Why I Call Myself the Middle Dev

Hi, I’m Beth — a 43-year-old former load planner turned software developer. After nearly two decades in truck transportation operations, I walked away from capacity boards and freight lanes to learn JavaScript and CSS. I enrolled at the Turing School of Software & Design in early 2021, and just before starting Mod 4, I accepted a job offer and left the program early. I’ve been working as a fullstack developer ever since. This blog is called Middle Dev — partly because I’m now mid-level, partly because I’m mid-life, and partly because I’ve spent the last few years somewhere in the middle of figuring it all out. I was never truly happy in trucking operations. I stuck with it because I was good at it — especially load planning, which appealed to me because it was logic-based and involved fewer direct conversations with drivers. I'm neurodivergent (ADD, and suspect I'm also on the autism spectrum), and talking with strangers has never been easy for me. For years, I assumed coding was off the table because I believed it was all math — and math never came easily to me. A couple of past partners had suggested I might enjoy coding, but it didn’t really click until one moment with my wife, who was working in IT consulting at the time. As I answered a question she had, she paused halfway through, looking a little annoyed, and said, “Holy crap… you’re a dev.” That moment led me to Try Coding with Turing, and that's when everything changed. The first time I applied to Turing, the interview went great — until the logic question. I totally froze. My brain scrambled, and I had no idea where to start. I didn’t get in. But the interviewer encouraged me to spend time preparing for the logic portion and reapply in 41 days. I tried a few resources to help me organize my thinking, but nothing clicked. I was finding answers, but not feeling progress. Then I stumbled across LSAT Logic Games for Dummies by Mark Zegarelli — and wow. It delivered the information in a way that fit my brain exactly. Everything was framed like a board game: pieces, rules, space. It made sense. When I reapplied and hit the logic question a second time, I was told I solved it faster than they’d ever seen a candidate do in an interview. That’s when I got in. I was terrified. We had saved up, and my wife was making enough to support us for seven months while I went to school. But I was starting over — completely. What would it mean to be a junior anything after all these years? What would it mean to start at the bottom again? What if I couldn’t cut it? What if I couldn’t even find a job? All of those fears stayed with me as I completed the preparation module and started Mod 1 with my class. It was overwhelming. I didn’t seem to grasp some things right away, and 98% of the rest of my class was in their twenties. I let myself feel stupid. I got negative about my learning. And even though I passed Mod 1, I asked to repeat it. Mod 2 was reportedly the hardest module, and I didn’t want to walk into it on shaky footing. Repeating felt like the smartest way to strengthen my learning and give myself room to grow in confidence. During the break between mods, I buckled down. I reviewed lessons and homework, studied like crazy, and even read parts of the JavaScript book I’d bought for class but hadn’t cracked yet. When I repeated Mod 1, I killed it. Not only did I learn, I understood — really understood — the fundamentals of JavaScript. We worked entirely in vanilla JS, learning how to interact with the DOM, write our own classes, write tests, and structure clean logic. I finished the mod strong, having built both a TicTacToe app and a hotel booking interface, and more importantly — with the confidence that I belonged in this field. Just before I began Mod 4 at Turing, I was offered a job by the very trucking company I had left to pursue software. The offer was solid, and there was comfort in returning to a familiar environment — but in a completely new role. I already understood the systems I’d be working on from a user perspective, and that gave me a surprising advantage. The same way I used to plan freight movement across the U.S., I began to understand how software moves through systems — and how crucial it is to see the whole board when you’re building for scale. That big-picture thinking, honed during my time in operations, became one of my strongest assets as a developer. In hindsight, it’s not surprising that I ended up in tech — or that I fell in love with code. I’ve always had a knack for language, even if I didn’t realize it until later in life. I studied English in college (History of the English Language was my favorite course), picked up some Mandarin on trips to China, and still understand more Spanish than I let on. For the past few years, I’ve been casually learning Polish, and on our last trip to my wife’s home, I was finally speaking in full — if imperfect — sentences. The more I learn languages, the more I realize that code is just another o

Apr 23, 2025 - 00:34

Hi, I’m Beth — a 43-year-old former load planner turned software developer. After nearly two decades in truck transportation operations, I walked away from capacity boards and freight lanes to learn JavaScript and CSS. I enrolled at the Turing School of Software & Design in early 2021, and just before starting Mod 4, I accepted a job offer and left the program early. I’ve been working as a fullstack developer ever since. This blog is called Middle Dev — partly because I’m now mid-level, partly because I’m mid-life, and partly because I’ve spent the last few years somewhere in the middle of figuring it all out.

I was never truly happy in trucking operations. I stuck with it because I was good at it — especially load planning, which appealed to me because it was logic-based and involved fewer direct conversations with drivers. I'm neurodivergent (ADD, and suspect I'm also on the autism spectrum), and talking with strangers has never been easy for me. For years, I assumed coding was off the table because I believed it was all math — and math never came easily to me. A couple of past partners had suggested I might enjoy coding, but it didn’t really click until one moment with my wife, who was working in IT consulting at the time. As I answered a question she had, she paused halfway through, looking a little annoyed, and said, “Holy crap… you’re a dev.” That moment led me to Try Coding with Turing, and that's when everything changed.

The first time I applied to Turing, the interview went great — until the logic question. I totally froze. My brain scrambled, and I had no idea where to start. I didn’t get in. But the interviewer encouraged me to spend time preparing for the logic portion and reapply in 41 days. I tried a few resources to help me organize my thinking, but nothing clicked. I was finding answers, but not feeling progress. Then I stumbled across LSAT Logic Games for Dummies by Mark Zegarelli — and wow. It delivered the information in a way that fit my brain exactly. Everything was framed like a board game: pieces, rules, space. It made sense. When I reapplied and hit the logic question a second time, I was told I solved it faster than they’d ever seen a candidate do in an interview. That’s when I got in.

I was terrified. We had saved up, and my wife was making enough to support us for seven months while I went to school. But I was starting over — completely. What would it mean to be a junior anything after all these years? What would it mean to start at the bottom again? What if I couldn’t cut it? What if I couldn’t even find a job? All of those fears stayed with me as I completed the preparation module and started Mod 1 with my class. It was overwhelming. I didn’t seem to grasp some things right away, and 98% of the rest of my class was in their twenties. I let myself feel stupid. I got negative about my learning. And even though I passed Mod 1, I asked to repeat it. Mod 2 was reportedly the hardest module, and I didn’t want to walk into it on shaky footing. Repeating felt like the smartest way to strengthen my learning and give myself room to grow in confidence.

During the break between mods, I buckled down. I reviewed lessons and homework, studied like crazy, and even read parts of the JavaScript book I’d bought for class but hadn’t cracked yet. When I repeated Mod 1, I killed it. Not only did I learn, I understood — really understood — the fundamentals of JavaScript. We worked entirely in vanilla JS, learning how to interact with the DOM, write our own classes, write tests, and structure clean logic. I finished the mod strong, having built both a TicTacToe app and a hotel booking interface, and more importantly — with the confidence that I belonged in this field.

Just before I began Mod 4 at Turing, I was offered a job by the very trucking company I had left to pursue software. The offer was solid, and there was comfort in returning to a familiar environment — but in a completely new role. I already understood the systems I’d be working on from a user perspective, and that gave me a surprising advantage. The same way I used to plan freight movement across the U.S., I began to understand how software moves through systems — and how crucial it is to see the whole board when you’re building for scale. That big-picture thinking, honed during my time in operations, became one of my strongest assets as a developer.

In hindsight, it’s not surprising that I ended up in tech — or that I fell in love with code. I’ve always had a knack for language, even if I didn’t realize it until later in life. I studied English in college (History of the English Language was my favorite course), picked up some Mandarin on trips to China, and still understand more Spanish than I let on. For the past few years, I’ve been casually learning Polish, and on our last trip to my wife’s home, I was finally speaking in full — if imperfect — sentences. The more I learn languages, the more I realize that code is just another one of them. It has rules and rhythms and exceptions. And just like with any language, confidence doesn’t come from perfection — it comes from using it in real conversations, even when you mess up.

These days, I’m a mid-level fullstack developer with a background most recruiters don’t know what to do with. I’m married to a Polish citizen, and together we’re working on a five-year plan to move abroad. I’m unhappy with how things are going in the United States — politically, economically, culturally — and I want more stability and possibility for both of us. This blog, Middle Dev, is part of that plan. It’s where I’ll document what I’ve learned, what I’m still figuring out, and what it means to grow — technically and personally — in the Middle of everything.