Having Someone’s Back

“Loyalty means I am with you whether you are wrong or right. But I will tell you when you are wrong and help you get it right.”

Unknown

There's a scene from the movie This is 40 that's haunted me for years.

Two divorced parents, barely on speaking terms, find themselves in a school meeting where their child is being criticized. Instantly, despite all their differences, they close ranks. They defend their kid with a ferocity that's almost primal. They know, deep down, their child might actually be in the wrong. But in that moment, none of it matters. The world is divided: us versus them.

I've always wished I could be that person. The one who instinctively closes ranks. Who defends first and processes later. Who doesn't need to understand the full story before knowing which side they're on.

But I'm not wired that way. And I've learned, sometimes painfully, what it costs when the people you love need you to be that person, and you're not.

Early in our marriage, your mom and I struggled with this. My mom, your grandmother, has different parenting approaches than we do. Generational differences, cultural differences, just different ways of seeing the world. And she couldn't quite keep her opinions to herself, even though I don't think she expected us to follow her approach.

I didn't try to side with her. I tried to explain where she was coming from. I wanted us to move forward with your mom's and my approach, but I didn't want my grandmother to feel unheard.

But in the process, your mom felt unheard.

She didn't need me to be a mediator. She didn't need me to help everyone understand each other. She needed me to be on her side. To close ranks. To say, "We're doing it this way, end of discussion."

And I didn't. I tried to be fair. I tried to see both sides. And in doing that, I made your mom feel like I wasn't really with her.

That's the tension I've never quite figured out: how to honor truth and nuance while also showing up for your people. How to be thoughtful without being a bad ally.

Recently at work, my team laid into a partner who hadn't delivered on what they promised. Six of us on the call versus primarily just him. They went line by line through the issues and didn't allow him to defend or explain. He took it all, but followed up with an email expressing disappointment, defending himself, diminishing the points my team had made.

Here’s the thing: a conversation had to happen. But maybe not that way. And I froze. I still don’t know what would’ve helped, but I know I should’ve tried.

This is my pattern, Lyla. I freeze in the moments that matter. My brain can't process fast enough. If I'm prepared, I'm fine. But on the spot, I can't find the words. And by the time I've thought it through, the moment has passed.

There was a time I got it right, though. Someone on my team made a mistake that cost the agency money. A dumb mistake that they caught themselves, shared with me, and were devastated about. My boss asked me to tell her who made the mistake so she could talk to them and essentially threaten their job.

I refused to give the name.

But here's the thing: I did it via email. I had thirty minutes to collect my thoughts, to figure out the right words. I told her I was ultimately responsible, and if she needed to fire someone for the issue, it should be me. I told her I'd rather have someone on my team who made the mistake and learned from it than someone new who could make the same mistake because they'd never learned that lesson.

She wrote back: "Thank you for your thoughtful reply. I think this matter is closed."

That's who I want to be. The person who takes the heat for their people. Who closes ranks without hesitation. Who defends first and sorts out the details later.

But I only got there because I had time to think. On the spot, I freeze. And the people who need me in those moments don't get thirty minutes for me to compose an email.

I think about my mom defending me with a teacher once. I've written about it before. But what I remember most is how it felt: proud that she was my mom, seen, supported, understood. She had my back completely, even if I was wrong. And that feeling, knowing someone will fight for you no matter what, that's everything.

I want you to feel that way about me.

But here's what I've learned: you can't figure out loyalty in the moment. If you wait until you're in the crisis to decide whose side you're on, you might freeze. You might try to be fair when someone needs you to be fierce.

So I've had to decide ahead of time. There's a handful of people in my life who get instant defense. No questions asked. No processing required. For them, I close ranks first and figure out the rest later.

You're at the top of that list. Always.

For everyone else, I need to understand before I defend. I want to see both sides. I want to be thoughtful. And that's okay for most situations.

But you need to know which kind of person you are before the moment comes. Not during.

Here's what I want you to know:

You might freeze too. In moments where someone needs you to defend them, your brain might not process fast enough. You might be too thoughtful, too fair, too slow to find the words.

So think about this now. Know your circle before the crisis comes. Decide who gets instant defense: no questions, no processing, just "I'm with you." Because if you wait until you're in the moment, you might hesitate.

And those moments live with you.

I'll always have your back. You're in my circle. You always will be. Even when I freeze, even when the words don't come fast enough, I'm on your side.

I just hope, when your moments come, you'll be better at it than I am.