It started as little things: eye‑rolls in stand‑up, snarky comments on PR reviews.
I told myself, “They’re stressed, we all have bad days.” So I did what leaders are taught to do:
- Private, honest feedback—we talked through examples and agreed on small behavior changes.
- Mentorship buddy—someone to model constructive criticism side‑by‑side.
- Clear written expectations—no room for “I didn’t know.”
Weeks passed; nothing changed. Stand‑ups felt like walking on eggshells.
I noticed developers who loved to chat now kept cameras off, laughter vanished from Slack, and Sunday night anxiety crept in—for me too.
The knot‑in‑stomach moment
One morning a junior DM’d:
“I love this project, but the negativity is exhausting. Is it always like this?”
That message hit harder than any uptime graph. I realized my inaction was silently telling the team, “This is acceptable.” It wasn’t.
The hardest conversation
Letting someone go felt like failing as a mentor. I rehearsed the call a dozen times, palms sweating.
But when the moment came, I was direct, kind, and clear:
“We’ve tried several paths. The behaviors haven’t shifted. We need to part ways.”
It was painful—for both of us—but the relief in the Zoom room the next day was palpable. Jokes resurfaced, PR reviews felt safe again.
What I carry forward
- Empathy has limits. Caring for many can mean making a tough call about one.
- Feedback needs a finish line. Without a deadline and consequence, it’s just wishful thinking.
- Culture beats velocity. A brilliant coder who drains team energy is a net loss.
I still believe people can grow, but I now balance that hope with responsibility: protect the team first, even when it hurts.