I Thought It Was Me

You know that feeling when a relationship isn't working, but you can't pinpoint why?

It just doesn't feel right. You're both trying. You're both good people. But something's off, and you can't name what it is.

So you default to: "It must be me."

That's how I felt the first time I became an engineering manager.

I was younger. Smaller team. I got promoted, and honestly, they invested in me. Eight-week proper training course. One to two hours a week. Real curriculum, not just "figure it out."

I had support. I had opportunity. I had resources most new EMs don't get.

And I was miserable.

I Couldn't Name What Was Wrong

Every day I'd go home thinking: "I'm doing something wrong."

But I couldn't tell you what.

The training was good. It taught me how to run 1:1s. How to do project management. How to structure meetings. All the mechanics.

But it didn't teach me how to translate that to my actual job. The company culture was different from what the course taught. I didn't know how to adapt.

I was still thinking like an engineer. Someone had a problem, I'd solve it. Bug in the code? I'd fix it. Unclear requirement? I'd figure it out and build it.

I wasn't managing. I wasn't delegating. I wasn't helping my team solve things.

I was just... doing everything myself. And it felt terrible.

But I didn't know that's what the problem was. I just knew something felt wrong.

The Loneliness Made It Worse

We didn't have any other engineering managers. I was the only one.

None of my friends were EMs either. So I had no one to talk to about it.

When you're a developer and you have a bug, you have Stack Overflow. You have colleagues. You have your team. You can ask questions. You can spar with people.

When you're an EM and you have a "people bug"? Every person is different. Every situation is unique.

You need someone to debate with. Someone to say "here's what I'm seeing, am I crazy?" Someone to help you identify what's actually wrong.

I didn't have that.

So I just kept thinking: "It must be me. I'm just not cut out for this."

The Thing The Training Missed

Looking back now, I can see what the course didn't cover.

It taught the mechanics. But it assumed I already had the soft skills. It assumed I knew how to set clear expectations. How to communicate what I needed. How to understand business needs beyond just "ship the feature."

I didn't.

And honestly? I still struggle with setting expectations to this day. It's one of the hardest things to do well.

But the training didn't touch that. It went on the assumption that everything was smooth, people knew what was expected of them, and I just needed to learn the frameworks.

That's not reality. That's never been reality.

The hard part isn't running a 1:1. The hard part is figuring out what that person actually needs from you in that 1:1. The hard part is knowing when to push and when to support. The hard part is translating "we need this feature" into "here's who should build it and why."

Nobody taught me that. And I didn't know how to learn it on my own.

So I Quit

I quit the job.

Not just the EM role - the whole job.

At the time, I was in a phase where I was trying to find my purpose. What I actually wanted to do. I was job hopping a lot because I got bored easily.

This EM role? It felt flat. Even though I was struggling, it felt unfulfilling because I wasn't solving the right problems. I was just... existing in the role. Feeling like a failure. Going home every day thinking "something's wrong but I don't know what."

So I left.

And for the longest time after that, I told myself: "I'll be an individual contributor forever. Management isn't for me."

Ten Years Later

Fast forward a decade.

I joined daily.dev as a software engineer. Good team. Good work. But I also knew being a developer for the rest of my life wasn't enough.

There are people who can code better than me. That's just true.

But I have a unique skill set. I'm not the best developer. I'm probably not the best people manager either.

But the combination? The technical knowledge plus the people skills plus the ability to see the bigger picture? That's where I can actually add value.

So when the opportunity came up to become an engineering manager again, I said yes.

Immediately. Despite the anxiety. Despite the voice in my head saying "remember last time?"

I said yes because I knew I needed to try.

What's Different This Time

I'm older now. More mature. That helps.

But it's more than that.

The company culture is different. Last time, I was following established rules. This time, I'm shaping things. That makes a huge difference.

The team is more mature. I'm not managing a bunch of juniors who need constant guidance. That takes pressure off.

But the biggest difference? I'm learning from the past.

I ask myself: How would I want to be managed? What does my team actually need from me?

I'm not trying to solve everything myself anymore. I'm finding the problem, then figuring out who on the team can solve it best. Understanding business needs. Getting things done - but not by doing it all myself.

And here's the other thing: People talk about failure now.

Ten years ago, failure felt like something you had to hide. Something that meant you weren't good enough.

Now? Failure is how you grow. Failure is expected. Failure is a learning opportunity.

That shift in how we talk about this stuff? It matters. It makes the struggle feel less lonely.

What I'd Tell Younger Me

If I could go back and talk to myself ten years ago, here's what I'd do:

I wouldn't tell him "failure is growth." That's too generic. That doesn't help.

I'd sit down with him and ask: "Why are you miserable? What specifically is making this feel wrong?"

And I'd help him identify it.

• You're solving problems instead of managing people. That's draining you.
• You don't have peers to talk to. That loneliness is making it worse.
• The training taught you the mechanics but not how to set expectations. That's the gap.
• You're not getting fulfillment because you're trying to be a developer AND a manager. Pick one.

If I could help him NAME what was wrong, he could make an informed decision.

Maybe he'd still quit. Maybe he'd find a different company. Maybe he'd continue the journey but with a different approach.

But at least he wouldn't be sitting there thinking "it must be me" with no idea what to actually fix.

It Wasn't Me

Here's what I know now that I didn't know then:

It wasn't me.

I wasn't broken. I wasn't bad at the job. I wasn't failing because I was fundamentally not cut out for management.

I was struggling because I couldn't identify what I was actually struggling with.

And when you can't name the problem, you can't solve it. You just sit there feeling like something's wrong and assuming it's your fault.

That's the trap most new engineering managers fall into.

We're developers one day, managers the next. We get thrown into the deep end. Very few of us studied for this. We were engineers with decent social skills, suddenly expected to manage people.

And when it's hard - when it doesn't click immediately - we think: "It must be me."

But it's not you.

It's that nobody taught you how to identify what you're actually struggling with. Nobody gave you peers to spar with. Nobody showed you how to translate theory into your specific reality.

Why I'm Writing This

This is why I started this blog.

Not to tell you "you've got this" or "failure is growth" or any of the generic advice that doesn't actually help.

But to help you identify what you're actually struggling with.

So you don't spend years thinking "it must be me" when it's actually something you can name, address, and work through.

So you don't quit because you feel alone when there are hundreds of other EMs feeling the exact same way.

So you can make informed decisions about your career instead of just feeling like something's wrong without knowing what.

Maybe you should give it another shot. Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe you need to find a different company. Maybe you need to approach it differently.

But you can't make that call if you can't name what's actually wrong.

So that's what I'm building. What I wish I had ten years ago.

A place where we can help each other identify the actual struggles. Not just feel them alone.

Because it's not you. It's never been you.

It's just that nobody taught us how to see what we're actually dealing with.

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Let's connect on LinkedIn—I'm building what I wish I had back then, and I'd love to have you along for the journey.