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. A mentorship buddy to model constructive criticism. Clear written expectations with 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. Sunday night anxiety crept in — for me too.
The knot-in-stomach moment
One morning a junior DM'd me: "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. And 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.