The Layers of Loyalty

Questioning it. Testing it. Defining it. Wondering what it costs.

Sometimes the layers we peel back are our own

“Tell me who you’re loyal to.”

That lyric from Kendrick's "LOYALTY." has been replaying in my head for weeks: part challenge, part self-reflection. With the approaching holiday season this question about loyalty seems to always resurface. I guess gatherings on birthdays, Thanksgiving, and Christmas all have a way of doing that. They illuminate what we hold sacred and what quietly costs us.

It's been a minute since I've posted. So, this feels timely and right.

Lately, two films have helped me peel back what loyalty really means: HIM and Ruth & Boaz. Have you seen either? So good. Some people love onions, while others can't stand them. At first glance, they seem harsh and overwhelming. They make you tear up. But when you peel back the layers, you discover something unexpected. Depending on your palate, they become nourishing. Or maybe they're just not for you.

Well, that's how these films felt to me. The critics tore HIM up in the reviews. In my opinion, the critics only touched the surface. Having watched these films twice, I had the chance to sit with each story, and for me, they revealed layers of loyalty and a longing that stayed with me long after the credits roll.

The movie HIM:

What does it take to stay whole

I saw HIM with my mom, and that detail matters. Cam, the leading character, built his life around what he thought mattered most to him: football. But ultimately, his values, his family, his passion. His loyalty guided every decision, even when it hurt.

Watching this next to my mother, I couldn't help but think about our layered relationship. Like some mother-daughter bonds, ours can be tender and tense, faithful and flawed, all at once.

Watching the character wrestle with his priorities made me reflect on my own. How family and the things I value anchor me, but also how those same loyalties leave me drained.

Netflix's Ruth & Boaz:

The Quiet Weight of Loyalty

Now Ruth & Boaz, was very cute, not biblically accurate but a decent rom-drama. What stood out to me wasn't the bubbling romance between Boaz and Ruth. It was Ruth's decision to stay, chill and kick it with Naomi.

If I have to be honest, that was the truest love story or shall I say HERstory. I laughed out loud at several point during the movie because, let's be honest, some stepmothers can be challenging. We wouldn't even follow them to the mall! If you know, you know... If you didn't watch the movie or haven't read the story of Ruth. Do, it's a good watch and read. Naomi in the movie lost everything. Ruth on the other hand had every right to GET HER LIFE. Yet she didn't. She chose to walk with Naomi into uncertainty, into loss, into a life that wasn't guaranteed to give her anything in return.

That choice was loyalty, but it was also sacrifice.

This movie did send me down a rabbit hole of my own thoughts. Did Ruth ever want freedom, rest, or the chance to define her life on her own terms? Or was that longing the very thing she needed to stay loyal?

Ruth's story and even thoughts of Cam in HIM remind me that loyalty and sacrifice often hold hands. But Ruth's loyalty also became more. Her devotion and loyalty positioned her for a future she couldn't have imagined through faithfulness and through surrender.

I believe we all live in that same tension. How do we know when our loyalty is a reflection of love, and when it's quietly costing us the parts of ourselves that still long for something else?

Maybe the only way to know is to pause, peel back the layers, and ask whether the staying is still sacred or sacrifice?

When Loyalty Feels Overwhelming

Loyalty isn't just heavy. Sometimes it's overwhelming. Personally, I feel that weight so much more acutely. "Too much" becomes too much quickly. I don't thrive in constant demands for sacrifice or in spaces that ask me to stretch beyond what feels sustainable.

Most days, what I think I need is small and intimate. Loyalty that looks like one-on-one connection, quiet presence, shared understanding. My version of loyalty doesn't have to be loud or public to be real. It's measured, intentional, and grounded in spaces where I can give without losing myself.

That's something I'm learning to honor. My capacity doesn't make my love smaller. It makes it sustainable.

Making Space for Ourselves

The thing is, without self-care, loyalty becomes burnout. Trust me, I've learned that's not sustainable for anyone.

Self-care, for me, isn't always about spa days or silent retreats. It's about giving myself grace for the dreams I've had to pause. Whew, that's a word. Sometimes, a dream deferred is deferred simply because the timing isn't right.

It's learning to say "no" without guilt. It's remembering that tending to my own needs doesn't betray the people I love. It sustains the love I offer them.

And y'all, take that PTO. That's not loyalty to the company—you earned that. Use it.

Peeling back the layers of loyalty also means noticing where resentment hides, where exhaustion lingers, and where I need to rest before I can keep showing up. I think Nina Simone said it best, "you've got to learn to leave the table when love's no longer being served."

When Loyalty Feels Overwhelming

As the holidays approach (with its expectations, wanted or unwanted reunions, and obligations), maybe the real question isn't about movies or biblical stories at all. Maybe it's this:

How do we stay loyal without losing sight of ourselves in the process?

Loyalty and selfhood don't have to be opposites. They can coexist in rhythm: seasons of giving, seasons of receiving, seasons of rest.

I think I'll be sitting with the word, loyalty for the rest of the year. Questioning it, testing it, defining it, wondering what it costs. But learning that the cost doesn't have to be myself.

Because sometimes the greatest act of loyalty isn't just staying. It's learning how to stay whole.