When They Ask What You Think
The first rule of feedback: don't flinch.
Someone puts a piece of themselves on the table. A drawing. A draft. A rough plan for something they haven’t figured out how to say. They hand it to you like it’s still warm. And then they look at you. Waiting.
What they’re really asking is: Did I make something real? Or am I just kidding myself?
So don’t reach for a compliment like a breath mint. Don’t say “I like it” just because it’s the easiest thing in the drawer. And don’t start trying to fix it unless they hand you a wrench.
Instead, squint a little. Tilt your head. Tell them where it tugged at you. Where it got loud or quiet. Where it reminded you of something true. Or something false. Tell them when you got bored. Or lost. Or suddenly very awake.
And don’t pretend to be objective. You’re not a lab coat. You’re a person. Your gut has a vote. Use it.
It’s okay to not know exactly what to say. It’s okay to say, “This part confused me,” or “That sentence hit like a brick,” or “I didn’t care at first, but by the end I did.” That kind of feedback sticks. Not because it’s perfect. Because it’s real.
Also… don’t talk too much. The more you talk, the more they disappear. Point once or twice. Then let them crawl back into the thing and figure it out.
They asked for your eyes. Not your blueprint.
And if you really don’t know what to say, just nod slowly and hand it back with a quiet “Keep going.”
That might be the most useful thing you can offer.