“This program is absolutely terrible. Whoever wrote it should be ashamed of themselves.”
It was the early 2000s. I’d written a few programs, but this was one of the first intended for an audience larger than my immediate co-workers. So far, I’d rolled it out to several departments. The feedback up until this point had been a muted positivity, “good job” type stuff.
Many skills required to be a successful programmer also apply to everyday life, and handling criticism is a big one. It would be nice if everyone delivered their feedback in a tone of gentle, positive encouragement; but to paraphrase Ice-T from his metal band “Body Count”, I live in the real world, and sh ain’t like that here.
Separating the objective and actionable elements of feedback from the emotional and personal triggers makes a crucial difference in how you’re able to respond. Hostile, antagonistic feedback often still contains valuable information about the work.
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Pro tip: it’s the work, not your work. You write a program, but it does not belong to you. Software belongs to its users.
The only thing more worthless than a program that no one uses is a program which people feel they have no choice but to use, which causes them frustration. As a programmer, you have a moral responsibility to create works which users enjoy (or at the absolute minimum, to reduce user suffering).
If your program has problems, users’ communication will reflect their frustration. In order to get the invaluable information about what’s wrong, you have to apply a mental filter: ignore the negative “noise” and focus only on the positive “signal”.
Here’s the filter that enables me: as a programmer, I provide a service. I want the programs I produce to be of the highest benefit to their users. The information I collect does not reflect on me personally, but on the feeling between the user and the program.
I thought for a long moment, considering the sick burns I could lay on this person by revealing I was the criticiz-ee. During that thought, I realized I was being paid a backhanded compliment: the hidden, incorrect assumption that a junior like me couldn’t possibly be the author. That even such a “terrible” program still must have come from someone older and more experienced.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. Can you give me some specifics? Maybe I can help to improve it.”