You know, everyone talks about their big wins, the projects that just flew. But sometimes, you get one that just… well, it hurts. That’s what I’m talking about today. For me, that was a thing we internally called “Leo”. And man, did Leo hurt.
What “Leo” Was Supposed to Be
On paper, Leo sounded amazing. One of those game-changer ideas, you know? Everyone was excited. We were gonna build this thing, and it was gonna be huge. I was right in the thick of it, putting in the hours, really believing in it. We all were. We had dreams for Leo, big dreams.
The early days were full of that buzz. Late nights, sure, but fueled by coffee and the feeling we were onto something special. We sketched on whiteboards, argued (the good kind of arguments), and slowly, Leo started to take shape. Or so we thought.
And Then, How Leo Started to Hurt
But somewhere along the line, things went sideways. Badly sideways. It wasn’t one big thing. It was a bunch of little things, like a leaky faucet that eventually floods the whole house.
- Scope creep? Oh boy, did we have scope creep. Leo started as a cat and was supposed to end up as a freaking elephant by the end, or so it felt.
- Resources? Always “coming soon.” We were running on fumes, trying to do magic with basically nothing.
- Communication? Let’s just say it was a mess. Different teams not talking, or worse, talking past each other. It was like that old game of telephone, but with higher stakes.
The excitement? Gone. Replaced by this dull ache of frustration. Leo wasn’t fun anymore. Leo was a weight. It was a grind, a really painful one. We were burning out, one by one. I saw good people just give up, their faces all drawn. That hurts to watch, you know? And it hurt me, directly. My sleep went to pot, I was stressed all the time. It felt like I was failing, even though we were all trying our best against a tidal wave of problems.
The Real Sting of “Leo Hurt”
The worst part? After all that blood, sweat, and tears – and believe me, there were actual tears sometimes – Leo just… fizzled out. It didn’t crash and burn in a blaze of glory. It was more like a slow, painful fade. One day, the plug was quietly pulled. All that effort, all that belief, just gone. Poof. Like it never mattered.
That’s the “hurt” part that really gets you. It’s not just the project failing. It’s feeling like you didn’t matter, your work didn’t matter. It knocked my confidence for a good while. Made me question a lot of things, about work, about myself. It was like that time I got laid off unexpectedly from that other place years ago – you know, the one where they suddenly pretend they don’t know you? Yeah, that kind of sting. You feel erased.
Picking Up the Pieces: The “Practice” After Leo
So, what do you do? Curl up and cry? Well, maybe for a bit. But then you gotta get up. That’s the practice, right? The real practice isn’t about coding or spreadsheets. It’s about dusting yourself off when you get decked.
For me, after Leo, the practice was about a few things. First, really learning to see red flags earlier. That gut feeling you get when something’s off? Listen to it. Don’t just hope it’ll fix itself. Second, boundaries. Man, I learned about boundaries. You can’t kill yourself for something that’s fundamentally broken or for people who don’t have your back. It’s just not worth it. I started saying “no” a lot more. And you know what? The world didn’t end.
I also got way more serious about documenting everything. Not just code, but decisions, requests, problems. When things go south, you need that trail. It’s not about blaming; it’s about clarity. And protecting yourself, frankly.
It also made me think about what kind of work I really wanted to do, and with what kind of people. Life’s too short for another Leo, you know? It pushed me, in a weird way. Like that time I got sick and had to stay home for ages, ended up finding a completely different path that was actually better. Sometimes the hurt forces you to look for new doors.
So, Yeah, Leo Hurt
So yeah, Leo hurt. Left a mark, for sure. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. It’s one of those experiences that shapes you, whether you like it or not. You learn what you’re made of, I guess. And you learn what you absolutely will not put up with again. It’s a tough teacher, experience, especially when it comes in a package called “Leo.” But hey, I’m still here, still sharing. And maybe someone reading this can avoid their own “Leo.” Or at least know they’re not alone if they’re going through one. That’s something, right?
