Why I Made the Shirt
I grew up in a home that a lot of men would probably envy.
I had wonderful parents. A stable family. A comfortable childhood. I wasn't abused. I didn't grow up in poverty. I was loved, encouraged, and given every reason to believe that life was going to be pretty good.
By just about any measure, I lived a charmed life.
So what happened?
Life.
Somewhere along the way, I discovered that a good beginning doesn't guarantee an easy journey.
I've experienced failures. Disappointments. Financial setbacks. Relationships that didn't survive. I've made decisions I wish I could take back, and I've faced circumstances I wouldn't wish on anybody.
But life goes on. You get back up. You rebuild. You keep moving.
And then one day, you realize you're carrying more than you ever imagined you could.
I'm a husband. A father. A grandfather. A business owner. I work hard, and like so many men, I spend a tremendous amount of time thinking about the people who depend on me.
And here's something I've discovered about being a father.
Our children grow up. But we never stop wanting to carry their burdens.
When they're little, we can fix almost anything. But when they're grown, their problems become bigger, more complicated, and sometimes completely beyond our control.
And that doesn't stop us from worrying.
We still want to protect them. Shelter them. Make their lives easier.
Because that's what fathers do.
At least, that's what I've always tried to do.
The Things We Don't Talk About
I've spent much of my life believing that men are supposed to be fixers.
Something breaks? Fix it.
Something goes wrong? Figure it out.
Someone needs help? Be there.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
But what happens when you're the one who needs help?
What happens when you're exhausted, overwhelmed, frightened, and you don't have the answers?
If you're anything like me, you keep it to yourself.
You put on a smile. You go to work. You take care of your responsibilities. You tell everybody you're fine.
And you hope tomorrow will be better.
I did that for a long time.
Until one day, I couldn't.
I had a moment when everything I'd been worrying about, everything I'd been pushing aside, came rushing to the surface.
And it frightened me.
But afterward, something changed.
I began looking at my fears instead of running from them. I started asking myself what would really happen if some of the things I was so afraid of actually came to pass.
And I realized that even if life didn't turn out the way I'd planned, I would still have people who loved me.
I would still be a husband. A father. A friend.
I would still be me.
And I realized something else.
I didn't necessarily need somebody to fix my problems.
I needed somebody to tell me I was going to be okay.
Not because everything was going to work out perfectly.
But because my worth as a man wasn't determined by whether everything worked out perfectly.
Sometimes We Just Need Another Guy
There's something I've been thinking about lately.
Men don't always know how to encourage one another.
We joke. We talk about sports. We talk about work. We give each other a hard time.
But how often do we look another man in the eye and tell him we respect him?
How often do we tell him we see how hard he's trying?
How often do we tell him we're proud of the man he's becoming?
Those words can feel awkward. Sometimes they even sound a little patronizing.
So we don't say them.
But I think a lot of men desperately need to hear them.
I know I do.
Not from somebody who thinks he's better than me. Not from somebody who wants to give me a lecture.
From another man who understands what it means to keep showing up when life is difficult.
Someone who can say, "Man, I know it's hard. I see how hard you're trying. Don't give up."
Sometimes that's enough to help us face another day.
A Conversation I Won't Forget
Not long ago, I met a young man outside my business.
We started talking, and he told me about a wonderful opportunity he'd recently lost because of a bad decision.
He was disappointed in himself. Ashamed, I think.
He called himself stupid.
And I told him something I hope he'll remember.
I asked him to think back to a time when he was happy with himself. A time when he could look in the mirror and genuinely like the person looking back.
Then I told him:
"That guy is still in there. You've just got some things to move out of the way so you can find him again."
I don't know whether those words made any difference to him.
I hope they did.
But that conversation reminded me of something I'd recently decided.
I wasn't going to keep passing up opportunities to encourage other men.
Even if it felt awkward.
Even if I didn't know exactly what to say.
Even if all I could offer was a few minutes of my time.
Because I know what it feels like to need those words myself.
So I Made a Shirt
I saw a T-shirt one day that began with a message to the person standing behind the wearer.
I thought it was clever.
And then I started thinking.
What if I could wear a shirt that told another man something about me?
Something real.
Not how successful I am. Not how strong I am. Not how I've figured everything out.
But that I struggle too.
That I have worries I don't talk about. Battles nobody sees. Days when being strong feels almost impossible.
And what if that shirt could invite another man to reach out?
Not because I have the answers.
But because I'd like to be his friend.
That's where The Guy Behind Me began.
I'm not a licensed professional. I'm not a therapist or a counselor.
But I'm fluent in the language of pain.
And I believe there's something powerful about one man simply being there for another.
You don't have to share my beliefs. You don't have to have the same background. You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable sharing.
You don't even have to be struggling.
Maybe you're doing great, and you'd just like to be there for somebody who isn't.
There's room for you too.
I don't know what this little idea will become.
Maybe it will lead to a handful of friendships.
Maybe it will grow into a community of men who encourage one another, share their experiences, and occasionally get together for a cup of coffee.
Maybe it will simply help one man feel a little less alone.
If that's all it ever does, it will have been worth it.
Because here's what I've come to believe:
Sometimes a man doesn't need someone to tell him how to carry the load. He just needs someone to notice how long he's been carrying it.
And if you're reading this because you saw someone wearing our shirt, I hope you'll understand what he was trying to tell you.
He's not claiming to be stronger than you.
He's not claiming to have all the answers.
He's simply extending an invitation.
And so am I.
The guy behind me can become the guy beside me.
I'm glad you're here.
— Randy