can feed the whole group. You can check the waterers. You can do everything right. But if there’s one animal that feels overlooked, she’ll find a way to make herself known — a bump of the shoulder, a push at the gate, a stare that lingers a little too long. I might be exaggerating a bit, but you get the drift.

I’ve seen the same thing in people.

And if I’m honest, I’ve seen it in myself.

There were board meetings where I offered an idea that didn’t get much traction. No pushback. No argument. Just silence. The discussion moved on.

That silence felt heavier than disagreement.

I would tell myself it didn’t matter — that we were there for the good of the township or the Church, etc., that decisions aren’t personal.

But later — sometimes hours later — I’d replay it. I’d think of better ways I could have said it. Stronger wording. Sharper points. I might casually bring it up to someone afterward, just to see if they thought it had merit.

That’s when I began to recognize something.

The King hates being ignored.

He doesn’t mind a fight as much as he minds being invisible.

On the farm, the most secure animals didn’t need to beg for attention. They ate, rested, and did their part. It was the insecure ones who nudged and crowded.

Inside us, it’s similar.

The ego doesn’t always demand applause.
Sometimes it just wants acknowledgment.

If no one argues with it, it will create its own argument.
If no one crowns it, it will build a throne out of silence.

I’ve noticed in family settings too — how often tension doesn’t come from disagreement but from feeling unseen. A comment that lands flat. An effort unnoticed. A story interrupted.

When children were around the table with guests, especially many years ago, they were mostly to be seen and not heard. It sent a quiet message of non-relevance. That message can carry into adulthood. And somewhere inside, the little king of your small patch of earth still remembers.

Ignored doesn’t feel neutral. It feels diminishing. And that’s when the King begins pacing.

The lesson for me hasn’t been to kill the King. That never works. Suppression only makes him sneakier.

The lesson has been to notice him when he stirs — that familiar shadow again.

To feel the tightening in the chest when an idea passes by without applause.
To see the urge to reinsert myself into the conversation.
To smile, just a little, and say internally, “I see you.”

Most of the time, that’s enough.

Because when the King is acknowledged within, he doesn’t need to demand acknowledgment without.

On the farm, the best way to calm a restless animal wasn’t force.

It was a steady presence.

Maybe it’s the same inside us.