Why your top performers are quietly planning to quit

She wasn’t just good—she was the one we trusted with messy clients and last-minute launches. Never needed chasing. Always came through. Then one Monday morning, I got the Slack message.

“Can we talk later today?”

We’d all seen that line before, but I still hoped it was something else. A side project. A relocation. A family break. Nope. She was done. Not burnt out. Not angry. Just quietly ready to move on. And she had her reasons. She even offered to help with transition documentation and train the next person—because that’s the kind of operator she was. But deep down, we both knew no handover would fill the gap she was leaving behind.

“I love the work. But I don’t see where I go from here,” she said. “I want to grow. Not just deliver.” I didn’t argue. Because I’d heard versions of that line from three other strong team members the year before. And it forced me to ask something I hadn’t wanted to:

What if the system I built is quietly optimized for retention of the average—not the excellent? What if the things that made her stay for two years—autonomy, impact, mission—are also the things that quietly became unsustainable without structure, guidance, and personal growth?

We had flexibility. Purpose. A flat structure. We cared about mental health and ran weekly retros with no blame. But here’s what we didn’t realize: top performers don’t leave because your culture is toxic. They leave because your systems are unclear, your feedback loops are inconsistent, and your growth plans are vague. They leave because while you think they’re happy, they’re quietly watching what’s not being said.

They’re the ones who spot early cracks—missed decisions, messy handoffs, founders making moves without context. They won’t complain like mediocre performers. They’ll process. They’ll adjust. They’ll protect their energy. Until one day they start asking: “Is this really where I want to bet my next two years?” And when you finally see the signs—quiet detachment, skipped social calls, turning cameras off—it’s already too late.

I assumed clarity would come later.

“We’ll define roles once we hire more.”
“We’ll fix growth tracks after the next round.”
“We’ll do 1-on-1s when things calm down.”

But time never slows down. And they don’t wait. People who can operate at 120% don’t want to be managed. But they do want to be seen, stretched, and built into the next version of the company. If you don’t offer that—they’ll find it somewhere else.

You think they’re loyal because they haven’t quit. But really—they’re just not in a rush. They’re watching. Waiting. Assessing if this place has room for their ambition. And if the answer’s unclear, they’ll choose clarity elsewhere.

We over-indexed on “low ego, high hustle” as a hiring filter. It sounded noble. But here’s what it meant in practice: we rewarded people who never asked for more. And we forgot that ambition doesn’t always look loud. Some of our highest-potential folks were quietly under-leveled and over-performing. But because they didn’t chase title or praise, they got passed over for flashier new hires with stronger “founder energy.”

One eventually told me:
“I feel like I’m doing Level 5 work with a Level 2 title and no path to Level 3.”

She wasn’t wrong.

In every founder circle I’ve mentored, I’ve heard versions of this story. And the pattern is almost always the same:

1. The role grows faster than the title.
   The person keeps absorbing work—but no one re-scopes their lane.
2. Their feedback becomes harder to give.
   They’ve raised issues before. Nothing changed. They stop trying.
3. They get asked to mentor—but not promoted.
   Founders lean on them to onboard new hires, patch gaps, and “just keep things stable.”
4. Then one new hire leapfrogs them.
   Maybe with a stronger CV. Maybe louder in meetings. Suddenly, trust erodes.
5. They pull back. Quietly.
   Still delivering. But emotionally halfway out the door.

After we lost one of our most trusted engineers, I finally asked our remaining team leads:
“What would make you want to leave in the next six months?”

They were hesitant at first. But once the door opened, the honesty poured out.

• “It feels like my work is valued but not seen.”
• “I want to grow—but I don’t know what that looks like here.”
• “I worry that my loyalty is being used as a reason not to promote me.”

It wasn’t a culture issue. It was a system issue. Even our best rituals—shoutouts at standup, async check-ins, even quarterly town halls—weren’t enough to mask the fact that we’d never sat down and said: ‘Here’s your growth runway. Here’s what it will take.’ We assumed clarity was optional. But for top performers, it’s oxygen.

Retention isn’t luck. And it isn’t about perks. Here’s what I now believe every founder needs to get right by Series A:

1. Define a growth map—even if it’s messy.
   Let people see what “next” could look like. Even if the path isn’t polished.
2. Normalize feedback from the top down.
   Your best people want to be challenged, not coddled.
3. Separate loyalty from stagnation.
   Just because someone’s stayed doesn’t mean they’re stuck.
4. Track emotional withdrawal.
   If someone once had ideas and now just delivers, check in. They’re disengaging, not coasting.

Don’t replace them too fast. Pause.

Ask yourself:

• What was I relying on them for that wasn’t in their scope?
• What feedback did they try to give that I brushed off?
• Who else might be carrying silent resentment or disappointment?

Then go talk to those people. Not to fix—but to understand. Because losing one top performer is a wake-up call. Losing two is a pattern. Losing three is a system failure. And the hard truth is this: your A-players will rarely raise their hand and say, “Hey, I’m thinking of leaving.” They’ll just raise their output, lower their engagement, and disappear emotionally weeks before they ever tell you.

Your best people won’t always tell you when something’s off. They’ll stay polite. Professional. Even loyal. But unless your systems grow as fast as they do, they won’t stick around to wait. They’ll quietly start planning their exit—not out of malice, but out of clarity. And by the time you realize they’re missing, they’ve already left the building.

Not in body—but in belief.

Retention isn’t just about making people stay. It’s about building something they’d never want to leave. Because here’s the hard part: average performers tend to complain louder. They push for perks, perks, perks. But your top talent? They leave silently. They don't need to make noise. They just open LinkedIn, reply to one message, and disappear into another mission that sees them better. And when they’re gone, what you’re left with is a company that feels flatter. Less sparky. Slightly slower—but you can’t quite pinpoint why. That’s the cost of not building for your best people.

You don’t need grand retention programs or overcomplicated performance matrices. You need conversations that matter, growth that’s real, and clarity that gets repeated—not assumed. Because your best people won’t beg to be seen. They’ll just stop showing up in the ways that once made your company special. So ask early. Listen deeply. And don’t wait for an exit interview to build the system they deserved to grow in.

You may not always be able to keep them. But you’ll never again be surprised when they go.