In software, “tech debt” is one of those things folks love to hate.
It gets mentioned with furrowed brows and a half-smile—usually while someone’s shaking their fist at the codebase like it personally wronged them.
I know the feeling. I used to do the same thing. Until I realized something:
Tech debt isn’t a curse. It’s a consequence. A natural inevitable consequence. A consequence — of progress. Of momentum. Of decisions made under pressure, with limited time and imperfect information.
It’s normal. It’s how we build things.
Everywhere
The first time this clicked for me, I realized: tech debt isn’t just in code. It’s everywhere.
Way beyond what’s on your screen. It’s in your life. Your routines. Your city. The world around you.
That blinking maintenance light in your car that you’ve been ignoring for 3 months? That’s tech debt.
The shopping cart with the squeaky, stuck wheel? That’s tech debt.
The janky checkout POS screen at your local grocery store that still runs on Windows 98? That’s tech debt.
Driving home past a construction zone that’s been “in progress” for years with no obvious result? That’s tech debt.
Even the two McDonald’s you passed: one new and modern, black and brown. The other, looking like a giant HappyMeal box, stuck in a ‘90s time capsule. One’s been paid down. The other hasn’t. That’s tech debt.
Evidence of:
- Deadlines
- Scope creep
- Compromises
- MVPs
- Real-world pressure
- Creative scrappiness
Debt doesn’t mean the work was bad. It means the circumstances were real.
The moment something gets built, it becomes a responsibility. And when it becomes a responsibility, someone has to manage it. That someone… might be you.
Mountain
At some point, you’ll inherit a mountain.
And the fact that you’re frustrated by it? Means the thing survived long enough for you to inherit it. You’re stepping into a legacy.
A repo. A workspace. A Figma file. A process. Something that feels like it’s been patched over so many times, you don’t know where to start.
That feeling is real. You don’t want to break it. You don’t want to make it worse. You feel like you need permission. Approval. A full plan. A guarantee that your cleanup won’t cause more chaos.
So you hesitate. You sit in the fog. The debt lingers. The fear multiplies. And the work gets heavier.
But here’s the thing: you don’t need to fix it all at once. You just need to start.
Clean one thing. Name one thing. Improve one thing. Then keep going.
Not every line needs a refactor. Not every file needs a rewrite. But something probably needs a wipe-down. So wipe it down.
Clean often. Document what you can. Leave things a little better than how you found them.
You don’t need to fix it all. You just need to change the slope.
Eventually, the mountain becomes a hill. That hill, gets a path. That path, becomes well worn. And the folks who came before you? The ones who made those original messes?
They’ll thank you.
(Take it from someone who’s moved a mountain… or two)
Because none of this exists without someone doing the work to begin with. That mess got you here.
Your job exists because someone made something worth maintaining.
Respect
Tech debt deserves respect—not resentment.
It’s not failure. It’s the receipt of forward motion.
Those who trash tech debt often aren’t frustrated by the system—they’re frustrated with past versions of themselves. The decisions they made. The compromises they chose. The constraints they had to live with.
But trust this: you made the best call you could with the information you had at the time. So did they. Everyone was doing their best to move things forward.
Tech debt is the residue of that movement. And like anything inherited—it’s not always your fault, but it is your responsibility.
So take care of it.
Because without that debt? You probably wouldn’t be here. With this job. Getting paid. Dealing with it.
But because the debt is proof that someone, somewhere, did their best to ship something real.
And now?
Now it’s your turn.