Criticism, Constructive Feedback, and the Cost of Being Seen

Recently, I was reviewing evaluations from several keynote presentations I’ve delivered.

The feedback was overwhelmingly positive. People described the presentations as inspiring, meaningful, impactful, and thought-provoking. Several participants shared that the concept of Soul Exhaustion helped them better understand experiences they had struggled to put into words.

Some of the comments stopped me in my tracks:

"This gave language to something I’ve felt for years but couldn’t explain."

"I felt seen in a way I didn’t expect."

"This was one of the most meaningful sessions I’ve attended."

"You made me feel less alone."

And yet, despite all of that, there were a handful of comments that immediately grabbed my attention.

"Too dramatic."

"It felt like venting."

"It wasn't closing keynote energy."

Within seconds, I found myself replaying those comments in my mind. Not the hundreds of positive responses. Not the standing ovations. Not the people who approached me afterward to share their stories.

The criticism.

As I sat with my reaction, I found myself thinking about a sentence written in a Children's Hospital evaluation when I was twelve years old.

It noted that I "couldn't stand criticism."

At first, I laughed when I read it. Some things apparently never change.

But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if perhaps we are asking the wrong question.

Maybe the issue isn't that some people can't tolerate criticism.

Maybe the issue is that we've confused criticism with constructive feedback.

Criticism vs. Constructive Feedback

To me, constructive feedback is offered in service of growth.

Criticism is often offered in service of judgment.

Constructive feedback focuses on behavior, process, or outcomes.

Criticism often focuses on the person.

Constructive feedback says:

"The presentation ran longer than expected. You may want to shorten the storytelling portion to leave more time for practical application."

That's useful. I can do something with that.

Criticism says:

"You were too dramatic."

What exactly am I supposed to do with that?

Be less passionate?

Care less deeply?

Tell fewer stories?

Become someone else?

One offers information.

The other offers a wound.

The Hidden Problem with Anonymous Criticism

One of the challenges of public speaking is that evaluations are often anonymous.

An attendee can write a single sentence, click submit, and move on with their day.

Meanwhile, the speaker may carry those words for weeks.

The person writing the comment never has to explain what they meant.

They never have to consider whether their reaction was influenced by their own experiences, preferences, fears, biases, or discomfort.

And that's where things become interesting.

Because feedback doesn't just tell us something about the person receiving it.

It often tells us something about the person giving it.

The person who found a presentation "too dramatic" may simply prefer a more data-driven style.

Or perhaps emotional expression makes them uncomfortable.

Or perhaps they were hoping for something entirely different.

I don't know.

And that's precisely the point.

Not every criticism is objective truth.

Sometimes it is simply someone else's reaction.

When Criticism Hits Harder

This experience is often amplified for people who are neurodivergent.

In the Soul Exhaustion & Soul Care workbook, neurodiversity is identified as one of the many experiences that can contribute to Soul Exhaustion.

Why?

Because many neurodivergent individuals grow up receiving an extraordinary amount of correction.

Too loud.

Too sensitive.

Too emotional.

Too intense.

Too distracted.

Too much.

Over time, criticism stops feeling like information and starts feeling like danger.

For many people with ADHD, autism, and other forms of neurodiversity, feedback is not received in a vacuum. It lands on top of years of messages suggesting that who they are is somehow wrong.

What others experience as a passing comment can feel like confirmation of an old wound.

This doesn't mean neurodivergent people are incapable of receiving feedback.

In fact, many become incredibly skilled at adapting, learning, and improving.

But there’s a difference between growth and survival.

The problem isn't feedback.

The problem is judgment disguised as feedback.

Not Every Opinion Deserves Equal Weight

One of the lessons I am still learning is that not every opinion deserves equal influence.

Some feedback helps us grow.

Some feedback helps us improve.

Some feedback helps us see blind spots.

And some feedback simply reflects someone else's preferences, expectations, or discomfort.

The challenge is learning the difference.

Because when someone says:

"You made me feel seen."

That matters.

When someone says:

"This changed how I understand my own experience."

That matters.

When someone says:

"I finally have language for what I’ve been carrying."

That matters.

As creators, leaders, speakers, parents, clinicians, advocates, and human beings, we need feedback.

Growth requires it.

But we also need discernment.

Otherwise, we risk allowing every passing criticism to become part of our identity.

A Better Question

Perhaps instead of asking whether someone is too sensitive to criticism, we should ask a different question:

Is the feedback being offered in a way that promotes growth, dignity, and understanding?

Because there is a profound difference between helping someone become better and making someone feel smaller.

One creates possibility.

The other creates Soul Exhaustion.

And I suspect many of us know the difference the moment we feel it.

And Honestly… We Need to Do Better

Let’s say this part out loud.

Some of the evaluation feedback in our field is not constructive.

It’s not thoughtful.

It’s not helpful.

It’s lazy.

It’s careless.

And sometimes, it’s just plain mean, hurtful, and irresponsible.

If you are taking the time to fill out an evaluation, you have a choice.

You can offer something that helps someone grow.

Or you can drop a vague, dismissive comment that serves no purpose other than to judge.

"Too dramatic" is not feedback.

"It felt like venting" is not feedback.

"It wasn't closing keynote energy" is not feedback.

Those are reactions without responsibility.

And when we normalize that kind of commentary, we create environments where people are punished for being human, expressive, vulnerable, and real.

We cannot claim to value authenticity, connection, and psychological safety—and then turn around and tear people down anonymously with one-line judgments.

If we want better speakers, better leaders, better clinicians, better humans…

Then we need to give better feedback.

Because words matter.

And the way we use them can either build people up—

or quietly contribute to their Soul Exhaustion.