In this thoughtful and vulnerable reflection, Jeannie Rose Barksdale unpacks the complicated gift of feedback—especially the kind that stings or surprises. Drawing from a real-life workplace encounter, Jeannie explores how even feedback we ultimately reject can be a spiritual invitation: to deepen relationships, widen our perspective, cultivate humility, and reaffirm our dependence on God. With wisdom and grace, she reminds us that growth isn’t just about getting it right—it’s about staying grounded in God’s love, even when our confidence is shaken.

You’re bursting with excitement, eager to share with a few colleagues how you’ve been attacking a problem, show off your boundless initiative and dedication. As you roll off a list of what you’ve done, you’re positively purring, gleaming with pride in all that good work. You’re not chasing their applause of course, but naturally you think they’ll be happy about your progress, if not downright impressed.

What you don’t expect is to abruptly run aground on a jarring critique, inserted into your elation like a pin pricking a balloon.

Been there? I have. A colleague I trust was acting in good faith interrupted my reverie with the kind of rhetorical question which isn’t so much food for thought as a full-fledged mic-drop. The implication was clear—the supposedly amazing next step I’d proposed was a bomb waiting to explode. Worse than the correction itself was the unsaid logical conclusion, the self-directed accusations I felt burning in my chest: my failure to spot the problem showed just how naïve and unseasoned I really was. Could I even be trusted? Was any of my work worthwhile?

Except—I wasn’t sure I agreed with the critique. I thought about it for some time, wavering between second-guessing and trusting my own intuition. Was this feedback valid? If not, what to do with it?

When I was younger, I would have unreservedly accepted such guidance, backing down along a trail of mea culpas. This wasn’t for the love of feedback, or my belief in its wisdom, so much as an unhealthy need to people-please. Others may have the opposite default reaction, knee-jerk self-protection and defensiveness shielding any possible entry of alternate perspective. Both responses miss, however, the way that feedback is a gift.

Oh, I know, you’ve heard it before: feedback is a gift. Usually that means that feedback is a gift because it points out a problem you aren’t aware of, offering a chance to address it and improve. That’s often true.

But what about feedback you ultimately don’t end up taking, or fully accepting as valid? 

I think even that kind of feedback offers a few different kinds of gift.

A gift of relationship

Offering a caution or contrary word often means taking a relational risk. A person is voicing something we may not like because they care about us. Even if the other person thrives on challenge, they’re still taking time to notice and engage us. Responding to that offer as a gift allows us to strengthen our tie to someone who is seeking our good even if we don’t take their advice.

A gift of perspective

Even if we don’t ultimately think the feedback is valid, considering it allows us to see things another way, an angle we might not have had without the input. At worst, we have a chance to gut-check our own view, make sure we really know why we think the way we do and can stand behind it. And because most things aren’t black and white, more light on the subject may well offer additional insight, even if in the form of a zig zag from the original idea or the critique.

A gift of humility

It’s easy to sail through life on waves of unseen assumptions, riding an untested certainty about our view of the world. The humility to detach from the belief that our way is the only way takes practice to achieve, but when cultivated, opens us to a richer diversity of experience. I had an experience of this as a high school exchange student, when I noticed mid-way through a meal with my Bangkok host family, where the table was set for all of us with the familiar fork and spoon, I was the only one using the fork to put food in my mouth. I learned that the normal way to eat in Thailand was to eat from the spoon. Feedback is like a mini-exchange experience, helping us learn that what we take for granted as normal may not be, building humility in the process.

A gift of dependence

Feedback triggers a lot of emotion. Receiving it creates an opportunity to pause and notice what is going on inside. Does the suggestion that we got it wrong provoke the fear of being imperfect or not enough? The shame of ‘should have known’? Worry we’ve been caught as imposter? Whether the feedback is ultimately ‘correct’ is irrelevant to the very real internal dynamics it can unearth. As painful as that can be, it is a priceless chance to realign with reality: we are in fact finite, imperfect creatures; we can’t do it all, know it all, please everyone. We are dependent on each other—and more, on the God who loves us, for the security, wisdom, and worth we crave. Not because our work is beyond critique, but because despite our mistakes, or people’s misunderstanding of us, we can still rest in the security of God’s unchanging love. In fact, it is when we feel the most unworthy of earning love we can most fully rest in its power as truly unconditional. 

So what did I do with this colleague who offered feedback I wasn’t sure I should heed? 

What you do with any gift: I offered in return a heartfelt thanks. 

Based in Washington, DC, Jeannie Rose Barksdale is a partner at boutique firm Castañeda + Heidelman and previously served as General Counsel for International Justice Mission. As an attorney, she uses her legal expertise to empower mission-driven organizations to pursue their calling more effectively; as a writer, spiritual director and retreat leader, she does the same, attending to the soul. With her husband Nate, she is the parent of three young children, who provide excellent fodder for formation, reflection, and wonder. She writes at tangible.ink.