Shots Fired: When Feedback Isn't Feedback at All

Early in my career, I was working in corporate America—young, ambitious, and still figuring out what it meant to lead. 

I had a direct report, an assistant, who, as they say, “wasn’t meeting expectations.” Their job was to complete a series of admin tasks, mostly paperwork I had documented in a step-by-step playbook. I’d trained them to the best of my ability (which, if we’re being honest, wasn’t much at the time). But the work kept coming back incomplete. They were missing steps, overlooking details, and struggling to follow through.

I didn’t yet have the tools I needed to navigate it. They were older than me. I was still learning power dynamics. And we were working inside a corporate system with no clear process for feedback—just a vague awareness that HR was a place you only went when things got really bad. I was still a loyal card-carrying member of capitalism at that point—and I believed the meritocracy myth: if I just worked hard and followed the rules, things would work out.

So I asked a mentor what to do. They told me to sit down with the employee and document everything. 

They walked me through how to have the conversation. How to frame the issues. And most importantly, how to put all of it to paper—with their signature—so if I needed to fire this employee, I’d have the record to back it up. 

A specific turn of phrase—"paper trail"—stuck with me.

Not because it was wrong, but because of what it revealed.

It told me that performance management wasn’t really about improvement.
It was about protection. Liability. Covering your asterisk. It wasn’t leadership. It was legal strategy.

At the time, I didn’t have language for what felt so off.
Until I saw it happen again.

Shots Fired

At a later job, I worked under a supervisor who modeled this approach in full color. 

They wouldn’t give employees any direct feedback until they were already mad. They wouldn’t give feedback when something was off. They’d just… go quiet. Stop communicating. Start compiling a mental list of every mistake the employee had ever made—and then hand it to me to “package up” as a formal reprimand.

They called it: “Shots fired.”

As in, once someone received a performance improvement plan (PIP), they should know: the decision had already been made. This wasn’t support. It was a slow walk to the exit.

No co-creation.
No care.
Just silence.
Then documentation.
Then exile.

People who received those PIPs rarely stayed long after.
Not because they weren’t capable—but because they’d seen this pattern before.
They knew what came next.

At one point, I attempted to make the process feel more human. I created a framework called Perform Forward.  (Yes, I know. I was trying.) Later, when HR got involved, it became something called Corrective Action.

But it didn’t matter.

Because my supervisor didn’t want real accountability.
They wanted deniability.

Performance improvement plans weren’t about improvement.
They were a warning shot.

And then, of course, one day, it happened to me.

A PIP. Out of the blue. Not only did it list “performance issues” I had never been made aware of—it read like a character assassination.

It painted a story. One I didn’t recognize. It claimed I wasn’t receptive to feedback. That I had a pattern of behavior. That I’d been coached repeatedly with no result.

But none of it was true.

I hadn’t received any feedback—despite asking.
No performance reviews. No one-on-ones. No documentation.
When I asked for specifics? There were none.

Just language designed to make me look unreasonable.
Like my request for clarity was the real issue.
Like my desire for fairness was “not being a team player.”

To be clear—I’m not saying I was perfect.

There were things I could’ve done better. And in my multi page response to the PIP, I named those. I laid out what I agreed with, what I disagreed with, and what I planned to do about it.

But by then, it didn’t matter.

Because the document wasn’t really about improvement.
It was about power.

Shots fired.

What gets called “feedback” is often just fear—packaged in policy, delivered in silence, and labeled as leadership.

Being the wildly stubborn human that I am, I said to myself: “Fine. But I’m not quitting. If they want me gone, they’ll have to fire me.” 

They didn’t.

They just made it miserable enough that I eventually walked away.

Just weeks before receiving this PIP, I had been told I was doing well. That I was “valued.” That everything was fine. Which is what made this PIP even more like whiplash. Suddenly, I was a problem to be solved. An issue to be managed. A narrative to be controlled.

The Problem Isn’t (Always) the People

I’m not telling this story to vilify anyone.

Not the assistant who wasn’t performing.
Not the mentor who told me to document.
Not the supervisor who called it “shots fired.”
And not myself—though I played along.

We were all just doing what we’d been taught.
Each of us responding to a system that rewards compliance and punishes dissent. Most of us weren’t being malicious. We were just playing roles we didn’t know how to question.

Because in most workplaces, leadership isn’t modeled as care.

It’s modeled as control.

And control is contagious.

My assistant?
Likely disengaged. Going through the motions. Probably not thrilled to report to someone younger, less experienced, and eager to optimize a system she didn’t trust.

My mentor?
Older. Raised in traditional corporate culture. They weren’t being cruel—they were trying to protect me. Because in that world, a paper trail was the smart move.

My supervisor?
They didn’t invent this model. They embodied it. Command-and-control leadership. Performance-as-risk. People-as-liability.

And me?

I knew something was off.
But I still played the game.
I wrote the documents. I delivered the PIPs.
Because that’s what leadership looked like to me at the time.

Until I realized:
This isn’t leadership.
It’s fear management—disguised as feedback.

We Can’t Grow In Fear

Traditional performance management doesn’t develop people.
It protects power.

It leverages negativity bias—our brain’s tendency to fixate on what’s wrong—while calling itself “objective.”
It destroys psychological safety, then blames the employee for shutting down.
It punishes mistakes but never builds trust.

It’s not feedback.
It’s fragility with a title.

And if you’ve ever received a vague, punitive, out-of-nowhere write-up?

You are not alone.
And you are not the problem.

So What’s the Alternative?

What if we stopped treating dips in performance as signs of failure—and started seeing them as invitations to grow?

What if we didn’t weaponize feedback—but used it to create alignment?

What if we supported people through the hard parts—instead of punishing them for not already knowing how?

That’s what the Growth Awareness Cycle is for.

It’s a reframe.
A roadmap.
A tool for teams who want to grow—without shame.

And it’s the foundation of how I approach performance.

The Growth Awareness Cycle

A reframe for how we improve performance—without weaponizing it.

If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a performance review that felt more like a firing squad than a path to growth… or if you’ve ever been on the firing end, holding the rifle, your finger trembling as you pull the trigger…

… then you understand deeply that most performance management systems destroy psychological safety in the process.

And when safety is gone, growth shuts down.

But what if dips in performance weren’t a threat to mitigate…
…but an invitation to evolve?

What if improvement wasn’t about compliance, but about conscious transformation?

The Growth Awareness Cycle is a model for leaders and teams who are ready to grow without shame—and lead without fear.

Because the truth is, every leader, every team member, every company moves through the following five stages.
Let’s name them. And then let’s reimagine how we move through them.

Phase 1: Momentum Without Awareness

You’re moving. Things are happening. Results are coming in.

But there’s a catch.

You haven’t yet noticed the cracks in the foundation. You’re operating more from instinct than intention. There’s motion—but it’s not yet aligned.

This phase feels fine on the surface. But underneath? There’s a growing disconnect.

What it sounds like:
“I don’t think anything’s wrong. Why fix what isn’t broken?”
“We’re busy, but it seems to be working.”

What it needs:
Visibility. Reflection. The courage to slow down and ask: What are we not seeing?

Phase 2: The Call to Transform

Then… something shifts.
A moment that shakes the status quo.

It might look like critical feedback.
A team member leaving.
A project falling apart.
Or a gnawing feeling that says: This isn’t working anymore.

You’re at a fork in the road. You can deny the discomfort—and stay asleep.
Or you can lean in, and let the discomfort wake you up.

This is the invitation. Not to panic. But to pay attention.

What it sounds like:
“This shouldn’t have surprised me—but it did.”
“I thought I had it handled. Turns out… I didn’t.”
“I’m starting to see my blind spots—and it’s hard.”

What it needs:
Honesty. Humility. A willingness to sit in the questions.

Right here is where some leaders veer off course.
Instead of sitting with the discomfort, they look outward.
They point fingers.
They craft narratives.
They blame “poor performance” instead of asking: What systems did I put (or fail to put) in place?

This is the birthplace of many a performance improvement plan.
Not because someone truly can’t grow…
But because someone else didn’t want to look inward.

But if you’re brave enough to face yourself first?
To move through the discomfort rather than avoid it?

Then welcome.
You’re entering:

Phase 3: The Growth Dip

Welcome to the hard part.

This is where awareness hits.
You now know what’s not working.
But you haven’t yet built what comes next.

This is where most teams panic.
This is where most managers double down on control.
This is where most leaders try to fast-track their way out.

But here’s the truth: You can’t shortcut your way to integration.

This isn’t failure. It’s the work.

What it sounds like:
“I feel like I’m drowning in everything I don’t know.”
“I’m trying, but it’s not clicking yet.”
“This is the part where I usually quit.”

What it needs:
Support. Structure. Encouragement to keep going—not performance improvement plans that reinforce shame.

Phase 4: Intentional Integration

Things start to click.
Not all at once. Not effortlessly. But more and more, you find your footing.

You’ve developed new skills. You’re practicing new behaviors.
And while it still takes effort, it’s working.

This is where transformation becomes tangible.

What it sounds like:
“It’s still hard—but I know what to do now.”
“I’m learning how to lead without losing myself.”
“My team is starting to trust the process—and so am I.”

What it needs:
Consistency. Reinforcement. Space to fail forward and adjust.

Phase 5: Effortless Alignment

At this point, alignment becomes instinctive.
You’re operating from a place of internal congruence.

You don’t just do the work—you embody it.
Decisions are clearer. Communication flows. Leadership feels more like rhythm than resistance.

This is where great leaders are made.

Not by chasing perfection.
But by committing to practice.

What it sounds like:
“I didn’t even realize I was leading. It just felt like me.”
“Everything finally feels like it’s in the right place.”
“I’m not forcing it anymore.”

What it needs:
Reflection. Celebration. Readiness for the next evolution.

Many of us never make it past the first two phases.
Not because we aren’t capable of growth—
But because we were never actually taught to lead.

We were taught to manage liability.

Why this cycle matters now

In most companies, this cycle gets interrupted.
Leaders deny the discomfort. Teams get stuck in shame.
And performance management becomes a weapon—not a tool for growth.

But what if...

• We built performance systems that honored the growth dip?

• We treated misalignment as data—not drama?

• We supported people through the process—instead of punishing them for not being perfect?

And what if we could also tell the truth:

That sometimes, people really are disengaged.
Not because they’re lazy. But because the work no longer fits.
Because the role no longer aligns with what they want.
Because the system was never built to ask: Do you really get what we’re trying to do here, really want to be a part of it, have the capacity to get the job done, AND can we both afford to keep going on like this?

Performance does need to be addressed.
But not from a place of punishment or power-hoarding.
From a place of partnership.

That’s the piece we’ve missed.
And that’s where I’ll go next.

This Is Why I Built COO-fessions

Because if we don’t name what’s broken—
We can’t build what comes next.

This isn’t just about “bad bosses.”
It’s about the systems that shape how we lead.

When I talk to Sarah Paikai, I’m not just talking ops.
I’m talking about designing human-centered systems that support both people and profit.

When I talk to Rae McDaniel, I’m exploring what happens when your identity doesn’t fit the system—and you stop trying to shrink to fit.

When I talk to Trudi Lebron, we’re imagining what it means to lead for the future, even while working inside structures that weren’t built for us.

When I talk to Barrett Brooks, I’m asking if the visionary/COO model is actually working—or just another version of top-down hierarchy.

Because this isn’t a podcast about operations.
It’s a podcast about power.
About how we work.
And about what we’re willing to build instead.

If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a “surprise” write-up…
If you’ve ever delivered one you didn’t believe in…
If you’ve ever felt like feedback wasn’t actually about your performance…

You’re not imagining it.
It’s not you.
And it doesn’t have to be this way.

Let’s do better.
Let’s lead differently.
Let’s build systems that don’t just manage people—but support them.

Because leadership isn’t about protecting the company from its people.
It’s about protecting the people who build the company.

This isn’t just about leadership.

It’s about liberation.