I said yes even though I was scared

A few months ago, I was invited as one of the panelists for the Tech Talk x LIFT Futures Employability Program, and I got to share a bit of my journey in tech. I'm still grateful for it.

It was an intimate setup, which honestly made it extra special. The setting felt comfortable and open, and it made the whole conversation more personal. It also helped calm my nerves since it was my first time being at the center, openly sharing my career story.

I talked about the side of being a developer that people don't always see, that there are no shortcuts. Not everyone is naturally "good" at this from the start. Some of us, myself included, had to grow into this career. It took effort, thousands of hours of practice, and continuous learning to stay relevant and keep improving.

Months later, I still think about it. I'm glad I got the chance to share and connect, and I hope something I said back then stuck with someone.

I'm only writing this now because I know how scary it is to share in front of people, to talk about yourself, when you think it's boring or not relevant. But for the people you're reaching, your experience matters. It matters to them because, just like the old version of us when we were starting out, they're seeking guidance.

Like I shared that day: there's no shortcut to success. No one is born great at the thing they do. Sure, a few people might be, and good for them, but for the rest of us it takes actual time. Hours you don't get to skip. Effort you can't shortcut your way around, no matter how badly you want to.

I think about the version of me who first moved to London, sending out applications, getting rejected, wondering if I'd made the wrong call moving here at all. That person didn't have it figured out. She was googling things at midnight, rewriting the same cover letter for the tenth time, second-guessing whether she was even cut out for this. If you'd told her she'd be sitting on a panel one day telling other people it's going to be okay, she probably wouldn't have believed you.

But that's exactly why I said yes when they asked. Because someone in that room was the version of me from a few years ago. Nervous, unsure, wondering if everyone else just gets it and she's the only one faking her way through.

So I told them the truth: it takes showing up, even on the days you're not at 100%. It takes commitment on the days you don't feel like it, and consistency on the days that feel pointless. It takes believing in yourself especially when other people, or that voice in your own head, are doubting you. And the only person you should ever be measuring yourself against is who you were before, not the person three seats down, not someone's highlight reel online. Just you, a year ago, six months ago, last week.

That's the part that took me the longest to learn. Not the code. Not the frameworks. That.

Thank you to Tech Talk (Roxanne Taku and Joana Rocha) for trusting me with that opportunity, and to everyone from that cohort, wherever you've ended up since, I hope things are going well.

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If there's one thing I'd add now, months on from that room, it's this: just start.

Whatever it is you've been sitting on, the thing you keep telling yourself you'll get to eventually, start it badly if you have to. Write the blog post you've been drafting in your head for two years. Record the first YouTube video even though your voice sounds strange to you and you'll want to redo it fifteen times. Push the GitHub project you've been holding back because it feels too simple, too obvious, like everyone will look at it and think that's it?

Nobody's first anything was good. Mine wasn't. That panel wasn't the first time I'd ever told my story out loud, it was just the first time I did it in a room full of strangers instead of in my head at 2am, rehearsing what I'd say if anyone ever asked. The only difference between the people who eventually get somewhere and the people who don't is that the first group started before they felt ready, and the second group is still waiting to feel ready.

You don't need permission. You don't need the confidence first, the confidence comes after, from having done the thing. So start. Messy, unfinished, embarrassing, whatever. Start anyway.