Toni Lynn

Last night at my middle child’s soccer practice, I found myself smiling at small but powerful moment. The coach asked one of the players to tie his cleats, and the boy quietly admitted, “Would it be weird if I said I don’t know how to tie my shoes?” Without missing a beat, my son walked over, knelt down, and tied his teammate’s cleats.

No hesitation. No judgment. No expectation of praise.

He did not do it because he wanted recognition or because anyone told him to. He did it because his teammate needed help—and in that moment, he could be the one to step in.

I keep replaying that small, ordinary moment in my mind because it felt like such a powerful picture of community. And after the last few weeks in America, is that not something we could all use more of? What if we truly lived as people who stepped in to help one another simply because help was needed? How many tragedies could be prevented if compassion and courage were our first response to each other? That is what it means to have a tribe. To be surrounded by people who show up, not because there is something in it for them, but because you needed someone to.

And maybe even more powerful than the act itself was the vulnerability of the boy who asked for help. To admit you cannot do something and to trust that someone will step in without ridicule takes a different kind of courage. Both sides of that exchange matter. The one who ties the shoe and the one who asks for it to be tied.

That is the beauty of a true tribe. It is not one-sided. It is a constant rhythm of giving and receiving, of showing up in strength and also showing up in need. It is celebrating victories together and grieving losses together. It is holding space for both resilience and fragility.

I was talking with a friend recently about how essential this is, especially within the first responder community. The truth is, none of us were meant to do life alone. Even the strongest, most independent of us need connection. Even the introverts who thrive on solitude still need people they can call when the world feels too heavy to carry alone.

For me, I have learned to be intentional about filling my circle with people who will sit in the trenches with me when life feels overwhelming and who will dance with me on the mountaintops when joy finally breaks through. And I have learned that I must be just as willing to be that person for them. That is what keeps the tribe strong.

For first responder families, this becomes even more vital. We need people inside the community who understand the unique struggles of this life—the shift work, the stress, the trauma, the ripple effects on the whole family. But we also need people outside of the first responder world. We need balance. We need reminders that life is bigger than the job. That laughter, fun, and connection exist outside of sirens and uniforms.

This is one of the reasons I wrote Silent Warriors: The Guardians Behind the Badge. In it, I talk about the Silent Warriors Network and why building strong communities matters so deeply. We were not meant to carry our stories, our struggles, or even our celebrations in isolation. We were created for connection.

So maybe the question for all of us is this: Are we willing to both ask for help and to offer it? Are we brave enough to admit when we need someone to tie our shoes, and are we compassionate enough to bend down and tie someone else’s? Because that is how a tribe thrives. Not just by showing up for one another, but by allowing others to show up for us.

If you have not yet picked up a copy of Silent Warriors: The Guardians Behind the Badge, I invite you to do so today. You will find stories and reminders that you are not alone—and that your tribe, both inside and outside of this world, is worth holding close. Get your copy here.