Every developer knows that feeling. The constant rollercoaster between the highs of good days and the total despair of bad ones. It’s common, frustrating, and somehow the very thing that makes our job both great and horrible at the same time.
And honestly? I love it.
Few things in life match the buzz of solving a tough bug. That moment when you test your fix and it all clicks — one elegant flow of logic, good practices, and creativity coming together. You built that. You earned that. It’s pure elation. A high you immediately want to chase again.
On those days, you float. Everything feels easy and light. You’re confident, engaged, decisive. Even meetings seem fun. That spark creates momentum, small wins stack up, energy builds, optimism grows. It’s addictive.
But sooner or later, the wave crashes. Maybe you get over-confident and make a mistake. Maybe the next challenge is just too big. Either way, the low hits. And it hits hard.
Suddenly you’re staring at your screen, questioning your choices, your skills, sometimes even your career. You feel useless, cornered, defeated by your own code.
Those days are part of the job. They happen more often than we’d like to admit, but they’re not a sign of failure. They’re a sign that you care. With time and experience, you learn to live with that uncertainty. It’s what separates the juniors from the more seasoned developers.
Because here’s the truth: no problem is truly impossible. None. Sometimes you need to realign, ask for help, or communicate blockers. But there’s always a path forward. No one stays stuck on the same ticket forever.
And that’s why who you work with matters so much. In a healthy team, you never feel stranded. You can admit you’re blocked without fear. People help, timelines adjust, scopes change. That kind of trust transforms despair into learning.
The other half of the equation is inward. You can’t give up when you’re stuck, that’s where the real growth happens. Friction is what sharpens us. It forces new perspectives and pushes us beyond what we thought we could do.
Take a breath. Step away. Break the problem down. Most times, you’ll find you’re not blocked by everything, just by one small piece. Once you isolate it, you can ask the right questions, and suddenly the wall starts to crumble.
The key is recognising these moments for what they are. Don’t just say, “I’m stressed.” Ask why. Name it. That awareness turns chaos into something manageable, and that’s the foundation of real balance.
It’s not easy. It takes time, experience, and a lot of inner dialogue. I’m still learning. I’ve gotten better at channelling the highs into proactive energy and self-improvement. The lows still hurt, and I still overthink when they hit. But that’s okay — it’s part of the process.
Because, in the end, this job, like life, isn’t about avoiding the highs and lows. It’s about learning to ride them.