Recently, the Kid With One F came home from school quite upset. When I asked them what was wrong, they told a long, involved story of a friend of theirs that was being bullied and how they wanted to fight the instigator. During this conversation, they dropped a line we’ve all heard in a million film and TV shows: “I don’t care what you do to me, but mess with my friends, and I’ll [insert violent act].”

It sounds noble, but it’s really not. What follows is a paraphrase of my advice to the kid based on a life spent embodying this trope.

Like a lot of children of divorced parents, I grew up fast. This manifested as a need to impose order on the world as a way to overcome the loss of my family unit. By my sophomore year, I was already a perennial dad figure, constantly rushing to the rescue of whoever was knee deep in high school drama that week.

I kept this up well into my 20s, collecting wounded birds as friends and being on call for every crisis. I mediated between warring acquaintances, was a shoulder to cry on for broken hearts, and vowed to fight a huge number of abusive exes. It made me feel strong and capable, like I could be relied on for anything.

And it was all bullshit.

That sort of behavior is textbook co-dependency. I know that now because all those decades taking care of others while ignoring my own problems was one of the things that landed me in a rehab facility. Doctors and therapists had to explain to me how I used “don’t mess with my loved ones” as a way to avoid my own anxiety and emotional distress.

There’s helping other people, and then there’s using them as an excuse to rewrite the world with you as a savior. If someone is crying to you about something terrible, you can pretend your own terrible things are trivial in comparison no matter how much they are killing you. Then, you aren’t scared or depressed. You’re the adult, and who wouldn’t rather be the adult than a frightened little kid?

In really toxic manifestations, these ideas become paths of righteous anger that are extremely unhelpful to the person you’re supposedly defending. I can tell you from years of interviewing sexual assault victims that the last thing they want to hear is some dude’s violent revenge fantasy on their behalf. Once you get into that territory, you’re just using your friend so you can pretend to be Batman.

It’s noble to want to be a good friend and listener. However, a really great friend is focused on giving the distressed person what they need. They probably don’t want you to solve all their problems or backhand their bullies. Acting like you’re the avenging angel can be patronizing and actively damaging to the entire situation.

The whole “don’t mess with my friends” attitude is less about loyalty and more about the American obsession with individuality. When you take this position, the “we” of the relationship becomes the “me” of your hero’s journey. The focus is pulled away from understanding, consoling, and supporting and into dramatic scenes of vengeance and rescue.

When someone is hurting, talk to them. Ask them if they want solutions or just to vent to a trusted source. Be aware of your own problems and whether you’re using this to avoid dealing with them. A truly great friend is an honest, understanding one, not someone who feeds off drama to dodge their own demons.