As I was scrolling through Facebook recently, looking at photo after photo of familiar faces, I found myself reflecting on the shifting nature of adult friendships. Living in the same community for a long time means building a wide, wonderful circle of friends. Over the years, I’ve watched the cliques and dynamics naturally shift. You might be super close with a couple of people during one season of life, and then, as circumstances change, you find yourself floating toward a new group of moms.
I’ve always believed that things happen for a reason. People enter our lives for a specific purpose or lesson, and sometimes they exit for a reason, too. But through all the shifting seasons and changing social circles, my mind always returns to one sacred space: My Foxhole.
Your foxhole holds your ride-or-dies—the people who stand behind you, walk beside you, and have your back no matter what. Human nature makes us want to see the good in everyone and extend instant trust, but the reality of life is that you simply can’t let everyone in.
I was recently away on a trip with my “Baseball Girls”—my soul sisters. We share a bond that runs incredibly deep. We can tell each other our darkest fears and most vulnerable thoughts, fully knowing that we have each other’s back through anything. To be able to open up completely without a single drop of judgment is one of the most freeing feelings in the world.
I feel that same profound safety with my family. To borrow a classic movie line, we have our “circle of trust.”
I have plenty of friends within my community whom I adore, but they are not in my foxhole. And there is a distinct difference.
My husband is firmly in that foxhole. Years ago, we spent a night in Reno before heading up to Lake Tahoe. We both love to people-watch, but I take it a step further: I love reading people’s energy and observing them, letting their life stories just come to me in real time. (Whether those stories are accurate is another thing entirely, but it’s a game I love to play.)
On this particular night, we were watching a lounge singer in a casino. As he performed, I instinctively felt he had a colorful, complex background that led him to that stage. I started relaying my vivid, detailed version of this complete stranger’s life story to my husband—a narrative that took a few surprisingly dark, dramatic turns. My husband’s expression was priceless. He just shook his head, didn’t judge, didn’t laugh at me, and fully indulged my antics. That’s foxhole behavior.
I keep my circle tight because, like most of us, I’ve been burned before. It’s why I’ve always shared a simple rule of thumb with my children: Be careful who you trust.
That lesson was etched into my mind years ago by my father. Growing up, I spent countless hours with him at the ballpark. When I was in college, I even had the chance to work on the TV broadcast crew. During a quiet moment before a game, I was talking to him about some minor incident that had happened earlier that day.
My dad looked at me, placed his hand firmly over his microphone, and said, “You must always be careful with your words and aware of your surroundings. Even here in an empty booth, just know that someone is always watching and listening.”
I naively replied that I was friends with everyone on the crew.
He looked at me and said, “They may be a friend, but they are not in your foxhole.”
That moment became a core memory. I had survived the drama of middle school and high school under the illusion that once people reached adulthood and established careers, the pettiness would magically disappear. I thought we evolved. But adult life quickly teaches you otherwise—adults can be wolves in sheep’s clothing, and the world can be cutthroat.
My dad was the founding member of my foxhole, and his advice has protected my peace throughout my entire life.
Being invited into someone’s foxhole is a privilege and an honor. It’s where you belong when the noise of the outside world gets too loud.
So, as you look at your own life today, take a moment to look around: Who is standing in your foxhole?
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