

This is one of the most commonly asked behavioural questions, and one of the most commonly bungled. Most candidates treat it as a question about a piece of feedback. It isn't. It's a question about what you did in the days and weeks after the feedback, and everything that matters in your answer happens after the criticism is delivered.
Interviewers ask this for three reasons, usually in this order of importance:
There's also a quiet disqualifier running underneath. If you can't produce any example, or the one you produce is trivial, the interviewer concludes either that nobody has ever trusted you with honest feedback or that you didn't hear it when they did. Both are bad.
Use four beats. Aim for roughly 90 seconds — long enough to be concrete, short enough that they can ask a follow-up.
The best examples share three properties: the feedback was about something that genuinely matters at work, it was uncomfortable enough to be believable, and the fix is verifiable.
Avoid the two default choices most candidates reach for. Feedback from a university group project signals you have nothing more recent. Humblebrag feedback — "they told me I take on too much" — is transparent and interviewers hear it several times a week.
Pick something that costs you a little to say. Slow to delegate. Too blunt in code review. Over-engineered the first version. Buried the point in long emails. These are real, common, fixable, and none of them will cost you the offer.
"About a year into my last role my tech lead told me in our 1:1 that my code reviews were holding the team up. I was leaving thirty or forty comments on a pull request, most of them style preferences, and people had started routing around me.
My first reaction was that I was being asked to lower the bar, and I was a bit stung, because I thought thorough reviews were the thing I was good at. But she pointed out that I was mixing 'this will break' with 'I'd have named this differently', and the important comments were getting lost in the noise.
So I changed how I reviewed. I started prefixing every comment with 'blocking', 'suggestion' or 'nit', and I capped myself at three nits per review. If I had more style opinions than that, it went to the team's linting config instead of a person's pull request.
Two months later the same lead told me my reviews had become the ones people specifically requested, and our median time-to-merge dropped from about two days to under one. I still use the blocking/suggestion/nit convention, and I introduce it on every team I join."
"In my first six months as a marketing coordinator, my manager told me my weekly reports weren't useful to her. She said she was getting five paragraphs of what happened and nothing about what she should do with it.
I'd been proud of how thorough those reports were, so it took me a day to stop being defensive about it. Once I did, I asked if I could see a report she considered good, which turned out to be the most useful thing I did that year.
I rewrote the format: three bullets at the top — what moved, what I'm worried about, what I need a decision on — and the detail underneath for anyone who wanted it. She started forwarding it to her own director without editing it, which she'd never done before. I've written every status update that way since."
"When I moved into a staff engineer role, my director gave me some feedback in my six-month review that I've thought about ever since. He said I was still operating like the most senior engineer on one team rather than an engineer who influenced several, and that I was solving problems personally that I should have been teaching other people to solve.
I didn't disagree, but I did think it was unfair at first, because I'd been fixing the things that were on fire and nobody had told me to stop. What he was really saying was that I'd become a bottleneck by being useful.
I changed two things. I stopped picking up urgent work directly and instead paired with whoever owned it, which was slower for about a month and faster after that. And I started writing up the recurring failures as short internal docs — we ended up with eight of them, and the on-call load dropped noticeably because people could self-serve.
At my next review he used the phrase 'force multiplier', which was the exact gap he'd named six months earlier, so I take that as the loop closing."
"When I moved from teaching into customer success, my onboarding buddy told me after listening to a few of my calls that I was explaining too much. I'd answer a customer's question and then keep going for another two minutes, and I was losing them.
It was a hard one to hear because explaining things clearly was the skill I thought I was bringing with me from ten years in a classroom. But a customer on a support call isn't a student — they want the answer and their afternoon back.
I started giving the one-sentence answer first and then explicitly asking 'do you want the background on why?' Maybe a third of the time they said yes. My average call length dropped by about four minutes and my CSAT went from the middle of the team to the top three within a quarter."
Compare those to the version interviewers hear most often: "My manager said I should communicate more, so I made sure to communicate more, and it went well." Nothing in that sentence can be checked, pictured, or followed up on. Three tests your answer should pass:
A good interviewer will probe. The three that come up most:
Write out two examples rather than one, ideally from different jobs, so a follow-up doesn't leave you empty-handed. For each, write a single sentence for each of the four beats — feedback, reaction, change, evidence. Don't script it word for word; interviewers can hear a memorised paragraph, and it undercuts the authenticity the question is built to test.
Then say it out loud once and time it. If you're past two minutes, the detail you're adding is almost certainly setup rather than substance.