ex-coder

When you’re more junior in your career, feedback comes at you from all directions. You get regular check-ins, performance reviews, comments on your work, and peers giving you instant reactions to your work or ideas. You’re surrounded by inputs, affirmation, and opportunities to course-correct. You know when you’re doing well because people tell you.

But the higher you climb, the quieter it gets.

The feedback slows down. The reactions become harder to read. People stop commenting on how you show up — because they assume you already know. You start to rely more on intuition, indirect signals, and reflection. It can feel like you’re doing good work into a vacuum. You can start to wonder: Am I even making a difference? Is anyone noticing? Is this effort landing?

It’s easy to forget that people are still paying attention.

A while ago, something happened that reminded me just how powerful — and how quiet — that feedback loop can be.

A favour, a call, and a small document

Years ago, I worked with a guy called Damien. We were friendly at work, shared the occasional lunch, and often chatted about what we were learning. At the time, he was working as a systems administrator but wanted to shift into something that felt more creative and satisfying, like software engineering. Eventually, he left the company and went back to university to study computer science.

We stayed loosely in touch over the years. Then one day, Damien reached out. A friend of his from university, Alex, was trying to get her foot in the door of the tech industry. She was pivoting into engineering after a few years of doing market research. She was older than most of her peers in her course and didn’t feel like she belonged.

She had real-world experience, but in a different field. She was surrounded by students who were younger, more confident in their technical skills, and seemingly more “at home” in the world of code. She was also all too aware that tech was still male-dominated, and she didn’t see many people who looked like her or shared her path.

Damien asked if I’d be open to having a quick chat with her.

I had a bit of free time, so I jumped on a video call.

A half-hour that mattered

Alex and I talked about code, about dogs (as you do), and about the weird and wonderful journey of breaking into tech. She was thoughtful, capable, and motivated. She just needed someone to say, “You can do this, and here’s how.” She didn’t need hand-holding — just a flashlight on the path ahead.

After the call, I sent her a short doc: a list of summer internship programs, local meetup groups, and a few trusted contacts at good companies she could reach out to. It took maybe 45 minutes in total. It was a fun, energising distraction from my day. One of those moments where you get to talk about something you care about and then move on with your to-do list.

She took the advice and ran with it.

Alex’s journey

A few months later, she applied to a summer internship program that my company happened to be involved with. When she reached out to tell me, I was thrilled. I remember smiling when I saw her name in my inbox — partly because I was genuinely happy she was giving it a shot, and partly because I knew she had something special to offer.

I hadn’t expected to hear from her again, let alone see her take action on the advice I’d given. But here she was — doing the work, putting herself out there, and taking real steps toward a new career. There was something deeply satisfying in knowing that a casual conversation and a simple doc had helped light a path forward.

I didn’t pull any strings or grease any wheels for her. She showed up and earned it all on her own. But I did give her another small pep talk when she reached out. Just a few words of encouragement to help quiet that little voice of doubt we all carry.

She got the internship.

And once she joined, I got to see her in action — and honestly, it was such a joy. During those three months, I worked with her and a few other interns, guiding them through the world of corporate tech, helping them navigate the unwritten rules, and watching them find their rhythm. Alex stood out. Not in a flashy or attention-seeking way, but in the way she listened carefully, thought deeply, asked great questions, and tackled problems with curiosity and determination.

She was the kind of person who quietly raised the bar for everyone around her.

At the end of the internship, she applied for a graduate developer role at the company. Again, she reached out — nervous, excited, hopeful. And again, I offered a few words of encouragement and wished her luck.

She got the role.

We ended up working together for three more years. By then, our check-ins were lighter and less frequent — just casual conversations about tricky work situations, new challenges, or occasionally just a laugh about something absurd that had happened during the week. She didn’t need a mentor anymore. She had built her own foundation and was finding her own path.

One thing I always remember, though, is how she grew into her role with confidence, assertiveness, and a genuine passion for what she was doing. Alex became an absolute force of nature. Watching her step into her power, take on bigger challenges, and lead her own projects was inspiring.

Did I have a hand in that? I’d like to think I had at least a tiny smidge to play in her journey. Maybe just a little push at the beginning, a quiet conversation that helped her see what was possible. But mostly, she did the hard work. And I couldn’t be prouder of how far she’s come.

The moment I didn’t expect

The day I was leaving the company, I was packing up my desk and saying my goodbyes, feeling a mixture of excitement for the next step and a little sadness at leaving behind the team I had worked with for so long. Then, out of nowhere, Alex appeared.

She stood there for a moment before walking over and she thanked me. Thanked me for the advice I’d given her years ago — for that 30-minute conversation that had, apparently, made a difference in her career.

“Thank you for believing in me, thank you for the pep talk, thank you for being a coach and a role model,” she said with such sincerity that I was left speechless.

I had no words. I wasn’t expecting this. At all. In that moment, it hit me: the impact we have on others isn’t always immediate, visible, or loud. Sometimes, the smallest interactions — the ones you don’t even think twice about — can shape someone’s future in ways you never imagined.

I’d completely forgotten about that call. To me, it was just a brief moment, a conversation with someone trying to find their way. It felt like a casual exchange — a quick video call, a few words of encouragement, some advice that didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. But to Alex, it was foundational and had meant the world.

Her words stuck with me long after I left. They reminded me that the real impact we have isn’t always flashy. It’s quiet. It’s behind the scenes. It’s in the unspoken moments where you choose to show up, even when there’s nothing in it for you. And in the end, those are the moments that matter the most.

The higher you climb, the quieter it gets

This moment with Alex didn’t just make me emotional. It made me think. Because in my current role — and probably in yours, if you’re reading this — I don’t get feedback like that very often.

When you’re more senior, people don’t always say thank you. They don’t always tell you that your words mattered. The things you do that have real impact often happen behind the scenes. You’re enabling, connecting, calming the chaos — but nobody’s clapping for it.

You can start to feel like you’re operating in a void.

But here’s the thing: people are listening. They’re watching how you lead, how you respond, how you show up. They’re paying attention to how you treat people — especially when you’re busy, or stressed, or not obligated to help. Even if they don’t say it out loud, they’re absorbing those moments. Quietly.

The feedback loop just takes longer now.

Play the long game

As I reflect on Alex’s journey and my own, it becomes clear that the impact we make isn’t always about grand gestures or flashy moments of recognition. Sometimes, the most powerful contributions are the ones that happen when no one’s watching. The quiet acts of kindness, the words of encouragement, the moments when you choose to show up — even when there’s nothing immediate to gain.

This is why it’s so important to bring your best self, even when no one seems to notice. The world often rewards those who stand out, but the true value lies in being authentic to who you are. You don’t have to fit into the mold that others expect, or play the game the way it’s always been played. You can be yourself — your whole, unfiltered self — and still make a meaningful impact.

When you’re authentic, you’re not chasing the approval or validation of others. You’re showing up for yourself, with integrity, and doing the work because it aligns with who you are. It’s about giving your best, regardless of whether it’s seen, applauded, or immediately recognized. Because you never know who’s watching — or who’s quietly taking note of the way you show up, day after day.

And sometimes, that’s exactly what the world needs: someone who doesn’t conform to the traditional expectations, but instead pushes beyond them to bring something new, something real. It’s the small, consistent efforts that add up over time. And even if it feels like it’s all under the radar, it’s never wasted. In fact, it often makes the biggest difference.

So, even when you think no one is paying attention, when it feels like the feedback is nonexistent, remember this: the quiet moments are the ones that can build the most lasting change. Keep showing up, keep being you — because you never know when your small, quiet action will make a ripple that changes someone’s life.