Anchored in the Past
How Cognitive Anchoring and Stability Bias Shape Our Perceptions of Others
It was a summer afternoon when I found myself face-to-face with an old friend I hadn’t seen in nearly 40 years. We’d been inseparable as teenagers, sharing every secret, every ambition, every detail of our small-town lives. My memories of her were vivid, almost cinematic — her quick wit, her fiery opinions, and the way she always seemed to be at the center of every gathering, commanding attention with a confidence I’d admired. As I waited for her to arrive, I could almost hear her laugh, see the familiar gestures that were so distinctly hers. I was expecting her to be exactly the same as she had been back then, as though time had simply paused.
But when she walked in, the person standing before me wasn’t the one I remembered. Her face, though still familiar, carried the subtle marks of time, and her demeanor was quieter, more measured. Over the course of our conversation, I realized how much had changed. She spoke about her work with a calm self-assurance that felt foreign to the outspoken girl I had once known. Her priorities, too, were different; she had traded the youthful restlessness I had identified with for a life that seemed rooted in stability and peace. I kept searching for glimpses of the person I remembered — the fiery laugh, the impulsive energy — but they weren’t there. At first, I was unsettled, even disappointed, though I couldn’t quite place why. It wasn’t that she had changed in a bad way; it was that she had changed at all, and I hadn’t prepared myself for it.
Looking back, I realize how unfair my expectations were. I had locked her into the version of herself that I had known decades earlier, frozen in my mind as the person she was when we were young. The dissonance I felt that afternoon wasn’t just about her transformation; it was about the disconnect between my memory and her reality. Instead of seeing her for who she had become, I had approached her with the lens of who she used to be. It struck me later how easy it is to do this — not just with old friends, but with anyone who has stepped out of our immediate orbit for a time. Our memories, vivid as they may seem, are static; the people they represent are not. And when those two worlds collide, it can leave us feeling confused, even a little adrift, unsure of how to reconcile the person we once knew with the person standing in front of us.
The Struggle to See Others as They Are Today
When we reconnect with someone after years apart, there’s often a curious moment of dissonance. Perhaps you remember them as shy and reserved, yet now they radiate confidence and self-assuredness. Maybe you’ve always thought of them as carefree, but their new seriousness or discipline feels foreign. In that moment, the challenge is not theirs; it’s ours. Why do we struggle to reconcile the person we knew with the person they’ve become? What makes it so difficult to see others for who they are now rather than who they were? This paradox of perception — our difficulty in acknowledging growth and change in others — is as much a psychological phenomenon as it is a deeply human experience.
At the heart of this challenge lies what psychologists call cognitive anchoring and the stability bias. Cognitive anchoring refers to the tendency to hold onto initial impressions or early memories as a baseline for judgment, even when new information contradicts them. Once our minds have categorized someone, that image becomes surprisingly durable, resistant to updates or adjustments. This mental shortcut is efficient; it allows us to process the complexities of social interactions with ease. But it is also flawed, particularly when applied to something as dynamic as human growth.
The stability bias compounds this rigidity. As humans, we crave continuity and predictability in our relationships. It’s comforting to believe that people remain largely the same, especially if we’ve formed an emotional connection to who they once were. Change, even when it’s positive, can feel unsettling. It forces us to confront not only their evolution but also our own — our changing roles in their lives and how their growth reshapes the dynamics between us. Whether it’s a childhood friend who now seems like a stranger or a parent struggling to recognize the autonomy of their adult child, the inability to see change can create a silent friction, a gap that feels difficult to bridge.
This resistance to acknowledging growth isn’t necessarily a conscious choice. It is, instead, a reflection of how our brains process social relationships. Mental representations of others are formed over time and solidified through repeated interactions. When we don’t see someone for an extended period, those mental images stagnate; they remain frozen in the context in which they were created. For example, if you haven’t seen a friend since your college days, you may unconsciously expect them to still embody the same habits, opinions, and demeanor they had at 20 — even if they are now 40 and have lived an entirely different life.
This psychological phenomenon isn’t merely theoretical; it has practical and emotional implications. The inability to adapt our perceptions of others can strain relationships, leading to misunderstandings, disappointment, or even a sense of loss. At its core, it is not just about recognizing change in others but about confronting our own expectations and assumptions. If we cling too tightly to the past, we risk missing the opportunity to engage with the person standing in front of us — their experiences, growth, and the rich complexity they’ve developed over time.
The good news is that these biases, while deeply ingrained, are not insurmountable. By understanding the mechanisms behind them, we can begin to challenge our assumptions, update our mental representations, and approach relationships with greater flexibility and openness. The journey of seeing others as they truly are — beyond our memories of them — is not only an act of understanding but also an act of love. It requires patience, curiosity, and a willingness to let go of the anchors that tether us to a version of someone that no longer exists. This article will explore the psychology behind cognitive anchoring and the stability bias, illuminating how these concepts shape our perceptions and offering insights into how we can navigate the complexities of change in relationships.
Let us begin this exploration, not to judge our minds for their shortcuts, but to understand them — and, perhaps, to grow alongside the people we care about most.
Anchored in the Past: How Cognitive Anchoring Shapes Our Perceptions
When we think about our relationships, it’s easy to assume that the impressions we form of others are fluid, capable of evolving alongside them. In reality, the mental representations we create are far more rigid than we might expect. This phenomenon, known in psychology as cognitive anchoring, refers to the way our minds latch onto initial impressions or specific memories and use them as a fixed point of reference. Once this anchor is set, it becomes surprisingly resistant to change, even in the face of new information.
Cognitive anchoring is an efficient mental shortcut. It helps us process the world quickly by reducing the cognitive load involved in continually reassessing people, places, or experiences. For example, if you meet someone who is outgoing and talkative, your mind anchors to the idea that they are extroverted. From that point forward, this becomes the framework through which you interpret their behavior. If they later display more reserved or introspective traits, it’s easy to dismiss these moments as exceptions rather than signs of a deeper shift. The anchor remains firmly in place, tethering your perception to the past.
This rigidity is particularly pronounced in relationships that span long periods of time. Consider the way we often think of childhood friends. The version of them that exists in our minds is intricately tied to the roles they played during formative years. The “class clown,” the “quiet one,” or the “rebel” are labels that, once affixed, tend to endure long after the person has outgrown them. In adulthood, these roles can feel like caricatures when they no longer align with reality. Yet, because they served as anchors in our earlier understanding of these individuals, they remain difficult to let go of.
Cognitive anchoring doesn’t occur in a vacuum; it’s reinforced by the static nature of memory. When we think back to someone we haven’t seen in years, we don’t picture them as a dynamic, evolving being. Instead, we recall specific moments, images, or traits — snapshots frozen in time. These snapshots are powerful because they’re deeply connected to the emotions we associate with them. A memory of a friend who was endlessly curious and idealistic might evoke feelings of warmth and admiration; letting go of that image can feel like losing not only the person you once knew but also the feelings tied to that version of them.
The challenge with cognitive anchoring is that it creates a disconnect between how we perceive someone and how they see themselves. For the person who has changed, encountering someone still tethered to their past self can feel stifling. Imagine returning to a family gathering only to be treated as the “baby” of the family, regardless of your accomplishments or personal growth. While the anchors others hold onto might seem harmless, they can prevent genuine connection by keeping relationships rooted in outdated assumptions.
The good news is that cognitive anchoring, while persistent, is not immovable. Awareness is the first step. By recognizing that our perceptions are shaped by mental shortcuts, we can begin to question the accuracy of our assumptions. This requires an active effort to engage with others in the present, to listen without filtering their words and actions through the lens of who they used to be. Cognitive anchoring may be a natural function of the human mind, but it doesn’t have to define our relationships. By challenging these anchors, we open the door to seeing others — and ourselves — with greater clarity and compassion.
The Stability Bias: Why We Resist Change in Others
Beyond the anchoring of our mental images, another psychological mechanism plays a critical role in why we struggle to see others change: the stability bias. This cognitive tendency leads us to assume that people, circumstances, and relationships will remain constant over time. While this bias is useful for creating a sense of predictability and security in our lives, it also blinds us to the inevitable evolution of the people we care about. It’s not that we consciously resist the idea of change; rather, our minds are wired to prioritize consistency, even when reality suggests otherwise.
Stability bias reflects our preference for familiarity. Relationships, at their core, rely on a delicate balance between connection and certainty. We come to know people in particular ways — through their habits, behaviors, and beliefs — and this understanding forms the foundation of how we relate to them. When someone deviates from the familiar, it can feel unsettling. If your sibling, once impulsive and carefree, suddenly becomes meticulous and cautious, it’s natural to feel disoriented. The shift challenges not only your perception of them but also the dynamic you’ve shared.
This preference for constancy is deeply ingrained in our psychology. From an evolutionary perspective, predictable environments were safer. Stability meant survival. When applied to relationships, this need for predictability creates an emotional anchor, reinforcing the idea that people will remain as we remember them. While this provides comfort, it can also hinder growth. Relationships thrive on adaptability, and clinging to a static view of someone can prevent us from engaging with who they’ve become.
The stability bias also explains why change can feel threatening, even when it’s positive. When someone close to us grows or evolves, their transformation often requires us to reconsider our role in their life. For example, a friend who once depended on you for advice and support may become more independent, leaving you wondering where you now fit in their world. Similarly, a parent watching their child step into adulthood may resist acknowledging their child’s autonomy, clinging instead to the dynamics of earlier years. These shifts can create an unspoken tension, as the stability bias urges us to hold onto the comfort of the familiar, even at the expense of authentic connection.
This resistance isn’t just about the other person’s change; it’s about how their change affects us. If someone close to you alters their values, lifestyle, or priorities, it can force you to confront your own beliefs and behaviors. For instance, reconnecting with a friend who has adopted a new outlook on life might spark questions about your own choices or highlight areas where you’ve remained stagnant. In this way, the stability bias serves as a defense mechanism, shielding us from the discomfort of self-reflection.
Recognizing the stability bias is a step toward overcoming it. To do so, we must learn to embrace change as an opportunity rather than a disruption. This requires cultivating curiosity about others — asking not only how they’ve changed, but also why — and approaching their growth with an open mind. It also means letting go of the illusion of permanence and acknowledging that change is not a betrayal of the past but a natural part of life. By doing this, we not only strengthen our relationships but also invite the possibility of our own transformation. Stability may feel safe, but growth is where connection truly flourishes.
Time and Distance: How Gaps Reinforce Outdated Perceptions
The longer we are apart from someone, the harder it becomes to see them clearly as they are now. Time and physical distance create a fertile ground for cognitive anchoring and the stability bias to thrive. When we don’t have regular interactions with someone, our mental image of them freezes in time, shaped entirely by the last memories we shared. These gaps in connection allow outdated perceptions to harden into a framework that feels true, even if it no longer reflects reality.
Memory, for all its richness, is not a perfect recording of the past. Instead, it is selective and shaped by context. When we recall someone we haven’t seen in years, we tend to focus on specific traits, behaviors, or moments that stood out in our shared history. These memories are often tied to strong emotions — joy, frustration, admiration — and the person becomes fixed in that emotional context. If a friend was the life of every party, that’s how we remember them; if a sibling was rebellious and impulsive, that identity lingers in our mind. In the absence of new information, these impressions remain our default understanding of who they are.
Physical separation only deepens this effect. Without regular updates through shared experiences or conversations, we lose the chance to witness the small, incremental changes that shape someone’s growth. Instead, when we do reconnect, we are met with a version of them that feels unfamiliar. This gap between memory and reality can be disorienting, even unsettling. It’s as if the person you knew has been replaced by someone else — someone who has lived a life you weren’t privy to, shaped by experiences you can only imagine.
This phenomenon often plays out in relationships that span significant periods of separation, such as childhood friendships, distant relatives, or old colleagues. When we finally reunite, we may find ourselves clinging to the roles and dynamics that once defined our interactions. A childhood friend who has grown into a quiet, reflective adult may be treated as the prankster they once were, while a sibling who has matured into a leader may still be seen as the younger, dependent one. These outdated perceptions can create tension, as the person’s current self feels at odds with the identity we are imposing on them.
The disconnection works both ways. For the person who has changed, being seen through an outdated lens can feel invalidating or even frustrating. Imagine returning to a high school reunion and finding that your peers still define you by teenage antics that no longer reflect who you are. This disconnect can lead to a sense of being misunderstood, as though the growth you’ve worked so hard to achieve is invisible to those who knew you “before.”
To bridge this gap, we must learn to approach reunions with humility and openness. Rather than assuming we know someone, we can invite them to share who they’ve become. Simple acts of curiosity — asking about their recent experiences, listening without judgment, and letting go of past assumptions — can help us see them in their current context. At the same time, we must reflect on our own role in the relationship. How has our understanding of them been shaped by distance? How might we honor their growth while staying connected to the shared history that brought us together?
Time and distance are inevitable in many relationships, but they don’t have to result in estrangement or misunderstanding. By recognizing the ways these gaps distort our perceptions, we can approach others with a renewed sense of empathy and curiosity. This willingness to see beyond the past allows us to reconnect on a deeper level, appreciating not just who someone was but also who they have become.
The Emotional Impact of Change in Relationships
Change is a constant in life, yet when it happens in the people closest to us, it can stir a surprising range of emotions — some expected, others more complex. While we may intellectually understand that everyone evolves, emotionally, their transformation can feel like a disruption. This reaction is not rooted in malice or resistance to their growth; rather, it stems from the deeply personal connections we form with others and the way we define our relationships through shared history and understanding.
When someone close to us changes, it can evoke a sense of loss, even if the change is undeniably positive. This is because we often tie our emotional experiences to the version of that person we knew. If a friend who was once carefree and adventurous now leads a structured and disciplined life, we may grieve the absence of the spontaneity we once shared. Similarly, if a sibling once relied on us for guidance and now no longer seeks our input, it may leave us feeling unmoored, questioning our role in their life. These feelings are not about rejecting their growth; they are about reconciling the shifting dynamics of the relationship.
The emotional impact of change is often magnified in long-term relationships, where shared identity plays a significant role. Parents, for example, may struggle to accept their children as independent adults because doing so requires letting go of the nurturing dynamic that once defined their bond. Similarly, close friends who reconnect after years apart may find themselves at odds with the evolution of each other’s values, priorities, or lifestyles. These shifts can create a quiet tension, as both parties navigate the space between the familiar and the unfamiliar.
At its core, the difficulty lies in the challenge of integrating past and present. When someone changes, it can feel as though the person we once knew has disappeared. This perception is often untrue, but it reflects the emotional dissonance that arises when our mental image of someone no longer aligns with who they are today. The grieving process — whether for a lost dynamic, shared identity, or a version of someone that no longer exists — is natural and human. However, if left unexamined, it can lead to misunderstandings or even resentment, as the emotions tied to these shifts remain unspoken.
Equally challenging is the way someone else’s growth can force us to confront our own stagnation or discomfort with change. If a friend adopts a healthier lifestyle, finds success in their career, or develops a new set of values, it can trigger feelings of inadequacy or self-doubt. This reaction is not a reflection of their behavior but of our internal struggle to reconcile their evolution with our own perceived progress — or lack thereof. Their growth becomes a mirror, reflecting back the ways we may feel stuck or uncertain in our own lives.
To navigate these emotions, it’s essential to approach change with curiosity and self-awareness. Acknowledging the loss of the past version of someone doesn’t mean rejecting their growth; it means honoring the history you shared while making space for the person they’ve become. Similarly, recognizing your own feelings — whether they involve grief, discomfort, or even envy — can help you engage with the relationship more authentically. These emotions, while complex, can serve as an invitation to deepen your connection by fostering mutual understanding and respect.
Change in relationships is inevitable, but it doesn’t have to result in disconnection. By allowing ourselves to feel the emotions that arise and approaching them with compassion — for ourselves and for others — we create the foundation for stronger, more meaningful bonds. The beauty of relationships lies in their ability to evolve, and with openness and patience, we can grow alongside the people we care about.
How to Embrace and Accept Change in Others
Recognizing that change is inevitable in those around us is one thing; learning to embrace and accept it is another. While our cognitive biases and emotional attachments often tether us to outdated perceptions, we can take intentional steps to update our understanding of others. Accepting change requires curiosity, humility, and a willingness to see beyond the past, allowing us to approach relationships with greater authenticity and depth.
One of the first steps to embracing change is to practice active curiosity. Instead of assuming we already know someone, we can ask thoughtful questions that invite them to share who they’ve become. This doesn’t mean interrogating them or focusing on the ways they’ve diverged from our expectations, but rather showing genuine interest in their journey. Questions like, “What’s been important to you lately?” or “What’s shaped the way you think about that?” signal that we’re open to hearing their story without imposing our own assumptions.
Listening deeply is equally important. Too often, we filter what others say through the lens of who we think they are — or were — rather than engaging with their words in the present moment. True listening requires setting aside preconceptions and paying attention not only to what is said but also to what is left unsaid. It is in these moments of quiet connection that we often discover the nuances of someone’s growth, the layers that reveal how they’ve changed and why.
Humility is another essential component of accepting change. It takes humility to acknowledge that our perceptions of someone may be incomplete or outdated, and even more to accept that they may have qualities or beliefs that challenge our understanding of them. This is especially true in long-standing relationships, where change can feel like a disruption to the roles and dynamics we’ve grown accustomed to. By approaching these moments with an open mind and a willingness to adapt, we create space for relationships to evolve in meaningful ways.
Letting go of past roles and expectations can also be a powerful act of love. When we cling to who someone used to be, we inadvertently place limits on their ability to grow within the relationship. Instead of seeing them for who they are today, we confine them to a version of themselves that may no longer fit. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting the history you’ve shared; it means honoring that history while allowing it to serve as a foundation, not a constraint. By doing so, we free both ourselves and the other person to engage in a more authentic and dynamic connection.
Finally, it’s important to reframe change as an opportunity rather than a threat. Growth in others often challenges us to reflect on our own lives and consider how we’ve changed — or how we might want to. Their transformation can serve as an inspiration, a reminder that growth is a natural and necessary part of life. Instead of resisting it, we can embrace it as a chance to deepen our understanding of ourselves and the people we care about.
Accepting change in others is not always easy, but it is deeply rewarding. It allows relationships to flourish, unencumbered by outdated assumptions or rigid expectations. It creates space for connection, compassion, and shared growth. And, perhaps most importantly, it reminds us that just as we are capable of evolving, so too are those around us. In embracing their change, we honor not only their journey but also our own capacity to grow alongside them.
The Beauty of Growth: Redefining Relationships Through Change
Change, when viewed through the right lens, is not a threat to relationships but an opportunity for renewal. While it can be unsettling to see someone evolve in ways we didn’t anticipate, it is also a testament to the richness of human experience. Growth is not something to fear or resist; it is something to celebrate. By learning to navigate these transformations with grace and openness, we can redefine relationships in ways that honor both the past and the present.
One of the most beautiful aspects of growth is that it allows relationships to take on new dimensions. When we let go of the roles and dynamics that once defined our connections, we create space for deeper and more meaningful interactions. A sibling who was once the mischievous troublemaker might now become a trusted confidant; a childhood friend who was once a partner in youthful adventures might now be a source of wisdom and shared reflection. These shifts don’t erase the history you’ve shared — they enrich it, adding layers of complexity and depth to the bond.
Another gift of growth is the opportunity it provides for mutual discovery. As people evolve, they bring new perspectives, interests, and experiences into their relationships. Engaging with these changes can spark conversations that might never have occurred otherwise, offering insights not only into the other person but also into yourself. When we approach relationships with curiosity and a willingness to explore the unfamiliar, we often find that the very things we feared would create distance instead bring us closer together.
Growth also challenges us to expand our understanding of love and connection. To truly love someone is to accept them as they are, not as we wish them to be. This means letting go of expectations and embracing the fullness of their humanity — their flaws, their strengths, and their evolution. It requires seeing them not as a fixed entity but as a dynamic being, capable of change and worthy of being known in every phase of their life. This kind of love is not static; it is active, adaptive, and deeply enriching.
At its core, growth in others reminds us of our own capacity for transformation. Their evolution can inspire us to reflect on our own lives, encouraging us to step outside the boundaries of comfort and explore new possibilities. Just as they have grown, so too can we. And in that shared journey of change, relationships become a space where both parties can learn, adapt, and thrive together.
Redefining relationships through change requires patience, empathy, and a willingness to let go of the past while remaining anchored in the connection that brought you together. It means finding joy in the discovery of who someone has become and appreciating the ways in which they continue to enrich your life. Growth is not the end of a relationship but the beginning of a new chapter — one that is often more rewarding than the last.
In celebrating the beauty of growth, we honor the incredible capacity of relationships to evolve alongside the people in them. By embracing this process, we not only deepen our connections but also create a foundation for lasting, meaningful bonds. Change may feel unfamiliar, but it is through this very unfamiliarity that we find the potential for renewed understanding, deeper love, and shared transformation.
For my students
As we move through the Cognitive Anchoring section of our studies, I encourage you to take some time to reflect on your own experiences with this concept. Think about a relationship or encounter where you found it difficult to reconcile the person you once knew with the person they are today. Were there moments where you held onto an outdated image of someone, only to realize later how much they had grown or changed? Perhaps it was a friend, a family member, or even an acquaintance whose evolution surprised you — or perhaps the reverse, where you felt someone couldn’t see your growth.
Journal about these experiences. Be as specific as you can: What was the situation? What emotions did it stir in you? How did you respond, and how might you have approached it differently with a better understanding of cognitive anchoring? If you can, try to unpack the assumptions or mental shortcuts that influenced your perceptions. This kind of introspection can deepen not only your understanding of this concept but also your awareness of how it manifests in your own relationships.
If you’re feeling brave, consider preparing to share one of these reflections during our final class before the Thanksgiving break. Sharing your insights can provide an opportunity for connection, as we often find that others have had similar experiences. It also helps bring these theories to life, grounding abstract concepts in real-world examples. Whether or not you choose to share, the act of journaling itself will give you a richer perspective on how cognitive anchoring shapes the way we relate to others — and how we might begin to challenge it.
For those who are not my students
For those who are not in my class but are interested in exploring the concept of cognitive anchoring and how it shapes their relationships, this journal exercise can be a powerful tool for self-discovery. Begin by reflecting on your own experiences with difficulty recognizing change in others. Think about someone you’ve known for a long time — perhaps a childhood friend, a family member, or even a colleague — and ask yourself how your perceptions of them have evolved. Have you held onto a static image of who they used to be? If so, how has that impacted your relationship with them? Consider not only what has changed about them but also how your own expectations and assumptions may have influenced the way you see them today.
Write freely, allowing your thoughts to flow without judgment. This is not about finding definitive answers but about uncovering patterns in the way your mind processes relationships. Pay attention to any emotions that arise as you write — whether it’s nostalgia, resistance, or even frustration. These feelings can provide valuable insight into how deeply anchored your perceptions may be. If you feel ready to dig deeper, consider turning the lens inward: How do you think others perceive you? Have you experienced moments when someone couldn’t see your growth or evolution? What did that feel like, and how did you navigate it?
For those willing to take this exercise further, try sharing your reflections with someone you trust. Conversations about personal growth and changing dynamics can foster deeper understanding and connection, especially if the other person has had similar experiences. If sharing feels too vulnerable, simply returning to the journal exercise periodically can help you track your evolving thoughts and emotions over time.
Ultimately, this practice is about developing a greater awareness of how your mind processes relationships and how you can approach others with more openness and empathy. By challenging the cognitive anchors that tether you to outdated perceptions, you can begin to see others — and yourself — with greater clarity, enriching the connections that matter most.