The Healthy Culture Audit

I have a consistent personal rhythm — prayer, solitude, Sabbath, or something similar — that genuinely grounds my leadership.

I can identify the emotional and relational patterns in myself that most affect how I lead under pressure.

I lead from a settled sense of identity — not from performance anxiety, approval-seeking, or the need to be needed.

I have people in my life who know me beyond my title and speak honestly into my leadership.

My private life — how I rest, reflect, and relate — is consistent with how I lead and what I teach.

I can name my core leadership values clearly — not aspirationally, but as a description of how I actually lead.

My team knows how decisions get made — who makes them, how they’re communicated, and what changes and what doesn’t.

I’m honest with my team about what I don’t know, what I’ve gotten wrong, and what I’m still learning.

I follow through on what I say I’ll do. My team doesn’t have to second-guess whether I’ll come through.

I give feedback with clarity and care, and I receive it without becoming defensive or dismissive.

I have difficult conversations when they’re needed — not months later, not with passive avoidance, but with honesty and care.

My leadership posture is consistent — people experience the same version of me in stressful moments as in ordinary ones.

I know what’s happening in my team members’ lives beyond their job descriptions — their struggles, their hopes, their real story.

I’m fully present in one-on-ones and team gatherings — not preoccupied, not performing, not already somewhere else mentally.

My team feels safe bringing me real problems — not curated updates or edited versions of reality.

I’m present in the margins — the hallway conversations, the after-meeting moments, the places where trust is actually built.

My team experiences me as a person, not a persona. They know my limitations, not just my strengths.

I genuinely celebrate my team — not just their outputs, but their growth, their effort, and their presence.

I can clearly articulate what our team culture is — not what I want it to be, but what it actually is right now.

The behaviors and attitudes I tolerate on my team are consistent with the values I say we hold.

New people can feel the culture of our team before they can fully explain it. There’s something tangible in the room.

Our team rhythms — how we gather, start, end, and celebrate — are intentional, not accidental.

Conflict on our team is handled well — addressed quickly, with care, and without lingering resentment or silent damage.

Our team has a shared sense of what a “win” looks like — beyond attendance, aesthetics, or Sunday execution.

My team trusts me enough to follow me into change — not because they have to, but because I’ve earned it.

I own my mistakes directly and publicly — without over-explaining, self-protecting, or making the team absorb what belongs to me.

My character and my competency are both visible to my team — they trust who I am and what I can do.

I’ve dealt honestly with my team’s past — the pain, the transitions, the unresolved moments that still shape how people respond.

When I ask my team to sacrifice, stretch, or wait — they do it because they trust the direction, not because they’re afraid to say no.

I’m building credibility through slow faithfulness — not self-promotion, image management, or performing for a distant audience.

My team is developing — growing in skill, character, and ownership — not just executing the plan I hand them.

I have a realistic sense of my team’s capacity — I’m not asking them to sustain what’s unsustainable in the name of vision or faithfulness.

I’ve named and addressed past wounds on my team — broken trust, burnout, misalignment — rather than just moving on and hoping things recover.

People leave my team well — with gratitude, clarity, and blessing — not through avoidance, bitterness, or a quiet exit.

The culture I’m building could outlast my leadership here — it’s not dependent on my personality or my particular season.

I’m building something I can be proud of in ten years — not just something that works right now.