Software engineer sharing practical insights on building reliable systems, remote work, and career growth in tech.
I've always been someone who sets big goals in my career - landing that promotion, switching to a dream role, or building a side hustle that takes off. But more often than not, those ambitious targets left me feeling stuck and doubting myself. It wasn't until I started focusing on tiny, everyday achievements that things shifted. Confidence didn't come from overnight success; it built up through these small daily wins, like stacking bricks to form a sturdy wall. In the high-stakes world of work, where rejections and deadlines can chip away at your self-assurance, embracing this approach has been a game-changer for me and many others I've mentored.
I've lost track of the number of times I've stared at a blank screen, deadline looming, knowing I need to update my resume or prepare for that promotion interview, but instead I scroll through endless feeds or reorganize my desk. Procrastination isn't just a bad habit - it's a universal hurdle that can stall careers before they even gain momentum. In the fast-paced world of work, where opportunities come and go quickly, understanding the psychology behind why we put things off can be the key to pushing forward.
I've spent years climbing the career ladder in tech startups here in Lagos, and one of the hardest lessons I've learned is how to say no without that nagging guilt creeping in. Early on, I was the yes-man - taking on every project, every extra meeting, every last-minute favor from colleagues. It felt like the path to success, right? Show you're a team player, prove your dedication. But it left me burned out, resentful, and honestly, less effective at the work that mattered. Saying no isn't about being difficult; it's about protecting your time and energy in a world that demands too much.
I've always been fascinated by how people structure their days, especially in high-stakes careers where every hour counts. In my years as a career coach working with professionals in Lagos' bustling tech scene and beyond, I've seen ambitious folks pour endless energy into evening networking events, late-night planning sessions, or unwinding with Netflix marathons. They chase the perfect evening routine like it's the key to success. But here's the thing I've come to believe after countless conversations and my own trial-and-error: your morning routine sets the trajectory for your entire career far more than whatever you do after the sun goes down.
I've spent over a decade navigating the ups and downs of corporate jobs in Lagos, and one thing stands out: boundaries aren't just nice-to-haves - they're survival tools. But here's the catch - most people I know set boundaries that crumble the first time their boss shoots a late-night email or a colleague dumps extra work on their desk. It's frustrating because we all want that balance, yet it slips away like sand through our fingers. What if the problem isn't the boundaries themselves, but how we build and maintain them? In my experience, effective boundaries come from understanding the subtle dynamics of workplace power and personal energy, not just declaring 'no more after 6 PM.'
Early in my career, I made a decision that cost me dearly - not just in terms of money, but in opportunities and peace of mind. It was the kind of mistake that sneaks up on you because it feels right at the time, wrapped in the excitement of a big offer and the promise of stability. Looking back, it's a story I've shared with a few mentees over coffee, hoping they might spot the red flags I missed. This isn't about beating myself up; it's about unpacking what went wrong and how it shaped everything that followed.
I've spent over a decade in software engineering, jumping from startups to big tech, and one lesson keeps coming back: progress beats perfection. Every day, I choose 'good enough' not because I'm lazy, but because it keeps me moving forward in a career that rewards action over endless refinement. It's a mindset that's helped me ship features, land promotions, and avoid burnout, and I suspect it could do the same for you if you're stuck in the perfectionism trap.
I've been working remotely for the better part of a decade now, starting back when it was still a novelty rather than the norm. What began as an experiment during a family move turned into a full-time reality, especially after the pandemic forced companies worldwide to adapt. In those early days, I worried that being out of sight might mean out of mind for career advancement. But over time, I've seen remote work reshape how we grow professionally in ways that are both challenging and liberating. It's not just about where you work from; it's about how the boundaries of your career expand or contract in unexpected directions.
I've been in the trenches of production incidents more times than I can count, and let me tell you, nothing tests your debugging skills like when the system's crumbling and everyone's staring at you for answers. One particularly memorable meltdown happened a couple of years back at a previous gig. We were running a high-traffic e-commerce platform, and right in the middle of Black Friday sales, our payment gateway integration started rejecting every transaction. Pages were timing out, customers were furious, and the ops team was pinging me every five minutes. The entire business was on fire, metaphorically speaking, and my laptop felt like it was overheating from the stress alone. In moments like that, you can't afford to panic or chase every rabbit hole. You need a workflow that cuts through the chaos. Over the years, I've honed a debugging approach that's saved my sanity - and more than a few deadlines.
I've been tinkering with side projects for years, and one of the biggest decisions I always wrestle with is where to host them. Back in the early 2010s, self-hosting on a cheap VPS felt like the rebellious choice - you got full control without Big Tech breathing down your neck. Fast forward to 2025, and the landscape has shifted dramatically. Cloud providers have made deployment so seamless that self-hosting often feels like swimming upstream with rocks in your pockets. But is it still worth the hassle? Let's break it down based on what I've learned from launching a few apps myself.
I've been part of small engineering teams where building the product felt like a constant race against time. Security? It often got pushed to the bottom of the to-do list, right after that last bug fix or feature tweak. But then something happens - a minor vulnerability report from a scanner, or worse, a real breach in someone else's app that hits the news - and suddenly everyone realizes ignoring it isn't an option. As a developer who's bootstrapped apps in startups, I know the drill: you can't afford a full-time security engineer, but you can't afford to skip basics either. The key is a pragmatic approach - focusing on what actually protects your app without overwhelming your small team.
I've spent a good chunk of my career building software that has to run in places where the basics aren't always reliable. Think about it: in many parts of Nigeria, power cuts happen multiple times a day, internet connections drop like they're allergic to stability, and even the hardware can feel like it's on borrowed time. A few years back, I was leading a team on a mobile banking app for rural users. We launched with all the bells and whistles, but on day one, users in the north couldn't even log in because the network decided to ghost everyone. That failure taught me a hard lesson - resilience isn't a nice-to-have; it's survival in unreliable environments.
I've been working remotely as a developer from Lagos for over three years now, and it's changed my life in ways I never expected. Back in 2019, I was stuck in the daily grind of commuting through Lagos traffic, dodging potholes and okadas, just to code in a stuffy office with unreliable power. Then the pandemic hit, and suddenly, remote work became the norm. For many Nigerian developers, it's not just a trend - it's a lifeline to better opportunities. But let's be real: the reality is a mix of freedom and frustration that doesn't always match the glossy LinkedIn posts.