
Spend any time inside dental practices, and you start to notice a particular kind of conversation that recurs. The principal or practice manager will describe someone on the team in a slightly weary tone. They're not pulling their weight. They're not stepping up. They're not really getting it. The implication is that there's a performance problem with this person, and what's needed is a way to address it.
Probe a little further, and a different picture often emerges. The person in question has never been told clearly what good looks like in their current role. Or they were told, eighteen months ago, when the role was different and the practice was smaller. Or they've been told inconsistently, with the standard shifting depending on who's asking. Or the feedback they've had has been so wrapped in softeners that they've genuinely not registered it as feedback at all.
This isn't a performance problem, it's a feedback problem wearing performance clothing. And it's the single most common pattern I see in practices that feel stuck.
The reason it's so common is that real, useful feedback is hard. It requires the leader to be specific about what isn't working, which is uncomfortable. It requires them to do it more than once, which feels repetitive. It requires them to tolerate the awkwardness of the conversation, instead of avoiding it and hoping the issue resolves itself. None of these are dramatic acts. Each of them, on its own, takes about three minutes. Compounded across a year, they're the difference between a team that's clear and a team that's drifted.
What I see instead, in practices where this isn't working, is feedback debt. Concerns get noticed but not voiced. Small frustrations build up over months. Eventually the principal can't carry the weight of it any longer, and a conversation gets had — but by that point, the message has been amplified by months of unspoken irritation, and the person on the receiving end is hearing what feels like a sudden, disproportionate criticism. Defensiveness is the natural response. The conversation goes badly. Both sides retreat, and the underlying issue is now harder to address than it was before.
The fix isn't complicated, but it does require a shift in mindset. What we have to do is to stop thinking about feedback as an event and start thinking about it as a rhythm. You normalise small, specific observations — both positive and corrective — as part of how the practice operates. The corridor comment. The two-minute check-in. The named recognition in front of the team. The quiet word at the end of the day.
Done consistently, these small interventions do most of the work. Performance issues that would have grown over six months are caught in two weeks. The big conversation, when it's needed, becomes a smaller conversation, because the ground has already been prepared. And the person on the receiving end doesn't feel ambushed, because they've been hearing honest, calibrated feedback all along.
This is also where the so-called difficult team member gets reframed. In most practices, the difficult person isn't difficult by nature. They've been operating in a feedback vacuum for years. Standards have been hinted at but not held. Concerns have been raised in passing but not pursued. The person has, quite reasonably, concluded that the standard is whatever they're getting away with. Once consistent feedback is reintroduced, with kindness but without compromise, most of these people either rise to meet the standard or self-select out. Either is an acceptable outcome.
None of this requires a new HR system, a training course, or a difficult conversations workshop. It requires the leader to commit to small, regular feedback as the norm, and to keep doing it through the discomfort of the early weeks.
Most performance problems aren't performance problems. They're feedback problems with a different label. Fix the feedback, and most of the performance issues quietly resolve themselves.

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