Giving feedback shouldn’t create surprises at review time. Not the good surprise where someone realizes you’ve been paying attention. I mean the kind where a person’s face changes mid-sentence because they’re trying to reconcile what you just wrote with what you’ve been saying all year. That kind of surprise doesn’t just sting; it changes how people talk to you after that. It teaches them to be careful.
Giving feedback without review surprises starts with one scorecard
I learned that lesson in a season when I reported to a manager who looked, from the outside, like he was doing the basics right. We met consistently. We had one-on-ones on the calendar. We weren’t strangers passing in a hallway. There was enough rapport that I felt comfortable telling the truth—real truth, not sanitized “I’m great, everything’s great” truth.
After a semi-annual review, we had what felt like a solid conversation. We talked about growth. We talked about what the next stretch could look like. I left that meeting with the sense that we were on the same page.
But there’s a detail I didn’t understand until later: the “challenges” in that conversation weren’t him raising concerns. They were me naming where I felt stuck. I didn’t do it for sympathy. I did it because I wanted to get better, and I believed the whole point of a one-on-one is to deal with reality before reality deals with you. I assumed if something I said sounded like a red flag to him, he’d say so. That’s what mature leadership does, right?
He listened. He nodded. He was agreeable. And I took that as alignment.
He did not put a clear standard on the table. He didn’t say, “Here’s what good looks like in this area.” He didn’t say, “Here’s the gap I’m seeing.” He didn’t say, “Let’s measure it so we don’t drift into two different interpretations.” The feedback I got back was steady and encouraging: you’re doing the right things, keep doing good work, it’ll change over time.
On its face, that’s supportive. And sometimes it is. But encouragement without clarity has a side effect: it makes you stop checking the scorecard. When a leader repeats the same reassuring message, you internalize it as data. You stop scanning for correction because you assume correction would show up if it mattered.
After that, we met weekly—thirty minutes, every week. If you’re a leader reading this, you already know how rare that is to maintain over time. And that’s part of what made this experience confusing. The meetings were there. The cadence was there. The relationship felt normal. So I didn’t go in braced for surprise.
The rhythm of those calls became predictable. The first chunk was personal catch-up—life stuff, the weekend, whatever was going on. Then we’d pivot to work. I’d talk about what I was working on and what felt hard. I kept bringing the same posture I’d brought to the review: open, self-aware, willing to be coached. And again, the same message: “You’re doing everything right. Keep doing it. Over time it’ll change.”
Feedback in 1:1 meetings teaches people what’s on the table
Over months, that message teaches you what’s “on the table” in a one-on-one. Every leader has a table, whether they name it or not. Some things land on it easily: priorities, deadlines, customer issues, wins, fires, and quick updates. Other things hover nearby like they’re not allowed to touch the surface: quality concerns, missed expectations, patterns, tone, follow-through, the real reasons friction exists, the uncomfortable “this isn’t good enough yet” conversation.
Without meaning to, our weekly meetings trained me that encouragement was welcome on the table, but corrective clarity was rare. And here’s what happens when corrective clarity is rare: people assume silence means “I’m good.” Not because they’re trying to get away with something. Because they’re building their work around the feedback environment you’ve created.
That’s the part leaders miss. You think you’re being kind by not getting specific. The other person experiences it as confirmation. Meanwhile, you might be keeping a private scorecard in your head—notes you never say out loud, patterns you “plan to address later,” concerns you don’t want to make awkward. And now you have two scorecards running at once: the one the employee is playing to, and the one you’re grading against.
Then my annual evaluation arrived, and I realized we had been living in two versions of reality.
It wasn’t catastrophic. It wasn’t a blowtorch. But it was clear: I wasn’t doing as well as what I “should be.” Reading it felt like someone changed the rules after the game. The gap between what I’d been hearing weekly and what I was reading annually was big enough to crack trust immediately. I remember thinking one thing, on repeat: how do you meet every week and still end up here?
When I asked about the gap, my manager couldn’t really reconcile it. Not in a way that connected the weekly conversations to the final assessment. And that’s when the real lesson landed: surprise in a review isn’t just a “feedback” problem. It’s an integrity problem in the system. It means what you noticed didn’t match what you said, and what you said didn’t match what you documented.
This is why giving feedback isn’t just a soft skill. It’s operational. It’s part of how you run the business of leadership.
Performance review feedback should never introduce new truth
There’s another layer to this that matters even more if you lead leaders. When a leader experiences one-on-ones as vague encouragement followed by a sharp annual evaluation, they learn a lesson they’ll carry downstream. They’ll either start managing impressions, or they’ll start doing the same thing to their teams: avoid the awkward conversation until it’s “official,” then drop it in a review.
That’s one reason I’m so stubborn about this now: a formal evaluation is not the place for brand-new truth. It’s not the place to introduce a concern that has never been named. It’s not the place to reveal a “pattern” you’ve been quietly tracking without saying so. And it’s definitely not the place to punish someone for being candid in the very meetings you say are meant for candor.
Leaders delay feedback for reasons that sound noble. They want to be kind. They don’t want to demoralize someone. They don’t want conflict. They’re waiting for the “right time.” They’re hoping the issue fixes itself. But what you’re really doing is trading short-term comfort for long-term damage. The longer the truth stays off the table, the heavier it becomes when it finally lands. And when it lands in an annual review, it doesn’t feel like coaching. It feels like a verdict you’ve been writing without them in the room.
Performance review feedback becomes a verdict when 1:1 clarity is missing
That’s also where “the unsaid” becomes dangerous. It doesn’t stay neutral. It becomes clutter that shapes everything. Dave Logan and Steve Zaffron said it well: “Almost universally, it’s the unsaid that’s cluttered.” (The Three Laws of Performance) When the unsaid piles up, people start editing themselves. They stop bringing you messy early signals. They stop telling you what’s hard. They stop taking the interpersonal risk that makes improvement possible. They become careful.
And if the person you’re leading is the type who actually tells you the truth—especially about their own shortcomings—you should treat that like gold. That level of candor is rare. It’s also fragile. If someone learns that being honest in a one-on-one can later be used as ammunition in a review, they won’t stay honest for long. They’ll still show up. They’ll still work. But they won’t tell you the truth early. And then you’ll really be guessing.
Giving feedback with integrity in 1:1 meetings
So here’s the standard I live by now: nothing should be in a major evaluation that hasn’t already been discussed clearly enough that both people would summarize it the same way. Not hinted at. Not implied. Not “I assumed you knew.” Said plainly, tied to a standard, and revisited until it’s resolved or clearly improving.
That’s what integrity looks like in giving feedback. Not moral perfection—alignment. Alignment between what you notice, what you say, what you document, and what you reinforce. When those match, people trust you because they’re not trying to read your mind.
The best feedback I’ve seen carries two things at once: a real standard and a real vote of confidence. Chip and Dan Heath call it “wise criticism,” and their line is worth keeping in your pocket: “I’m giving you these comments because I have very high expectations and I know you can reach them.” (Switch) That’s the difference between correction that builds someone and correction that shrinks someone. High expectations without assurance feels like rejection. Assurance without standards feels like fog.
Giving feedback in 1:1 meetings: a practice that prevents review surprises
Here’s a simple practice that forces clarity, and it works on both sides of the table. Near the end of a one-on-one, ask: “If your annual review were written today, is there anything in it that would surprise you?” Then stop talking. If the answer is yes, don’t smooth it over. Don’t explain why it’s hard. Put the truth on the table. Name the standard. Name the gap. Decide what “better” looks like in observable terms. And then revisit it next week. If it matters enough to show up in an annual evaluation, it matters enough to show up in a normal Tuesday conversation.
There’s also something here for employees—especially leaders who are being led. If you want one-on-ones to matter, raise the expectation. Don’t accept “everything’s fine” as the default script if you’re trying to grow. Ask what “great” looks like. Ask what would move you from “solid” to “trusted.” Ask where the scorecard stands today, not six months from now. That isn’t being needy. That’s being serious.
Now the direct part: if someone is surprised in a review, you don’t get to blame them for not reading your mind. That surprise is on you. It’s evidence you allowed two scorecards to exist. Fix it by putting one scorecard on the table—early, clearly, and often. Say the true thing in the one-on-one, not in the annual write-up. If you can’t say it in a conversation, you shouldn’t be writing it in a review.
So here’s the question I want you to answer this week, not someday: what are you privately scoring that you haven’t plainly named?
At, Growth Navigator Solutions, I help business owners who feel like they’re carrying everything alone. Leaders who’ve grown fast but stopped truly engaging their teams. Organizations that are busy but not always aligned.