Days in the Life of Mo

Some people journal.
Some people meditate.
Developers?
We talk to rubber ducks.

There’s something deeply humbling about explaining your code to a small yellow creature who stares back with the exact same expression my students give me at 8am: polite confusion with undertones of “ma’am… why?”

But the wild part is, it works. Like, scientifically works.
Which raises the question: why does talking to a plastic toy do more for my debugging process than three cups of coffee and a motivational playlist?

Let’s take a walk.

Wait… why a duck? Why not a notebook or a plant?

Well… we actually talk to those too. But a duck?

A duck listens.

A duck doesn’t judge.

A duck won’t interrupt your emotional breakdown with, “Have you tried Stack Overflow?” (Even though yes… yes I have, and no, it didn’t help.)

The idea comes from a concept popularised in the book The Pragmatic Programmer, where developers were encouraged to explain their code line-by-line to an inanimate object to spot bugs. This wasn’t meant to be therapy. It just accidentally became therapy.

The Psychology Behind It (AKA: Why You’re Not Actually Crazy)

Talking out loud forces your brain to slow down, organize itself, and confront the nonsense you’ve been letting slide. This is why therapists ask people to verbalize their thoughts… it activates different areas of the brain responsible for reasoning and self-reflection. Research from psychologists like Ethan Kross shows that speaking problems out loud gives emotional distance, helping people move from chaos to clarity.

Your brain: frantic, spiralling, dramatic.
Your duck: “…”
Your brain, after hearing itself talk: “Okay fine, maybe the bug is my fault.”

Developers call this rubber duck debugging. Everyone else calls this Tuesday.

It’s Not About the Duck. It’s About the Dialogue.

There’s a moment, and devs know exactly what I mean, when you’re mid-rant, explaining a function, and suddenly you stop.

You squint at your screen.
You look at the duck.
The duck looks at you.

And then it hits you:

“…Wait. That variable isn’t being updated.”

The duck did nothing.
But talking through the problem gave your brain the clarity it needed.

This is also why voice notes, journaling, and ranting to friends who never asked to be involved in your debugging process also work. (God bless them.)

A Love Letter to My Own Duck

Dear Sunny (yes, my duck has a name, don’t judge me),

Thank you for sitting through all my bad code, my panic during sprints, my “why isn’t this API responding” meltdowns, and my “let me rewrite this for the fifth time for absolutely no reason” phases.

You never argued.
You never rolled your eyes.
You never said “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” even when you should have.

You’ve been more emotionally stable than most of the people I work with.
And honestly? That’s the bar.

But Does It Actually Work for Non-Devs Too?

Absolutely.

Explaining your problem to an object, or a pet, or a notebook, forces you to:

• slow your thoughts,
• uncover contradictions,
• see new angles,
• and hear your own logic (or lack thereof).

Whether it’s debugging code or untangling a life crisis, this method works across industries and personalities.

And here’s the funny part:
People have been doing versions of this forever. Ancient philosophers talked to themselves. Writers read drafts aloud. Therapists use externalisation.
We’re just doing it with ducks because… developers.

Okay, be honest: do you have a duck too?

Or do you use something else, a plant, a stuffed animal, the ceiling… your poor partner?

I genuinely want to know.
Drop a comment and tell me what your “rubber duck” is… the thing you talk to when your brain needs to be supervised.

Because if mine can be a tiny yellow plastic with sunglasses, absolutely no one gets to judge yours.

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