The Death of Loyalty

All teams—newly formed teams, teams striving for excellence, and even elite teams—face the same familiar challenges: accountability, communication, discipline, and attention to detail. Entire libraries of leadership books have been written about these vulnerabilities. You can work on them. You can improve them. You can even master them.

But there is one thing that breaks every team—even the most elite ones.

Losing the discipline to hold yourself to the same standards you demand from others.

For fifteen years, I was part of a civilian company made up of former warfighters from the Marine Corps, Army, Navy, and Air Force—men and women who brought the same level of commitment and brotherhood from military service into the civilian world. Many of us, including myself, began in the company’s first year.

We all believed in the mission: to change lives, to build people, to make an impact. And we all pushed hard to make it happen—including the owner.

In the beginning, we lived by a clear priority: Mission. Team. Self. In that order

We appreciated what we were building. We worked to improve every day—refining our methods, deepening our relationships with clients, and pushing ourselves to become sharper. Innovation thrived because we stayed hungry, humble, and accountable.

But as the company grew, things began to change. The bond between the principals—some forged in blood during military service—no longer mattered. The trust in the partnership that had built the company started to fade, and decisions were made based solely on one man’s beliefs.

Then came the moment that broke everything: Our contracts were changed.

Not a discussion. Not a negotiation. A unilateral decision that violated one of our core principles—discipline. That decision cost us 80,000 dollars in compensation.

When confronted, the only response we got was, “I’ll have to earn your trust back.”

But the decision wasn’t reversed. It wasn’t going to be made right. The change was just acknowledged that trust had been broken—and we were moving on.

That was year ten.

We stayed five more years.

Here’s the hard truth: We abandoned our own standards, too.

We saw what happened. We knew our core principle had been violated. But we told ourselves that loyalty meant staying. We rationalized our inaction by calling it patience. We expected things to return to what they’d been.

Here’s what I’ve learned through years of working with teams and living through situations like this: Humans operate from a blueprint. That blueprint has four phases: Appreciation, Anticipation, Expectation, and Rationalization.

When you appreciate the situation—good or bad—and anticipate ways to become better, you stay sharp. You hold yourself accountable. You keep asking hard questions.

But when you slip into expectation, you get complacent. You start using “deserve” instead of “earn.” You assume things will work out because they should, not because you’re making them work.

And when those expectations aren’t met, you move into rationalization—blaming others, making excuses, justifying decisions that violate your standards.

Here’s something else I’ve noticed: When someone tells you what they are, they’re often the exact opposite.

“You can trust me.” “I’m a good guy.” “I’m a good person.”

These aren’t statements of fact—they’re self-justification. People who live by their standards don’t need to announce them. Their actions speak.

If you’re in a toxic environment right now, the question isn’t whether you should leave. The question is whether you’re still holding yourself to your own standards.

For Leaders:

Is this decision best for the mission, or just protecting my position?
When was the last time someone challenged me—and I actually listened?
Am I developing people who could replace me, or hoarding control?
Do my actions match the standards I preach when it’s inconvenient?
What problem am I avoiding because it threatens my authority?

For Team Members:

Am I adding value to the mission, or just doing enough to stay unnoticed?
Do I bring solutions, or just problems?
Am I coachable, even when feedback hits my ego?
Would I want to lead someone with my attitude and effort?
If the mission fails, what part belongs to me?

We stopped asking ourselves these questions.

Toxic environments are built one rationalization at a time.

Within months of finally walking away, the most loyal leaders were gone. Not because of performance or lack of commitment. But because we finally looked ourselves in the mirror and admitted: We’d abandoned our own standards.

Here’s what I want you to hear: You can learn from this. You can come out better.

You don’t have to compromise your integrity to leave. You don’t have to burn relationships. You just have to be honest about whether you’re still operating by the standards you set for yourself.

Are you appreciating the situation for what it is?

Are you anticipating ways to be better, or expecting things to magically improve?

Are you holding yourself accountable, or rationalizing your inaction?

If you stay, stay because the mission still matters and you’re willing to hold yourself and others to your standards. If you leave, leave clean.

The three of us who walked away did so with our integrity intact. We didn’t compromise who we were. And because of that, we maintained the relationships that mattered. We didn’t lose the bond forged in loyalty—we just stopped pretending loyalty meant tolerating broken trust.

We came out better. Stronger. Clearer about what we stand for.

You can too.

Loyalty is earned, not owed. And it’s measured by whether you’re still aligned with the mission and still holding yourself to the same standards you demand from others.

I don’t fear much in life—but I fear abandoning my standards and calling it loyalty.

That lesson was earned the hard way.