#1 ·
I was thinking about this last night after watching a documentary on old-school coaching styles, and it really got me spiraling into a bit of a philosophical rabbit hole regarding how we handle failure. We all know that feeling—that sinking pit in your stomach when you completely whiff on a fundamental task, especially when there’s someone watching who expects perfection. It’s that moment where you realize you didn't just miss the mark; you missed the mark in a way that makes you look amateur.
In my own life, I’ve experienced this in two very distinct ways. Back when I was starting out in my first corporate gig, I remember a senior partner absolutely tearing into me during a meeting because I’d miscalculated a projection. It was loud, it was public, and it was humiliating. At the time, I didn't learn anything about the math; I just learned how to avoid that person and how to build up a thick skin of resentment. I viewed the criticism as a personal attack on my competence rather than a critique of my work. To me, it felt like they were trying to break me down just to assert dominance. I spent the next six months being defensive and looking for excuses, which, in hindsight, was the worst possible reaction.
But then, a few years later, I had a mentor who handled things totally differently. I messed up a presentation—a big one—and instead of calling me out in front of the group, they pulled me aside afterward. The conversation wasn't "soft," per se. They were direct, they were blunt, and they made it clear that my performance was subpar. But there was a fundamental difference in the intent. It didn't feel like they were trying to diminish my value; it felt like they were trying to sharpen my edge. They were coming from a place of wanting me to succeed, even if the delivery was uncomfortable.
It’s fascinating how much the "why" behind the correction changes the "how" of the recovery. When you’re young or inexperienced, you don't have the emotional maturity to separate your ego from your performance. You think: "They are yelling at me, therefore they hate me." But as you get older, or as you get better at what you do, you start to realize that the most intense, most uncomfortable feedback is often the most valuable tool you have. If the person correcting you actually believes in your potential, that "rip" or that "scolding" is actually a gift, even if it feels like a punch to the gut in the moment.
I wonder if this applies to more than just professional settings, though. I think about how we raise kids, or how we interact with friends. If we’re too lenient, we rob them of the ability to handle the real world. If we’re too harsh, we crush their spirit and make them too afraid to even try. There has to be this sweet spot where the pressure is high enough to demand excellence, but the underlying respect is high enough to allow for growth.
I’ve noticed lately that our culture seems to be swinging wildly between these two extremes. We either have a "participation trophy" approach where no one is ever told they’ve failed, or we have a "sink or swim" culture that leaves people traumatized and bitter. Neither seems to produce the kind of sustained, high-level mastery we see in the greats. To get to that elite level, you need someone who is willing to be the "bad guy" for a moment, provided that the goal is to make you better, not just to make you feel small.
It makes me think about how much of our personal growth is dictated by whether or not we can transform a moment of shame into a moment of instruction. If you can't bridge that gap, you just end up stuck in a cycle of being defensive.
How do you all handle intense criticism when you're in the heat of the moment? Do you find it easier to take feedback when it's delivered with a bit of "tough love," or do you think the modern, more empathetic approach to correction is actually more effective for long-term development?
In my own life, I’ve experienced this in two very distinct ways. Back when I was starting out in my first corporate gig, I remember a senior partner absolutely tearing into me during a meeting because I’d miscalculated a projection. It was loud, it was public, and it was humiliating. At the time, I didn't learn anything about the math; I just learned how to avoid that person and how to build up a thick skin of resentment. I viewed the criticism as a personal attack on my competence rather than a critique of my work. To me, it felt like they were trying to break me down just to assert dominance. I spent the next six months being defensive and looking for excuses, which, in hindsight, was the worst possible reaction.
But then, a few years later, I had a mentor who handled things totally differently. I messed up a presentation—a big one—and instead of calling me out in front of the group, they pulled me aside afterward. The conversation wasn't "soft," per se. They were direct, they were blunt, and they made it clear that my performance was subpar. But there was a fundamental difference in the intent. It didn't feel like they were trying to diminish my value; it felt like they were trying to sharpen my edge. They were coming from a place of wanting me to succeed, even if the delivery was uncomfortable.
It’s fascinating how much the "why" behind the correction changes the "how" of the recovery. When you’re young or inexperienced, you don't have the emotional maturity to separate your ego from your performance. You think: "They are yelling at me, therefore they hate me." But as you get older, or as you get better at what you do, you start to realize that the most intense, most uncomfortable feedback is often the most valuable tool you have. If the person correcting you actually believes in your potential, that "rip" or that "scolding" is actually a gift, even if it feels like a punch to the gut in the moment.
I wonder if this applies to more than just professional settings, though. I think about how we raise kids, or how we interact with friends. If we’re too lenient, we rob them of the ability to handle the real world. If we’re too harsh, we crush their spirit and make them too afraid to even try. There has to be this sweet spot where the pressure is high enough to demand excellence, but the underlying respect is high enough to allow for growth.
I’ve noticed lately that our culture seems to be swinging wildly between these two extremes. We either have a "participation trophy" approach where no one is ever told they’ve failed, or we have a "sink or swim" culture that leaves people traumatized and bitter. Neither seems to produce the kind of sustained, high-level mastery we see in the greats. To get to that elite level, you need someone who is willing to be the "bad guy" for a moment, provided that the goal is to make you better, not just to make you feel small.
It makes me think about how much of our personal growth is dictated by whether or not we can transform a moment of shame into a moment of instruction. If you can't bridge that gap, you just end up stuck in a cycle of being defensive.
How do you all handle intense criticism when you're in the heat of the moment? Do you find it easier to take feedback when it's delivered with a bit of "tough love," or do you think the modern, more empathetic approach to correction is actually more effective for long-term development?