I Built a Career and Forgot to Build a Life

I started programming at 13, during one of the loneliest periods of my life.

I’d gotten into all sorts of trouble at school. Skipping classes, hanging out with the wrong people, doing stupid shit that seemed like a great idea at the time.

Eventually, my parents had enough. I was pulled out of school and started homeschooling.

Suddenly, the friends I’d spent every day with were gone.

No school. No social life. Just me, my laptop, and a ridiculous amount of free time.

So I started learning to code.

And I absolutely loved it.

For the first time in months, I had something to look forward to every morning. I could spend an entire day building something, figuring out why it didn’t work, and trying again.

Programming gave me something I desperately needed at the time.

A sense of purpose.

When your escape becomes your entire life

Two years later, I landed my first programming job.

Then another. And another.

By 18, I’d worked at three companies, contributed to major open-source projects, and spoken at international conferences.

I was incredibly proud of what I’d accomplished.

But holy shit, my life outside programming was a disaster.

From 2019 to 2024, I worked two full-time jobs, spent 14 hours a day behind a screen, and barely moved.

I’d order delivery food and pastries three or four times a day, walk maybe 500 steps, and go to sleep at 6 or 8 in the morning. Some days, I barely saw sunlight.

I weighed 105 kg. My resting heart rate reached 118 BPM.

My entire existence was sleeping on the couch, moving to my desk, working all day, and repeating.

And socially? There wasn’t much going on.

The strangest part was that I didn’t particularly mind.

I loved programming. I loved the progress. And whenever I felt lonely, bored, or unhappy, I could just open my laptop.

There was always another problem to solve. Another project to build. Another milestone to chase.

I’d become so good at escaping into work that I’d stopped noticing how miserable everything outside it had become.

Then I moved to Portugal

At 20, I moved to Portugal and took a break from programming.

I started boxing, lifting weights, and taking my health seriously. I eventually lost around 30 kg of fat.

I made friends, started dating, went out, and discovered how much fun I’d been missing.

Going out with friends for absolutely no reason. Flirting with someone I liked. Spending an afternoon outside without feeling like I should be working.

Ordinary things most people probably take for granted.

And I fucking loved it.

For the first time in years, I felt comfortable in my own skin. I had energy, confidence, and a social life that didn’t revolve around work.

Sometimes a good day was just a good day.

And that was enough.

The weird part? I stopped wanting to code.

For almost nine months, programming became one of my lowest priorities.

Which was bizarre.

I’d spent years being the guy who couldn’t stop coding. Now, even sitting down in front of my laptop made me uncomfortable.

It wasn’t just that I didn’t feel like working.

I was genuinely scared of going back.

Whenever I tried to code, I’d get this almost allergic reaction to the idea of spending another day behind a screen.

All I could think about was the isolation, the terrible sleep, the weight gain, and everything I’d just escaped.

And I felt guilty about it.

Was I becoming lazy? Had I lost my ambition? Was I throwing away everything I’d worked so hard for?

I still had ideas I wanted to build. I still loved solving problems. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that getting excited about programming again meant risking the life I’d finally built outside it.

Eventually, I realized something.

I wasn’t afraid of programming itself.

I was afraid of becoming the person I’d been when programming was all I had.

Learning to love building again

The funny thing is, programming had never been the enemy.

At 13, it gave me purpose when I desperately needed one. It gave me a career, financial independence, and opportunities I couldn’t have imagined growing up.

But somewhere along the way, I’d let it become my entire life.

And when I finally discovered everything I’d been missing, I became terrified of losing it again.

I still love building things. I still get excited about ridiculous ideas and problems that seem impossible to solve.

I just don’t want to wake up one day and realize I’ve spent another five years behind a screen, forgetting to live.

I spent years using programming to escape a life I didn’t enjoy.

Then I built a life I loved and became afraid programming would take it away.

I’m still figuring out how to love both.

But I think that’s a much better problem to have.