The Feedback That Changed How I Lead
On assumptions, trust, and why the receiver matters as much as the giver.
Early on in a new project I was leading, one of my team members said something I still think about all the time.
We were a small group that hadn't worked together before and I respected everyone enormously—their knowledge, their judgment, the way they approached problems. So when we got started, I made an almost unconscious decision: we were going to build this project together. Decisions by consensus.
During a planning meeting about a month in, one of them said, "Megan, we need you to start making executive decisions or we'll never get everything done."
Did I feel defensive in the moment? Probably. I like to do a perfect job all the time, thanks. But the thing I remember most clearly was my sense of relief.
What I had been operating on
My approach to that project stemmed from a set of beliefs I hadn't examined: that the team wanted to give input on everything, that they'd feel excluded if I made calls without them, that moving decisively might come across as dismissive of their expertise. I thought I was being collaborative. I thought that would be a key to our success.
Wrong on all counts.
What I've learned since, and what I try to practice consistently, is to name assumptions before they drive my behavior. Literally out loud. "Let me check an assumption." I'm wrong often enough that it's become one of the most useful habits I've built.
Why they were able to say it
Giving critical feedback to someone with more positional authority is high stakes. It could be met with defensiveness, with silence, or with something worse. The fact that my team said something at all was itself an act of trust.
That trust was built from the small interactions we'd had before that conversation: in the way we'd worked together and in whatever signals I'd sent about who I was, what I valued, and how I operated. The research on feedback backs this up plainly:
What makes honest feedback receivable is, more than anything else, the belief that the other person is on your side.
This is what researchers describe as developmental feedback—one of four distinct modes, alongside appreciative, accountability, and restorative feedback. Developmental feedback is someone sharing an honest observation to help you grow. It carries a lower threat than an accountability conversation, but it still requires real courage from the giver and real openness from the receiver.
Why I was able to receive it
I was in a good position to hear what my team had to say. I felt secure in my role—I wasn't operating from a place of fear about my standing on the team or in the organization. And I felt confident about my ability to do the job—I didn't have a particularly fragile ego to protect. That combination allowed me to take in the feedback. My team could have delivered it perfectly and I still could have closed the door on it if either of those things had been different.
When feedback isn't received well (e.g., when someone goes quiet, gets defensive, dismisses what's being offered), it's worth asking what's underneath that. Closed-off receivers are responding to something real: feedback that doesn't feel safe, a relationship where trust hasn't been established, or a history of feedback delivered without genuine care behind it. If feedback isn't landing well, a useful question is what needs to be built or repaired in the relationship first.
What receiving it well made possible
My response in the moment was a genuine thank you because I understood what it had taken to say, and I knew it would have a positive impact on both how we worked together and what we'd be able to accomplish.
What followed over the next several years was one of the most natural feedback cultures I've been part of. That moment became a foundation. It became easier for me to give difficult feedback (to that team and beyond) because I'd experienced firsthand how transformative it can be when someone shows you something you're not seeing clearly yourself.
I have to remind myself often that withholding critical feedback is actually unkind. When I hold back something that would genuinely help someone I believe in, I'm prioritizing my own comfort over their growth. Sharing it, with care and from a genuine place of good intention, is the more generous act.
What also shifted was how I understand the receiver's role. Too often, feedback culture work focuses on the giver: the language, the frameworks, the delivery. But the receiver determines whether and how that feedback is going to matter. A person's mindset going into a feedback exchange shapes the outcome more than the quality of the delivery. Will they experience it as useful information or as a threat to their worth?
I think often about what would have happened if my team hadn't said anything. The time we would have wasted. The resentment that could have accumulated as decisions stalled. Feedback that doesn't happen has a cost.
The question worth grappling with
Most of us have feedback we're holding onto right now—something we've noticed about a colleague, a team member, a boss. Sometimes the timing isn't right. Sometimes the relationship isn't there yet. But sometimes we're just protecting ourselves from a conversation that the other person deserves to have.
What would it take to trust that they can handle it? And that you can, too?