382. Good Job

Praise teaches people to look at you. Curiosity teaches them to look at themselves. Here's why "good job" is hurting your team more than you think.

My father is a very good man.
I want to say that first, because of what I’m about to say next.

My father keeps score.

Not with money.
With people.

When he tells me about someone he knows, the first thing out of his mouth is what they do and how much they have in life. A doctor. A lawyer. A dropout. Whether they made a fortune or lost everything. How many houses and cars and all the things that bling when you let them.

Everyone he’s ever met is ranked in his head on a scale of “successful” and “interesting.” He knows exactly where everybody stands.

Including himself.

His worth isn’t something he defines. It’s something other people assign him. If the right people are impressed, he’s somebody. If they’re not, he isn’t.

As it turns out, he raised his kids the same way he ran his own head.

What I Learned From “Good Job”

I don’t remember getting a lot of feedback when I was growing up.

I remember trying to impress my parents - trying to get their approval. I remember I got told “good job” every now and then.

It was usually a warm and well-meaning “good job,” but it was also fairly empty, as “good job’s” tend to be.

It rarely came with a reason. It rarely told me what was good or why. It was more like a generic stamp of approval. A verbal smiley face on a proverbial report card.

From this upbringing, I learned that feedback is what matters most. And feedback always comes from someone else.

I Lost My Sense Of Self-Worth

By the time I hit my twenties, my entire sense of self-worth had been farmed out to others. Every interaction I had was like a live testimonial, giving me feedback on whether or not I was worthy as a human.

I needed everyone to like me.

Every time I walked into a room, I read the room, adjusted myself, and became whatever version of me that could best fit in. I was a chameleon and I was really damn good at it.

I’d become a master of reading expressions and body language. I could change my tone, my stance, my being, just to be accepted.

What I didn’t realize was that doing all this was slowly eroding my confidence. Assuming of course that I had any at all.

The Art Teacher Who Taught Me Something Different

A couple of decades later, I found myself in my daughter’s art class when I noticed the teacher never said “good job” to the kids.

Not once.

When a kid held up a painting, waiting for the teacher’s words of approval, she didn’t give it. Instead she pointed to a specific part of the design and said, “Tell me about this part.”

It required the kid to look at their own work and explain a choice they made. It made the kid the authority on the thing they created, not the teacher.

The teacher wasn’t withholding warmth. She was doing something better. She was giving the kid the one thing my parents rarely handed me when I was a child: The ability to judge their own work without waiting for someone else to do it for them.

Praise teaches a kid to look at you.
Curiosity teaches a kid to look at themselves.

One of those builds confidence for a lifetime. The other one turns them into me at 27, changing my personality for every conversation.

This Is The Part Where It’s About You

This is the part where it’s about you.

If you’re like most managers, you hand out “good job’s” fairly often. Maybe it sounds like “nice work,” or “good going,” or “thanks for that.”

However you say it, you think you’re being encouraging.
You’re being my dad.

“Good job” with nothing behind it does the exact same thing to a grown adult that it did to me as a kid. It tells them you approve. It doesn’t tell them what worked, or why. So the next time they do the thing, they’ll just be watching your face to see if the approval comes again.

That’s exactly why it means nothing.

“Tell me how you got here” is impossible to fake. You can’t ask it unless you actually looked at the work and listen to their feedback. The question itself is proof you pay attention.

That’s the part that gets remembered. Not the approval. The attention.

“Good job” is not acknowledgement.
It’s acceptance.

And everybody knows that but you.

I’m sure you say it the same way my father did. With warmth and good intentions. But it costs you nothing, and teaches them even less.

So stop.

What To Do Instead

Do me a favor, don’t turn your team into me. Don’t make them have to be really good at reading you to feel some sort of smidge of approval.

You don’t have to stop being warm. I’m not telling you to permanently withhold approval like some kind of drill sergeant.

I’m telling you that the next time someone hands you work that’s genuinely good, don’t just say “good job.”

Be more like my daughter’s art teacher. Point at the specific thing that worked and ask them to walk you through it. Make them articulate the choice. Make them the authority on their own decision, even if it’s just for a second.

You’ll feel the difference immediately. More importantly, so will they.

“Good job” always ends the conversation.
Curiosity always opens it.

My father didn’t learn that.

He spent most of his life waiting for feedback that was never going to make him feel good enough, because it was always coming from the outside.

I did the same thing until well into my thirties.

You’ve got a whole team who may be looking for approval from the outside as well.

Don’t turn them into me.

Turn them into the kid holding up the painting, who already knows which part is good, and can tell you exactly why.

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P.S. My father still keeps score. I still catch myself wanting his approval on things I don’t need. Old patterns don’t just disappear, but sometimes they lower their volume once you know what to listen for.

The patterns causing you (and your team) to look for approval from the outside are exactly what the free Leadership Diagnostic Workshop addresses. Reserve your seat now.