The Invisible Bars: How Vague Feedback Traps Your Potential

The hum of the fluorescent lights felt like a drill boring into the back of my skull. It wasn’t the review itself that was physically jarring, but the reverberations of those three words, echoing on repeat: executive presence. Sarah, my boss, had delivered them with a solemn nod, as if passing down ancient wisdom, not pointing out a flaw she couldn’t articulate.

It’s been 18 days since Sarah delivered the non-news. Eighteen days since I walked out of that office feeling like I’d been handed a ghost to wrestle. My first reaction, naturally, was to fix it. I reread every article with ‘presence’ in the title, observed every senior leader, tried to mimic postures, intonations, even the slight tilt of the head some seemed to favor. I even remember trying to look busy once, almost comically, when the VP walked by my desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard as if mid-thought. It was exhausting, and utterly pointless. And somewhere in the frantic scramble, a quiet, almost rebellious thought surfaced: what if the problem wasn’t my presence, but the definition itself?

When I pushed for specifics, Sarah just gestured vaguely, a sweeping motion that encompassed everything and nothing. “It’s more of a general feeling,” she said, her eyes flitting past mine. “You just need to… step up and show more leadership.” Show more leadership? When had I not? I listed a few initiatives I’d spearheaded in the last 68 days. She nodded, unconvincingly. It felt like trying to grasp smoke. It felt, to be brutally honest, like gaslighting. Like being told I was seeing things, feeling things, that weren’t real, that couldn’t be measured. And the worst part? It made me question my own reality, my own judgment. I spent 48 hours dissecting every meeting, every email, every casual hallway conversation, searching for the invisible thread of my supposed deficiency.

This isn’t just a personal grievance; it’s a pervasive, insidious problem. This kind of vague, subjective feedback, cloaked in corporate jargon like ‘be more strategic’ or ‘own your impact,’ isn’t constructive criticism. It’s often unconscious bias wrapped in a convenient, unchallengeable package. It creates an environment where those from underrepresented groups – women, people of color, individuals from non-traditional backgrounds – are disproportionately targeted. They’re often told they lack ‘executive presence’ because their style doesn’t fit a dominant, often white male, paradigm. It forces them to internalize a fault that isn’t their own, to endlessly chase a moving target, eroding their confidence and stalling their careers. The emotional toll can be substantial, sparking a deep-seated anxiety and self-doubt that leaves you yearning for even a momentary reprieve from the internal churn, a need for a comforting ritual, like reaching for Calm Puffs.

I recall a time, early in my career, when I actually believed this feedback was meant to elevate me. I spent 38 hours trying to ‘perform’ a version of myself that felt fundamentally false. I learned to use more corporate jargon, to pause dramatically before speaking, even to adopt a slightly more formal handshake. I was so focused on projecting an image of ‘seriousness’ that I missed crucial social cues, probably came across as stiff and unapproachable, and definitely alienated a project team for about 28 days. That was my mistake: trying to fit into an ill-defined mold instead of challenging the mold itself. The irony is, that performative attempt likely *reduced* my actual impact, precisely because it wasn’t genuine. It left me feeling a profound sense of emptiness, a performative void where authentic engagement should have been.

Clarity as a Lifeline

I spoke with Ana B.-L. a few weeks ago. She’s a prison education coordinator, a role that demands absolute, unequivocal clarity. There’s no room for ‘executive presence’ there, only ‘understandable instruction’ and ‘actionable goals.’ Her students, many of whom are dealing with complex personal histories and systemic barriers, need direct, unambiguous guidance. “If I told them to just ‘be more strategic’ about their learning,” Ana explained, with a slight shake of her head, “they’d look at me like I was speaking a different language. Because I would be. My job is to break down barriers, not build them up with corporate platitudes.” She often deals with individuals whose entire lives have been shaped by opaque systems and unclear rules, so she understands the debilitating effect of undefined expectations better than most. She measures success by tangible skills acquired, by 8 percent improvements in literacy, by 88 new certificates earned, not by a subjective ‘feeling.’

Her perspective offered a stark contrast to my corporate reality. In Ana’s world, clarity is a lifeline. In mine, it’s often sacrificed at the altar of perceived professionalism. The very act of demanding specifics, of asking “What does that *look* like? When did I *not* do that?” is often perceived as defensive, as lacking the very ‘presence’ they claim you need. It’s a rigged game, one designed to keep you questioning yourself, to keep you in a state of self-doubt. The system, in many ways, thrives on this ambiguity, allowing those in power to maintain control without having to justify their often subjective preferences.

It’s the refusal to play along with the charade. It’s the strength to say, “I cannot act on a ‘general feeling.’ Give me data, give me examples, give me something tangible I can either replicate or correct.” This isn’t about being confrontational; it’s about upholding a basic standard of professional communication. It’s about protecting your own mental space from the corrosive effects of professional gaslighting. It’s about recognizing that sometimes, the feedback isn’t about you at all, but about the unspoken biases and unexamined expectations of the person giving it.

So, the next time someone tells you to ‘step up’ or ‘show more leadership’ without being able to define it, remember Ana B.-L. and her unwavering commitment to clarity. Remember the 8 hours you might have spent agonizing over nothing. Remember that your intuition, your lived experience, and your ability to ask incisive questions are precisely the presence you need. The quiet rebellion of clarity against corporate ambiguity isn’t just a strategy; it’s a presence worth cultivating. It’s the only way to build a foundation that isn’t built on sand, a career not held captive by invisible bars.