Why Your SMB Needs to Worry About Culture

Otherwise, you’re just waiting to fail.

When I joined my first startup as an operations manager, I thought I’d signed on to wrangle budgets, fix processes, and make sure the team didn’t accidentally blow the quarterly budget on an “emergency” software upgrade. What I didn’t realize was that I’d spend half my time playing therapist for a scattered, remote team and trying to fix a “culture problem” that everyone was eager to blame on someone else. It didn’t take long to learn that culture isn’t just the warm-and-fuzzy stuff you talk about in onboarding—it’s the result of the systems you build (or don’t).

Enter Laura. Laura was one of those employees you dream about: sharp, driven, and relentlessly positive, even in the face of chaos. She could turn a tough client situation around with one phone call and then jump straight into mentoring a new hire without breaking a sweat. If you needed something done, Laura wasn’t just your first choice—she was your only choice. She was, in every way, the ideal team player. And within a year, she was gone.

Her exit wasn’t dramatic, but it stung. Laura’s departure letter was polite, full of gratitude, and included a line I’ll never forget: “It’s not that I didn’t feel appreciated—I just didn’t feel seen.” That single sentence became a wake-up call for our entire company. Laura didn’t leave because of money or a bad boss or even the workload. She left because we, as an organization, had failed to give her a reason to stay.

As a director of operations, I gotta admit, that hurt me.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, lets rewind a bit.

The first time I sat down with Laura to try to understand what was going wrong, her frustration spilled out faster than I expected. “It’s not just the workload,” she said. “It’s the chaos. I feel like I’m doing three jobs at once, and half the time, I don’t even know which one matters most.” That was a tough pill to swallow, but she was right. Our systems were a mess. As an early stage startup, priorities shifted daily, tasks were handed out with no clear ownership, and sometimes meetings became more about airing grievances than solving problems.

Laura’s feedback hit me hard because I could see the cracks she was talking about. It wasn’t just her—it was the whole team. Morale was low, turnover was high, and everyone seemed to be operating in survival mode. The funny thing about chaos is that it doesn’t just make people less productive—it makes them less invested. It’s hard to care about a job when you feel like you’re just putting out fires all day.

So we got to work. The first step was creating clarity where there was none. Weekly priorities were established, roles were defined, and processes were documented in a way that didn’t require a PhD to understand. It wasn’t glamorous work, but it was necessary. Slowly but surely, the chaos started to fade. People like Laura didn’t have to guess what they were supposed to be doing anymore—they had the tools and structure to focus on what really mattered.

But fixing the day-to-day operations was just the beginning. Laura wasn’t just frustrated by the lack of clarity—she was disillusioned by the lack of growth. “There’s so much opportunity here,” her manager told her when she was onboarded. Six months later, that promise felt like a cruel joke. There were no clear pathways for promotion, no mentorship programs, and no resources for professional development. Laura had ambition, but she didn’t have anywhere to channel it.

The worst part? She wasn’t the only one. High-performing employees don’t just want a paycheck—they want a career. They want to know that the work they’re doing is leading somewhere. And when they don’t see that path, they leave. For Laura, that path led straight to a competitor who offered her a 15% raise and a development plan on day one. We were crushed, but we couldn’t blame her.

Her departure forced us to rethink how we approached employee growth. Career roadmaps became standard, mentorship programs were launched, and budgets for external training were finally approved. It was too late for Laura, but the changes we made ensured no one else would have to ask, “What’s next for me here?” and hear nothing but silence.

One of the hardest lessons I learned from Laura’s time with us was the importance of recognition. She wasn’t just good at her job—she was extraordinary. She stepped up when deadlines loomed, stayed late when no one else would, and brought an energy that lifted everyone around her. And yet, in all her time with us, I can count on one hand the number of times she was publicly acknowledged for her contributions.

We didn’t mean to overlook her. We were just busy, caught up in the chaos, assuming she knew how much we appreciated her. But employees don’t need mind readers—they need systems. So we built one. Shout-outs in team meetings, peer-to-peer recognition programs, and a Slack channel dedicated to celebrating wins became part of our culture. For the first time, employees didn’t just feel appreciated—they felt seen.

And then there was burnout. By the time Laura handed in her notice, she was running on empty. Long hours, constant pressure, and an unrelenting culture of hustle had taken their toll. She told us she was leaving to “take some time off and figure out what’s next,” but we all knew what she really meant: she needed a break—from us.

Burnout isn’t just a personal problem—it’s a systems problem. After Laura left, we made well-being a priority. Flexible work schedules, remote options, and mental health resources became non-negotiables. Managers were trained to recognize the signs of burnout and address them before it was too late. And most importantly, we stopped glorifying the grind. Productivity doesn’t come from pushing people to their limits—it comes from giving them the support they need to thrive.

Looking back, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if we’d gotten it right the first time. Would Laura still be with us today? Maybe. Maybe not. But her story taught us a lesson we’ll never forget: culture isn’t just what you say—it’s what you do. And as operations leaders, what we do matters more than most people realize.

So the next time you think culture is someone else’s job, think about Laura. Think about the systems you’re building—or not building—and ask yourself: are you giving your team a reason to stay, or are you waiting for another Laura to walk out the door?