For years, I’ve worn the “part-time developer” hat. I was in the code, solving problems, building features, deploying hotfixes—sometimes out of passion, sometimes out of necessity. But as our team has grown and matured, that role doesn’t quite fit the same way anymore.
This isn’t a story about “stepping away” because I don’t care. It’s the opposite. It’s about stepping back just enough to give the team space to grow while still being present where it matters most.
Before: Wearing Too Many Hats (Often at Once)
Back when we had a small dev team—or, let’s be honest, when I was the dev team—my role was clear. Get it done. Build it. Fix it. Ship it.
Even as the team grew, I stayed close to the code. I wasn’t the most brilliant developer on the team, but I had context, history, and a sense of where the tech and the business needed to meet. So I kept coding, kept jumping into the IDE when I had a block of time (which, let’s face it, was increasingly rare).
But the tension started to show.
- I didn’t have the uninterrupted time to dive deep and contribute meaningfully at a technical level.
- I’d sometimes hold the team up—my half-written code waiting to be finished or reviewed.
- My priorities as CEO would pull me away mid-stream, leaving loose ends.
Still, I felt the urge to stay in it. Because sometimes I could see something no one else could. And that value? That’s what I’ve had to rethink.
Now: A New Lens on Leadership
Recently, I’ve begun reframing my role—not as a developer, not even as a systems architect, but as what I’m starting to call a Strategic Technical Catalyst.
Here’s what that means to me:
- I don’t write code every day—but I still get pulled in when the path isn’t clear.
- I’m not the architect of every system—but I ask questions that shake assumptions loose.
- I don’t solve every bug—but I help our team figure out if we’re even solving the right problem.
A recent example stands out: our team spent nearly two days spinning on an issue. One of our developers was convinced a third-party component was behaving a certain way—because it should. I asked, “Have you tested their live demo?” He said no. I tried it. Ten minutes later, I had proof it worked differently than expected. That moment broke the logjam. Not because I was smarter—but because I had a different lens.
Another time, a third-party service stopped working. Instead of delegating, I got curious. I dug around and found a bug in their latest release—shared it with the team—and gave them the clarity they needed to move forward.
It’s Not About Ego. It’s About Leverage.
I’m no longer trying to earn my value by writing lines of code. Instead, I’m offering something the team sometimes can’t see from the trenches: perspective.
Our senior developers and architects are building systems I never dreamed of ten years ago. They are better at architecture, faster at debugging, and more focused on technical detail than I can be in my current role. That’s a win.
But what I bring now is leverage.
- I ask the questions no one else is asking.
- I bring context from the client, the business, and the product vision.
- I help connect dots across people, projects, and patterns.
And the team has noticed. They’ve said it themselves: “We still need you. Just not always in the code.”
After: Moving Forward With Purpose
This shift hasn’t been easy. It’s meant giving up something I loved. It’s meant letting go of control. It’s meant trusting others to do things differently than I would.
But it’s also been freeing. I can focus on growing the business, shaping vision, empowering leaders—and still be a source of breakthrough when the team needs a fresh lens.
So here’s my current balance:
- I don’t code much anymore—but when I do, it’s intentional and short-term.
- I stay involved in retros, technical planning, and reviews—not to steer, but to guide.
- I offer clarity—not directives.
The Takeaway
If you’re a founder, a leader, or someone caught between “doing the work” and “leading the team,” I hope this encourages you.
You don’t have to vanish from the trenches. But you also don’t have to live there forever.
Sometimes your highest value comes not from how many lines of code you write—but from helping others write the right ones.
And sometimes, 20 minutes of clarity from the right lens is worth more than 20 hours of effort.
