Where do you send people when they make a mistake?

My son has just joined a volleyball team, and last week I sat on the sideline watching him play a game. A real one, against another team, with all the pressure that comes with that.

And I noticed something. Every time a point was played – whether they won it or lost it – the team came together. Not a huddle, not a speech. Just a quiet walk toward each other and a low hand tap. Fingers outstretched, almost casual. The high fives were saved for the big moments. This was something different. A small but powerful signal that said: we're still in this together.

What struck me most was watching it happen when someone made a mistake. A bad shot, an easy one missed, the kind that made me wince. But no wincing on court, just the same ritual – walk over, low tap, we've got you, next ball. Nobody's head dropped in shame. Nobody looked away.

And here's what really got me: this kept happening even when they were losing. Even when a whole set was slipping away. The ritual didn't change based on the scoreboard. It was just always there.

I haven't stopped thinking about it since.

Most of us have been guilty of the opposite. I include myself in that; as someone who cares deeply about doing great things and holds genuinely high standards, the shadow side of that is impatience: a tut, a sigh, a sideways glance to a colleague that carries an entire verdict in half a second.

The rubbing of the forehead, the "what were you thinking?", or sometimes just silence, which people almost always read as disappointment anyway. None of these are dramatic, and few of them are intentional. But every one sends a message. And as I've written before, you're always sending a signal... the only question is which way you're tipping the scales.

When that lands, the real risk is people stop stretching. They stop taking the shots they're not sure about. They stay in their lane, play it safe, and wait to be told. The team gets smaller, even if the headcount stays the same.

None of this is a free pass for laziness or carelessness — that's a different conversation. I'm talking about the person who is genuinely trying, drawing on everything they've got, having a real go, and coming up short. That's the moment. That's where you find out what kind of team you're building. Do you send them inward... head down, replaying it, shrinking? Or do you send them back into the game?

So, here are 3 things worth trying...

Notice your micro-reactions. Those tuts, sighs, glances: these happen fast and often without us realising. It's worth paying attention to what your face does when someone gets it wrong, what your silence communicates, what your body language says before your words do. This isn't about performing positivity. It's more about becoming aware of the judgement that leak out before we've even decided how we want to act!

Separate the attempt from the outcome. When someone falls short, ask yourself whether they were genuinely trying, genuinely stretching toward something. If they were, that deserves acknowledgement regardless of how it landed. Something as simple as "I love that you had a crack at that" costs nothing and means more than most people realise.

Create your team's version of the hand tap. It doesn't need to be a ritual — it just needs to be something small, consistent, and forward-facing. It might be a simple "you're doing good" as someone walks back to their desk after a tough client call. A "what are we learning?" when a project hits a wall. A "you've got this" before someone walks into a difficult conversation. Or a "let's go again" after a false start in a meeting. The words matter less than the direction they signal — which is forward and up, not backward and down. What you're really building is a team that already knows where it will be sent before it finds out it needs to know.

The teams that play freely, that stretch and back themselves and take the difficult shots, aren't necessarily the ones with the most talented individuals. They're the ones who already know the answer to that question.

I'd love to hear from you. How does this look in your world? 

Until next time,
Simon