Lately, I’ve been realizing that the real debugging I need to do isn’t in my code it’s in my head. I work in tech, surrounded by bright people who can build just about anything with a few hundred lines of code. But underneath the projects, the agile standups, and the endless coffee, there s a quiet strain that s getting harder to ignore.
It feels like everyone I know in this field is running on empty. The deadlines are tighter, the expectations higher, and somehow, the bar keeps moving even when we hit it. I used to think that stress was just part of the job a sign that I cared and was pushing myself. But there’s a difference between healthy pressure and the kind that eats away at you. Somewhere along the way, I stopped noticing when it crossed the line.
What’s really opened my eyes is how many of my coworkers have started talking about therapy. A few years ago, that kind of thing was whispered about. Now, it s part of everyday conversation. People mention their therapists as casually as their gym trainers or favorite coffee shops. And honestly, I find that inspiring. It’s proof that we re starting to take mental health seriously because we need to. Coding might be logical, but the people writing the code are not machines. I’m thinking about trying a Denver addition therapy session.
Unfortunately, not everyone finds their way to therapy before the stress takes control. I’ve seen coworkers turn to things that start small one drink after work, a night of gaming that stretches until morning, a prescription they start relying on too heavily. Addiction looks different for everyone, but the core is the same: it’s an escape from a system that constantly demands more. Watching people I respect spiral like that is painful. It’s made me realize just how fragile even the strongest among us can be.
And while I don’t deal with addiction in that sense, I’m not immune to numbing out. For me, it shows up in smaller ways like online shopping. After a rough day of endless debugging, it s weirdly satisfying to click add to cart. It’s an easy reward, a fast distraction. But I recognize it for what it is: a digital comfort blanket. It doesn’t fix anything, and the stress always comes back.
What makes tech both exciting and exhausting is how fast it moves. There’s always a new framework, a fresh API, a tool everyone s suddenly using. Falling behind feels like failing, even when you’re doing your best. And since coding is such a big part of who I am, my self-worth tends to trace the same performance curve as my work. When the code flows, I feel brilliant. When it doesn’t, I start to unravel. That’s a dangerous cycle one I think a lot of us quietly live in.
The encouraging thing is that more people are talking about it now. Teams are holding mental health check-ins. Companies are offering therapy stipends. Some managers are even leading by example, openly discussing their burnout stories. These small shifts make a big difference. They remind us that it’s okay to take a breath, that stepping away doesn’t mean giving up.
For me, learning to disconnect has become a form of self-defense. I shut down my IDE at a reasonable hour, silence my notifications after work, and actually give myself permission to rest. I still love what I do coding will always be a part of me but I m learning that passion doesn’t have to mean self-destruction.
We like to think of ourselves in tech as problem solvers. We trace errors, fix bugs, and optimize systems. Maybe it’s time we apply that same logic to our own lives. The first step, as always, is acknowledging there’s a problem. Because until we start debugging the stress, the anxiety, and the silence around mental health, no amount of clean code will make the system stable.