I sat in my chair, a little fidgety.
Waiting patiently for my manager to be ready.
It was my annual performance review.
As I sat pretending to look relaxed, my stomach practiced origami. Yet, I reflected on my year:
I had worked hard getting new clients and delivering on key projects.
Teammates regularly came to me with questions.
Clients consistently called me to help them solve their issues.
Now, I sat in this hard wooden chair, minimal cushion, waiting for the verdict.
Did my manager think I did a good job?
He finished organizing his papers and pulled out my file with the written performance review.
He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.
And delivered the news.
We’ve all sat in that chair.
But here’s the real question:
What was I really waiting for in that moment?
Was I seeking feedback: information to help me improve?
Or was I seeking judgment: external validation of my worth?
There’s a world of difference between the two.
And that difference determines everything.
When We Outsource Our Worth
Here’s what happens when we make judgment our currency:
We become exhausted.
Because the validation never lasts.
A good board meeting feels great…for about a day. Then the anxiety creeps back in. What about next quarter?
A client compliment lands well…until we wonder if they really meant it.
We hit our targets, but were they ambitious enough? Did we impress the right people?
The goalposts keep moving because we’re not the ones holding them.
And there’s something else.
When we seek judgment, we can’t hear feedback.
Every comment becomes a verdict. Every suggestion feels like criticism. Every question sounds like doubt.
We defend instead of listening. We justify instead of learning.
Because we’ve confused information with identity.
The cost isn’t just exhaustion.
It’s the learning we miss. The growth we avoid. The clarity we never find.
All because we handed someone else the pen.
The Paradox at the Top
I used to think the hard chair would disappear once I moved up.
That leadership would finally free me from seeking judgment.
It didn’t work that way.
The higher I climbed, the more authority I had.
And yet, the more I found myself seeking judgment.
Board meetings became performance reviews.
Investor calls became report cards.
Peer conversations became measuring sticks.
I thought leadership meant confidence.
What I found was the same hard chair. Different judges.
After board meetings, I’d replay every comment, every facial expression.
Following a big presentation, I’d scan the room for nods of approval.
Even casual conversations with peers—I was always measuring, always wondering: Did they think I was smart enough? Strategic enough? Leader enough?
I had unconsciously made everyone else the author of my worth.
Retake Your Pen
In Crucial Conversations, the authors describe a powerful concept: Retake Your Pen.
The metaphor is simple.
Each of us is writing our own story. But somewhere along the way, we hand the pen to others.
We let others write the narrative about who we are and what we’re worth.
A manager’s rating becomes our identity.
A board member’s criticism becomes our ceiling.
A peer’s success becomes our inadequacy.
We’ve given them the pen. And we’re waiting for them to write something we can live with.
But here’s the shift:
We can take the pen back.
Not by ignoring feedback. Not by rejecting input or becoming defensive.
But by deciding that we (not they) determine what the feedback means.
Their observations become information, not verdicts.
Their criticism becomes data, not judgment.
Their praise becomes encouragement, not the source of our worth.
When we hold the pen, we get to decide:
- What this feedback tells us
- What we’ll do with it
- What story we’re writing next
But here’s the truth: we handed it over.
Every time we sat in that chair waiting for someone else to tell us our worth.
Every time we measured our success by someone else’s reaction.
Every time we did something hoping to please, seeking affirmation and consensus.
We’ve made it a habit.
Most people aren’t trying to take our pens. They don’t need to.
We give it to them. Willingly. Repeatedly.
And now we have to take it back.
What Holding the Pen Looks Like
Here’s the shift:
When we hold the pen, we don’t stop seeking feedback.
We seek it more actively. More intentionally.
But we approach it differently.
Instead of asking: “Am I doing well?” (seeking judgment)
We ask: “What am I doing well?” (seeking information)
Instead of hoping for validation, we hunt for insight.
The difference is who decides what the feedback means.
Years ago, I created a program called “Success Management” at my company.
The name was deliberate. The goal was simple: everyone should know whether they’re succeeding without waiting for their manager to tell them.
We defined success clearly upfront. Not vague goals, but specific outcomes and behaviors.
When someone walked into a performance review, they should already know how they’d done.
The review wasn’t a verdict. It was a conversation.
The manager wasn’t there to judge. They were there to provide information, perspective, and help refine what comes next.
Each person held their own pen.
Try This
This week, take some time to just notice.
Notice when someone’s opinion feels like a verdict instead of information.
Notice when we’re waiting for validation instead of seeking insight.
Notice when we’re sitting in that hard chair, stomach doing origami, waiting for someone else to tell us our worth.
We can’t take back the pen until we recognize we’ve given it away.
Next week, we’ll talk about how to actively seek feedback while keeping the pen firmly in our hands.
Key Takeaway
We all seek feedback. But too often, we’re actually seeking judgment—external validation of our worth.
When we seek judgment, we hand over the pen. We let others write our story.
The cost is exhaustion, defensiveness, and missed learning.
The shift is simple but not easy: seek information, not verdicts. Ask “What am I doing well?” instead of “Am I doing well?”
We handed over the pen willingly. Now we have to take it back.
You’re probably still wondering what he said in that performance review.
Honestly, I don’t remember because I wasn’t listening for it. I simply wanted my verdict.
I had handed him the pen to my worth.
For years, I sat in hard chairs waiting for other people to write my story.
Not anymore.
