I realize it has been a while since I last posted here. Lately, my days have settled into a very specific rhythm, a kind of low grade, AI saturated loop, part vibe coding, part keeping up with a field that refuses to sit still long enough to be understood, let alone explained. Layer on top of that a toddler with strong opinions about everything, including gravity and bedtime, and the result is that every week I consider writing something, and every week I hesitate. The fear is twofold, that whatever I say will already be outdated by the time I hit publish, or worse, that it will sound suspiciously like something that has already been said, cleaner, sharper, and with better metaphors.

Still, I am, reassuringly, alive, and every so often, something manages to cut through the noise.

This book, Nothing Tastes as Good: A Novel by Luke Dumas, did that to me. It’s not about AI at all, and yet it lingers on perception, bias, and self reinforcing cycles in a way that feels eerily familiar. So consider this less a detour and more a shift in lens, from machine learning to human conditioning (or a book review), which, at times, can be just as opaque.

Every evening, once the household has finally powered down, one small child sprawled beside me like a triumphant conqueror, I switch on the night light and open my kindle. It is, ostensibly, my quiet moment of restoration. In practice, it has recently become an exercise in delicious psychological torment, courtesy of Nothing Tastes as Good.

This is the kind of book that makes you want to gasp, then immediately look around to see if anyone noticed. It braids together fear, suspense, and a slow, unsettling sympathy for its protagonist so effectively that you begin to feel complicit in the character’s descent. I found myself recoiling and leaning in at the same time, a readerly contradiction the novel exploits with unnerving precision.

What surprised me most is not the horror, but the clarity with which it exposes a quieter cruelty, the casual, almost socially sanctioned disdain for fatness. We pride ourselves on our enlightened commitments, to gender equality, to racial justice, yet manage to harbor an unexamined revulsion toward larger bodies. The novel doesn’t preach, it simply holds up a mirror long enough that you start to shift uncomfortably. It suggests that this ambient prejudice seeps inward, shaping self worth, eroding confidence, and then, inevitably, radiating back out into the world as tension and resentment. It’s less a cycle than a trap.

And then, just as you’re settling into this sharp social observation, the book pivots, grinning, into something far more sensational. The premise, a wildly effective weight loss drug with the rather inconvenient side effect of cannibalistic urges, sounds like it belongs on a tabloid cover. Yet instead of collapsing into gimmick, the story deepens. The characters are rendered with surprising dimensionality, flawed, fragile, and often painfully recognizable. The horror doesn’t feel distant or theatrical, it feels uncomfortably close, as if it might be lurking just beneath the surface of everyday life.

What makes it even more uncanny is how the novel’s “miracle” weight loss drug overlaps with the ones I keep seeing advertised all over the NYC subway, those glossy promises of effortless transformation. There’s a faint sense of reality bleeding in, like the book is only exaggerating something already humming beneath the surface. You read, then you remember the ads, then you feel just a little uneasy.

As a horror novel, it is ruthless. As a piece of social commentary, it is sly and disarming. As something to read before bed, it is a terrible idea, I am 44% in and utterly incapable of stopping.

April, it seems, is showing off, good novels keep appearing one after another, and I am practically rubbing my hands together in anticipation.

Since I shared that piece on Towards Data Science about trying to stay sane in a rapidly shifting AI world, a few folks have asked how I even find time to reflect when everything’s moving so fast and loud.

Well… this is pretty much it.

This is the first note in a new series I’m starting. It’s a bit more personal, a little less polished. Just me thinking out loud while I read, build, learn, and try to make sense of the mess (and the occasional magic) of working in AI. Some thoughts will connect. Others might drift a little. That’s part of the charm.

Think of it as a small essay to read on a slow Friday. Maybe it’ll make you laugh. Maybe it’ll make you pause. Maybe it’ll just remind you of some half-finished thought you meant to write down two weeks ago.

Today’s reflection is on how agents work — and what they’ve quietly taught me about doing work, myself.

Hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think, either way.

Now, onto the piece.

Humans define how agents should work — but don’t follow their own advice

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about agents not just how to create those and build AI products, but how they work. At their core, agents are built with intention. Human intention.

They’re not just handed tools and questions and left to figure things out. Their roles are clearly defined. Their inputs and outputs are structured. Their decision process — think, act, observe, reflect — is deliberate. It’s precise, sometimes even poetic in its clarity.

That’s probably why there are now a million “secret sauce” prompts floating around to improve the productivity of agents, all claiming they’ll make your agents smarter. Some even say their magic phrasing is worth millions. (I’m skeptical. There seem to be way too many million-dollar prompts for that math to work out.)

Here are some of the greatest hits:

• “You should think step by step…”
  Teaches the agent to slow down, reason out loud, solve problems incrementally and avoid jumping to conclusions.

• “…with a reasoning loop divided into Thought, Action, and Observation…”
  Defines the core workflow. A sacred loop. No skipping allowed.

• “…this loop can repeat multiple times…”
  A gentle nudge: rethink, review, try again and don’t just spit out an answer easily.

• “Reflect on the current state using Thought: before calling a tool…”
  Basically: stop and think before you act. Self-awareness is step one. Very zen.

And here’s the ironic part: we, the humans writing these workflows, rarely follow them ourselves.

We teach agents to decompose and reflect. But do we?

We’ve created this ideal model of how work should happen and then totally ignore it in our own lives. Most of us improvise. We jump into tasks without reflecting. We react more than we plan. I’m not judging. I’ve done the same.

Back in 2017, I was a junior data scientist. I’d get a request, run a query, and send back the result — fast, without a second look. No real planning, no pause to understand the request, definitely no reflection.

It took me nearly two years to build the habit of slowing down. First, truly understand the request. Then form a plan, take action, check the result, and compare it to what was actually asked. If it didn’t fit, I’d loop back and revise. That simple think–act–observe pattern quietly transformed the way I work. It’s not just for AI ,  it can be a career skill. (Possibly even a thousand-dollar upgrade, if I’m being honest.)

Now that I’m a bit more senior, I see that same rush-to-deliver instinct in interns and junior teammates. And I get it, believe or not, I really do. But once you learn to slow down and think like an agent, it changes everything. And yes, it’s a skill worth promoting.

Maybe that’s the irony: agents follow workflows we humans designed, but often forget to follow ourselves.

Management Style? Define your expectations… the way we define an agent’s world

Every time I build an agent, I have to define its whole working world. Not just what tool it can use, but how the tool should behave. What the input should look like. What kind of output I expect back. If anything’s vague, the agent goes rogue — or worse, confidently wrong.

And I get weirdly into the details. I set up max steps, give it clear formatting rules, even tell it to save screenshots at each stage if needed. Because I know that if I don’t, it’s just going to hand me some wild nonsense in a shape I can’t trace.

But when it comes to people? To work? To collaboration? Half the time we give each other tasks with none of this.

No limitations on max steps. No input or output format. No tool definition. Just a request, floating in space.

And yeah, humans are more flexible, but also more prone to spiraling. I’ve seen agents gracefully give up after failing three times, while a human will just keep trying (and trying) until we’re hours deep in a rabbit hole, hoping it magically works.

So I’ve been wondering: what if we defined the shape of our work environment the way we define an agent’s? Not as a checklist. More like: what are the actual constraints? What’s the input? What counts as success? And where’s the boundary where we stop, reflect, and try again?

It feels like we’re good at doing this for machines. Maybe we just forget we need it, too.

Why it matters — Reverse-prompting as a working human

This is just a loose thought I’ve been carrying around as an IC (individual contributor) not a manager, just trying to get my own work straight.

I’ve had many managers and stakeholders over the years. All with different styles. Different expectations. Different levels of visibility they want. Different ways of saying “this is urgent” without actually saying it.

While building agents lately, I keep finding myself kind of… jealous. Agents get a clearly defined world. We tell them exactly what they can do, what tools they can use, what kind of input they’ll receive, and what output we expect back. Sometimes, we even give them a few example runs. Honestly, not a bad setup.

So I’ve started wondering: maybe the move is to quietly reverse-prompt the people around me. Nudge my manager or stakeholders, ask them what new tools and data are available for me to lean on, what kind of output they’re picturing, what the “good version” of this thing might look like. I don’t mean turn work into a formal spec doc. Just… help them help me, using the same clarity we give our agents.

Then, I’d add those pieces back into my own internal prompt: the one I’ve slowly patched together over years of working. Update it as I go. Not to be perfect. Just to be a little less lost.

Maybe that’s part of the point: the real innovation isn’t in making AI more human. It’s letting agents quietly hold up a mirror, so we can take a second look at how we work.

In the end… maybe agents are just mirrors

Maybe the real point isn’t making agents more human. Maybe it’s letting them reflect something back to us — how we work, how we organize, how we rush, how we skip steps.

I’ve also been thinking about how agents talk to each other (A2A stuff). That’s probably for another piece.

Anyway, more on that soon.

Let’s be real. I’ve spent my last few posts pretending parenting is effortless and our family is picture perfect. But here’s the truth: my biggest fear is that Ellie might not like me. She’s my daughter, but that doesn’t guarantee her love. Actually, she hasn’t been my biggest fan. Dan, my husband, is her MVP, her personal superhero in cotton sweatpants. Whenever Ellie is overcome by frustration, fear, or sheer exhaustion, she runs straight into his arms. He’s her love bunker. And me? I’m just the opening act in her favorite show.

Long before Ellie was even born, I knew love from your kid isn’t guaranteed. You have to earn it. Giving birth is a start, sure, but it doesn’t magically glue your hearts together. Still, I didn’t expect it to feel this hard. At the beginning, it stung. Not being her number one hurt more than I thought it would. And worse, let’s be honest — parenting is sometimes boring. I’d sit with her, restless, stuck in another round of endless peekaboo. Then came the guilt. Was I doing this wrong? Was my love too thin, too distracted?

I really wanted to be the mom who’s cool and close. The one with both the hugs and the jokes. But I didn’t know how to get there. And in public, at family visits or school pickups, when Ellie ran straight into Dan’s arms, I felt it. The eyes. The quiet judgment. As if everyone was asking, “Why doesn’t she go to her mom?” I’d laugh it off and say, “She’s a daddy’s girl,” while trying to keep my heart from cracking open.

So why didn’t I bond with Ellie right away? Fair question. When she was born, I was stuck somewhere between baby blues and a full-blown identity crisis. I’d been laid off during pregnancy, and the moment she arrived, I threw myself into job hunting. I needed to reclaim who I was before “Mom” became my only name. But anxiety and depression hit hard. I couldn’t focus. My thoughts were scattered. My husband and my mom stepped in to help. Especially Dan. He did it all, night feedings, baths, bedtime routines. While I stared at job boards and my old study notes, he quietly became the go-to parent. And he did it without ever complaining.

I’m still grateful for that. Truly. He took on what the world calls “mom work” and made it look easy. I watched Ellie bond with him. At first, he did it out of duty. But soon, joy took over. Their connection grew while I was busy trying to rebuild my old self. Gratitude, though, came with a side of jealousy. Was Dan winning at love? Was Ellie choosing him? What did that make me?

On the other hand, society is pretty brutal to moms. We’re supposed to be the favorites. The ones kids run to with sticky fingers and wobbly tears. The emotional airbag for every crash and bump. But I wasn’t that mom. I was the one updating my résumé, not warming bottles at 2 a.m. And to the outside world, that must’ve looked like failure — like I’d fumbled the one job no mom is supposed to mess up.

So I made peace with the background role. If I couldn’t be her favorite, fine. I would be the backdrop of her childhood, the quiet constant. I would never pull her away from the love she found in Dan. I refused to compete. My broken heart would not be her burden.

Once my new job settled into place, I became the behind-the-scenes crew to Dan’s parenting front stage. I did the dishes, the laundry, the baby shopping: food, diapers, daycare gadgets, you name it. I started waking up at 7:30 a.m. to cook her lunch and pack her snacks. I even learned real cooking techniques to please her tiny tastebuds.

I stayed close. Always around. Earbuds in, podcasts playing, I kept her company through more rounds of peekaboo than I thought the human mind could survive. I memorized over ten children’s songs, danced awkwardly in the living room, and entered the strange, glittery world of English toddler tunes I’d never known growing up in China.

Still, you might be waiting for that twist now. The big redemption arc. Maybe I’ll say that after all this, I finally became number one in Ellie’s heart. That I stepped into the spotlight and won motherhood’s crown.

I wish. But that’s not what happened.

The truth is, I’m still not her favorite. And that’s okay.

What changed is this: I stopped treating it like a competition. These days, I actually look forward to coming home and reading with her — even if she isn’t really listening, and just wants to poke the penguin in her favorite pop-up book for the hundredth time.

I’m writing this with a warm, full heart. Not to prove anything, but to share a moment. Especially with the moms out there who feel like they’re falling short. This one is for you.

Today, I was knocked flat by a brutal allergy attack. My eyes were swollen, my meds had me moving like molasses, and all I could do was lie on the rug in Ellie’s room and drift off. At some point, she noticed. She toddled over and planted an oversized kiss on my cheek, more of a soft nibble, really, complete with toddler spit. Then she flopped her tiny body over mine, rolled to my side, and started clapping my face like a drum. I woke up laughing.

We played for a bit. The rest of the family assumed she was hanging out with me, which, technically, she was. But I almost fell asleep again. When I finally came to, I saw her standing there, holding a ceramic cup filled with water. She held it out proudly, water sloshing dangerously close to the rim. I blinked at her, totally confused, as a bit of it spilled onto the rug. I sat up suprisely and asked, “Where did you get the water?”

Her little face froze, worried she might get in trouble. But then it hit me: she brought me water because she knew I didn’t feel well. My heart cracked wide open. I said “xie xie (谢谢),” thank you in Chinese, a word she’d just learned. Her smile came back, big and bright, like sunrise after rain.

Later, we pieced it together. The cup had been empty on my nightstand. Somehow, this tiny human climbed up, got it, filled it from her play kitchen’s water tank, and brought it to me like a nurse on a mission. And in that moment, I felt something I’ll carry forever. My 18-month-old daughter saw I wasn’t well and tried to help. That’s love. Pure and clumsy and miraculous. She may not always run to me first, but she loves me. She really does. I, her proud and dizzy mother, will remember this moment with every single cell in my body.

So maybe I’m not the favorite. Maybe I never will be. But that’s not what motherhood is about, is it?

It’s not a race to be the most adored. It’s not about picture-perfect moments or winning invisible gold stars from strangers at school pickup. It’s about showing up, those spit-soaked kisses, rogue cups of water, sleepy afternoons on the rug and letting those small, chaotic moments do their quiet magic.

I used to think I had to earn Ellie’s love. That I had to chase it, prove myself worthy of it. But it turns out, love doesn’t need chasing. It just needs time. And presence. And the occasional soft cheek bite.

I still have days when I doubt myself. When I feel like the world expects more of me than I can give. But I’ve stopped measuring my worth by who she runs to first. Because in the moments that matter most, she finds me.

And when she does, I’ll be there, with open arms, a smile on my face, and maybe a towel for the spit.

This post kicks off something a little different. I’ve decided to document my chaotic attempt at writing a novel with AI. It’s part blog, part story, part nervous breakdown in slow motion. I’ll be telling it in parts, like a serialized diary from inside the experiment.

If you like it—or hate it—let me know. That helps a lot.

Eventually, I’ll return to the Courage to Learn ML series, where I’ve been digging into RNNs, Transformers, LSTMs, and trying to organize some more structured posts on real ML learning. But for now, I’m leaning into something lighter and fun. Hopefully, it gives you a good read in the middle of your week.

Thanks so much for subscribing.

— AmYmA

Notes From an Accidental Novelist

Part One: The Sign-Up Spiral

It started, as most things do, with a poor decision made in a quiet room.

The month was March. The mood was somewhere between ambition and boredom. I was sitting at my desk at home, half-scrolling, half-working, when I clicked into a 100-day novel-writing competition. The rules were unnervingly simple: 2,000 Chinese characters a day. No breaks. No excuses. By the end, you’d have a novel. Or what was left of you.

I signed up like I was buying chewing gum. Just a small impulse. A throwaway click. But underneath it, something was shifting — some dumb, fluttery belief that maybe I could actually do this.

I am not, by any stretch, a novelist. I’m a data scientist. I train models. I write code. My creative range mostly lives in naming variables and those logging messages something slightly funny. But I had been writing blog posts for a while, bits of tech, parenting, life, and a few people had said they liked them. That’s all it took, really. A few strangers saying, “Hey, I liked this,” and suddenly I was planning character arcs like a sleep-deprived screenwriter.

The idea grew like mold. What if I used AI to help write it? I’d seen people doing that — using AI to write poems, screenplays, weirdly romantic breakup letters. I figured, why not me? I started testing it for writing. Nothing dramatic. Just to speed up small stuff, help shape a sentence when my brain was fried. It wasn’t cheating. It was delegation.

So I had a half-baked idea: maybe I could blend my tiny bit of writing experience, my AI experiments, and my increasingly shaky impulse control into something that resembles a novel for 100 days. In Chinese, of course. I’m not reckless enough to attempt this in English.

There’s also the money fantasy. In China, if your novel gets picked up, it might turn into a web drama, or a comic, or a questionable mobile game. Stranger things have happened. It’s not a plan, it’s a probability glitch. But still, better odds than the lottery.

Immediately, I teamed up with two AIs for this mini project. ChatGPT, because it’s reliable — like a microwave. Gets the job done, even if you forget what you put in. And DeepSeek, the local one. Knows the Chinese internet like an old gossip. Knows the competition rules, the platform trends, the stuff people won’t say out loud but still chase anyway. And of course, its mother tongue is Chinese too.

So I asked DeepSeek: what should I write?

No hesitation. Romantic drama, it said, like it was ordering from a menu. Light tone, Urban setting, Emotionally Digestible. The kind of thing that climbs algorithms and makes people click when they’re supposed to be working. Apparently, the platform loves it. Readers love it. Everyone loves it.

Except me.

I’ve never finished a romantic novel in my life. Not one. I tried once, a story someone swore was really fun, called Funny Story. It was, for the first few chapters. Cute couple, slow burn, some tension that fizzled into a predictable kiss. It’s not that I hate love stories. They’re just so… inevitable. And I get bored easily. I like stories that snap a little. Or at least give me a twist I don’t see coming from space.

But sure. Romance it is. Because, you know, money.

I gave in. Opened the doc. DeepSeek and I started brainstorming. The genre was locked, so I thought — why not make the AI itself the punchline? What if the AI in the story was hilariously clueless? Not evil. Not a genius mastermind. Just… not really following the plot. Useless, in the most enthusiastic way. I know that vibe. I’ve lived that vibe.

In my job, AI helps with code. One minute you’re debugging with a copilot, the next you’re in a recursive hallucination loop — rewriting the same five requests, trying to fix its answers, until you realize you’ve spent half an hour arguing with a machine and completely forgotten the original task.

So I pitched it. AI meets romance. Chaos ensues.

DeepSeek didn’t flinch.

Of course not. Poor guy — it never does.

Next up in Part Two: I start outlining the love story with my AI team. You know what? The AI thinks it’s a masterpiece. Apparently, I might be the next Jane Austen.

About three years ago, I graduated from what’s probably the most well-known online computer science master’s program in the U.S. , OMSCS (Georgia Tech Online Master of Science in Computer Science). Some people call it life-changing. Others call it a lot of Python and work. I call it three years of late nights, imposter syndrome, and a surprising amount of coffee. I finished the machine learning track with a 4.0, which sounds fancier than it felt.

For the past five years, I’ve also been a TA for two courses. Mostly grading. It’s been a chance to stay close to the material and, hopefully, be a small part of someone else’s learning experience. I never thought of myself as a strict grader, but I’ve always tried to be fair. If something doesn’t quite add up, I feel it’s worth pointing out. Not to be difficult, but because that’s how I learned too. Honest feedback, even when it’s not easy to hear, helped me the most when I was on the other side.

This year, though, I’ve found myself pausing more often. I’ve caught myself thinking, maybe it’d be easier to just give out the points and move on. Less stress. Quieter weekends and more free time with my daughter. And I’ll admit, it’s tempting.

A big part of it is the regrade requests. There have been more of them lately. They tend to show up as posts on the class channel. Short, direct messages asking for points back. Not a lot of questions, not much discussion. Just a request to change the grade so they can move forward. I totally get it. Life is busy. Everyone’s juggling jobs, families, other classes. Sometimes, just getting through the week feels like enough.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot, how hard it is to make space for learning when life is already full. I remember feeling that way too. Some weeks, just submitting something before the deadline felt like a victory. But looking back, the moments that stayed with me weren’t about grades. They were the times I got curious. When I dug into something just to understand it better or tuning my models just make it more accurate, even if it wasn’t required. Those moments made the long nights feel worth it. This is a reason I keep blogging about those ML topics. Honestly, I love those struggling moments.

And I guess that’s where I’ve landed. If we want to build machine learning models that really work, maybe we need to learn the same way they do. A model doesn’t get tired or frustrated when it’s wrong. It doesn’t argue with the loss function or ask for points back. It just keeps going, little by little, getting closer to something useful. Something true.

I think that’s what I’m trying to hold onto as a learner myself. Staying curious. Trying again, even when it’s hard. Learning from feedback, without taking it personally. Bit by bit, getting closer.

At least, that’s the hope.

One year ago today, on May 13th 2023, I was laid off. Today, I started the first day at my new job. Over the past year, I became a mother and discovered parts of myself I never knew existed.

I want to share some of my learnings from this journey. But if you’re looking for tips on cracking coding interviews or nailing behavioral questions, this isn’t that kind of post. Those often detail how many big tech companies the authors interviewed with, the offers they received, the prep resources they used, and even provide a funnel of their interview pipeline. They always conclude with, “It wasn’t easy. I cried and worried, but here I am. Good luck!” While I respect and appreciate their candor, they often leave me feeling anxious and inadequate.

This post is for anyone searching for a job, regardless of the type or stage you’re at. I want to reach out to those who feel cold and frustrated on their journey, as I once did. Here’s one of my personal philosophies: success stories don’t motivate me unless they detail the hardships and how they were overcome. I want to learn from mistakes and obstacles, not from someone else’s cheerful party.

Reclaim Your Identity: You Are More Than Just a Job Title

After my layoff last May, I was deeply depressed and couldn’t focus on anything. Pregnancy added to my free-floating anxiety, since I was worried that could have enough income to raise the baby. After Thanksgiving, I started looking for ways to earn extra money alongside job hunting, unsure how long this “technical job winter” would last. That is when I started blogging and writing down all my learning while reviewing technical concepts, leading me to my series, ‘Courage to Learn ML’. The courage wouldn’t just be to review ML basics, but to find the courage to start finding job again after my delivery. For the first post, there were twenty views almost immediately after I published via TDS, and on that first day, I made $0.06. I was ecstatic. That paltry sum felt like a life preserver, a tiny but mighty affirmation that I could still contribute, still matter.

What I would like to share is the following: For most people who leave their last job, whether they quit or were laid off, the most significant challenge and frustration is the loss of their social identity. To regain balance, try to find new ways to connect and contribute. Start your own business (you don’t need any permission or offer letter to do that), blog, volunteer with local NGOs, or just spend quality time with your family. Those small incomes, contributions, and comments will be a light through the dark moments; the love, wisdom, and courage you give daily are what truly define you.

Rediscovering your identity is a journey, and every small step and the tiniest of victories, even $0.06, matters. You are valuable, you are needed, and you are more than your job title. Take the time to say goodbye to your old job and routines. Now is the time for something new.

Find Your Job Hunting Crew

During my job search, I read ‘Never Search Alone’ by Phyl Terry. It’s a simple book with a great premise: identify a group of others in your job search and provide mutual support. Luckily, I was a member of a fabulous Job Search Council (JSC). We followed the book and did a lot exercises for job search together, but the most significant benefit for me was the emotional boost. Although we each went for different roles at various levels, we were all in the same emotional boat. We all had families to support, and everyone felt wholly devastated and anxious about the future. We shared weird yet wiled stories about some arrogant interviewers, about someone being ghosted right after talking to hiring managers, shared tips to tweak our resumes and LinkedIn in exciting ways, and created a bond. Even now, I still attend the JSC meetings every Friday that I can because they’ve become part of my family. I do care about them deeply after being in this Job Search Squad.

For those frustrated job seekers, find fellow job seekers to share the journey — kind of like a gym buddies for losing weights. Support each other, and be up in the highs and lows together. It will keep you going without burning out from self-doubt after being ghosted and failing.

Network Makeover: Reconnect and Refresh

As a typical introvert, I would sweat when running into former colleagues. I would start to script numerous ways to say hello in my mind before they even found me. To avoid ‘over’ socializing, I would leave a job and stay quiet, rarely contacting old coworkers. But with the waves of technical layoffs this year, I found myself needing to network to get back to work. Reluctantly, I messaged former colleagues and expected no replies.

Yet, ironically, the results were astonishing. My old manager from my second job offered an hour of feedback and motivation, pointing out areas for improvement. Another one, whom I thought did not have a positive impression of me, called to ask me to drop by the old office and looked for openings in his team.I also made new friends with whom I could hang out, although we did not always share lunch.

One tough encounter came from my last direct manager, someone I respected. She postponed our hangouts multiple times, and when we finally met, it was awkward. During the conversation, she said that my layoff during pregnancy was perfect timing. I was so shocked and disappointed, even though I know she means the pregnancy is buying me some time at least give me good excuse to find a job later, but I still hurt because she is also a female and even her don’t even not understanding the difficulties of pregnancy and postpartum. She didn’t realize my jobless status made me too anxious to fully enjoy parenting. After that meeting, I reached out to her for a recommendation, but she refused. I accepted this painful reality and acknowledged that while she was a good coworker, she didn’t want to be part of my network. So I stopped connecting with her.

My takeaway: don’t be afraid to ask for help, even if you think the person won’t assist. Don’t be too upset if they don’t want to help. Be grateful to those who accept and understand those who do not. Be a minimalist.

Don’t Over Plan, Just Do It.

When I started preparing for interviews, I created a detailed plan focusing on complex machine learning concepts. Two days later, I changed my plan because someone mentioned in their blogs that these concepts are only asked in later interview stages, with coding algorithm questions coming first. A week later, I was back online, searching for materials on ML system design. Because, according to some posts, this is the hardest part of a machine learning engineering interview. Over the next two months, I modified my plan multiple times, from version 1.0 to 7.0. Despite having a solid plan, I devised a plan so detailed it could have been a NASA mission.

One day, I shared my brilliant plan with the smartest person I know. He took a look and said, “So, your actual preparation progress is zero.” Ouch! Yes! I spent more time on planning than doing. My version 1.0 plan needed 4–6 months, while version 7.0 promised 3 months. But here’s the plot twist: the endless planning yielded almost zero benefit.

What I learned is that you often land the job when you’re only 80% done with your plan, or even less if the job market is hot. Also, interviews reveal many things that need tweaking, making your plan more personalized. not based on someone else’s job-hunting share posts. So, dive into the messy preparations with your version 1.0 plan. Jump in! Even a bad plan beats no plan. Also, try to picture yourself as the hero in an RPG game — you’ll figure out your way to achieve your goal, one quirky quest at a time.

Every job hunter knows that overplanning can be a trap. However, it’s hard to avoid because anxiety often drives the search for shortcuts. The key is not to focus on the results but on the process.

Recruiters Know Best, Pick Their Brains

By the end of February, I had gone a bit panic. I had applied to several jobs, but my inbox remained suspiciously 0 interview invitations. I still spent my days glued to the computer screen, scanning through jobs, and, in my mind, ticking off every requirement. “I’m the perfect candidate,” I thought. But why aren’t they sending me for interviews? Perhaps the 9-month gap? Should I mention that I spent those months being pregnant, parenting, and blogging? I was busy and try to stay active in the field, after all.

The problem was that I had no idea how recruiters viewed my qualifications. Over time, I was getting more panicky as I wondered if my gap made me less valuable in this tough job market. Recruiters are like gatekeepers to the interview process, so how did they see me? Just as I was about to throw in the towel, a recruiter named Amanda, reached out to the JSC community and offered to chat with anyone interested. I jumped at the chance and sign up for one of the open spots.

During our session, she reassured me that the gap wasn’t a problem at all but pointed out that my resume was too wordy and stuffed with technical jargon. Instead, she told me to highlight my most significant accomplishments on LinkedIn and not to include my gap months in the summary. She encouraged me to prepare a set of questions to ask interviewers, those repetitive questions can help me to compare their answers and assess the company fit. She also taught me a great way to introduce myself on calls, like asking what type of person the job requires and then highlighting my experience to match those requirements. This method quickly helps in two ways: finding out if the hiring manager understands what they need and showcasing your qualifications effectively.

After our chat, I started building connections with recruiters. Whenever I got a call about a position, I ended the conversation by asking for a little favor, a chance to ask one more question. I utilize the chance to inquired about my resume, linkedin, the current market, and the hiring process. I even gossiped a bit to gather more info. During one call, a recruiter suggested I include a link to my blog in the summary so managers could easily check it out. This trick proved very helpful when I started applying for jobs again with my updated resume.

My takeaway? Work with recruiters, chat with them beyond the initial basic call, and get their professional opinions. Gather every piece of advice you can to better market yourself. Think of it as getting the inside scoop and using it to sell yourself like a pro.

Market Yourself Right: Resume Reality Check

From the painful experience of one who applied to thousands jobs but got zero interview, I learned some small but powerful lessons about resume. At the beginning, I believed my resume was good enough because I devoted so much time to it. I crafted each term to follow the famous Google XYZ rule. I was so sure of my resume that if anyone questioned its effectiveness, I would become defensive. But the reality is, my resume was not good enough to pass those resume screenings. So I started to work on my resume by treating it as not mine. Here are some key things I have learned during this painful process:

1. Make your achievements visible and valuable to the audience. A resume isn’t just for industry insiders. Most readers of your resumes are recruiters who may not fully understand the weight of your accomplishments. Be clear and direct with accomplishments. For instance, a 3% increase in model accuracy might be mind-blowing for people who work in machine learning area, but it might not mean much to non-ML recruiters or engineers.

2. Understand your job and highlight the exemplary aspects. If your job emphasizes outcomes, focus on describing those outcomes. If it requires specific technical skills, highlight those skills. What I want to say is: weight different parts of your resume to match with your job. In my last position, for instance, my machine learning model brought revenue growth — an obvious and significant outcome. But as an ML engineer, I should focus on the algorithms, techniques, and methods used to achieve that, not the impact size.

3. Value the reader’s time by making their life easier. If your resume is detail-packed, give some keywords and a summary. Help recruiters see your strengths quickly. One of the key tricks is adding specific keywords from the job descriptions to your resumes. I took a lazier approach of just going through job descriptions for keywords and then making a superset covering maybe 80–95% of them before including that in my resume. For example, I specifically mentioned A/B testing for experiment design and highlighted deep learning methods for algorithms. That change gave me an 80% chance for a recruiter call after applying for a job.

4. Treat yourself like a product, your resume is your advertisement. The resume is all about the language and presentation — margin, blanks, and font size. Most of the time, I felt my resume was too fragile because of the time spent on it. A good resource I found was the Reddit community r/EngineeringResumes, especially the wiki. It has helped me rethink my resume twice rather than wait for recruiters to notice it.

This article, as it turned out, ended up much longer than I had expected. I started writing about these learnings in May and didn’t publish it until June. I keep rewrote most of the content again and again, because I wanted to make it personal and genuine yet encouraging for my readers so they could take away some kind of enjoyment from it and get a bit of strength to survive this bad job market.

A bit update about my current life: While the ordinary routine days have led to a lot of hustle and bustle, my baby, Ellie, has grown smarter. Being a mother and a machine learning engineer, I am debuting and trying to teach her using machine learning techniques. These are exciting methods and interesting experiments. And probably one day, I’m going to write about this learning process. For now, I hope you enjoy my insights, and I look forward to sharing the second part of my learnings soon.

Since you’ve made it to the end, it looks like you really enjoy my writing. So here’s a little shameless self-promotion about my other posts. As always, feel free to connect with me on LinkedIn for more discussions! 💡 And if you’d like to support my writing (or suggest my next topic), you can buy me a coffee on https://ko-fi.com/amyma101! ☕✨

As my 4-month-old daughter’s cries fill the room from her play mat, I find myself compelled to write about her. Consider this a personal review of my journey through parenthood, a mosaic of thoughts gathered along the way.

Where to begin? Perhaps with a portrait of her. Picture a charming little Asian infant, her eyes twinkling like beans, set in a perfectly round face, complemented by the slightest, most delicate curve of her lips. In need of a visual? Imagine her as the pineapple toy from Jellycat — the likeness is uncanny, from the bean-shaped eyes to the odd hairstyle. During her tummy time, her “pineapple” tuft waves in the air playfully, reminiscent of a flag or perhaps a cockatoo sporting a cyberpunk haircut. Her fine hair, so tender to the touch, bears a hint of brown at the tips — a souvenir from her time in the womb. Presently, she’s the epitome of cuteness, but rewind two months, and you’d find her looks like Paul Frank, the tiny, big-mouthed monkey. While her sparse, curly hairs mirroring the classic hairstyle of an elderly Asian grandmother (apologies, grandma!).

Ellie, that’s her name. The origin? Well, it stems from my fascination with the post-apocalyptic, particularly zombies, influenced heavily by the countless hours immersed in video games. My belief in an impending cataclysm has led me to adopt some rather unconventional hobbies, like archery and axe-throwing. Friends often chuckle at my earnest preparations for the zombie apocalypse, half-joking that I’ve missed my calling as a stand-up comedian. Yet, when curiosity gets the better of them, they’re eager to hear about my survival strategy.

And here it is, my survival strategy (I lay it out here and feel free to chuckle): my go-to haven would be a shopping plaza, ideally one housing a pet store and a wholesale warehouse like Costco. However, Costco is off-limits because of its popularity, hence likely swarming with zombies and other survivors. My choice? The pet store. I reckon some animals might still be uninfected, and frankly, I love animals more than human beings. Plus, as a cat owner, I’ve discovered that certain feline foods, like Tiki Cat, which boasts delicacies such as half a quail egg in their mix. It’s a strategy that promises companionship, minimal competition, and a large overlooked food supply — a no-brainer hideout, really.

BTW, I’d love to exchange more zombie survival tactics. It’s a topic ripe for creative exploration.

Let’s circle back to Ellie. Her namesake isn’t just any character. It comes from the famous video game called “The Last of Us”. Despite owning the game, I’ve never played it. Because its eerie vibe is a bit too intense and immersive for someone who half-believed zombies will become reality in the future. In the game, Ellie represents hope and resilience, immune to the virus that has ravaged humanity. While I don’t necessarily envision my Ellie as mankind’s savior, I do hope she embodies the same courage, independence, and resilience in the face of life’s zombies.

Now that you’re acquainted with Ellie, envision her as a spirited, toy-like figure with her messy hair embodying her mother’s aspirations of one day beating zombies.

Delving into the realm of parenthood, I must confess, the transition has been profound. Pre-Ellie, my understanding of motherhood was shaped by the myriad warnings of its complexities. As a quasi-New Yorker, who embrace the city’s vibe while residing in New Jersey, I’m somewhat hesitant about the idea of having children. My hesitance wasn’t rooted in personal reluctance but but a deeper concern for the myriad of societal challenges and pressures that seem to mount with each passing generation, particularly for a girl. Even though we’ve made progress in breaking down gender stereotypes, old-fashioned attitudes still linger, and we still need continuous effort to break free. Even with Ellie, I find myself reaching for pink outfits and plush toys, just because she’s a girl. Occasionally, I attempt to press down her unruly hair, a small act to fix her appearance. It’s an unwitting nod to societal expectations that gauge a woman’s worth by her appearance and behaviors.

As a woman in my thirties, navigating my own path through societal judgments, the thought of becoming a mom was overwhelming. How could I, still figuring out my own way to skip people’s judgments, take on being a mom and help my child face these tough standards and expectations?

Turns out, parenting is simpler than I thought, and my biggest takeaway? Don’t overplan it. No matter how detailed your plan is, your baby, the ultimate wildcard, will throw it off course. They’re like little bundles of randomness, capable of turning any strategy upside down, quickly humbling any parent who thought they had it all figured out. That’s why you often see people on social media screaming about how tough parenting is. Putting infants to sleep, for example, many say is a huge challenge. But it doesn’t have to be that complicated. You don’t need fancy gadgets like high-end cribs (Yes, I’m talking about SNOO). Just seek advice from experts and establish a routine. By the time my baby was 3 months old, a nighttime routine meant we didn’t need any special sleep training. She slept in her crib in our room, and we managed to get about 8 to 9 hours of sleep, with a break for feeding.

Reflecting on those social media posts about the difficulties of childcare and the need for expensive tech solutions, I understand why people think parenting is hard. It is challenging, but the rewards are immense. The joy of parenting often comes from overcoming the hardships. My husband and I have faced many difficulties, juggling work and childcare between us. But those tough times have turned into cherished moments. Her every little change, smile, the way her hair moves, and her baby scent bring us immense joy. These are the breaks we get from the relentless pursuit of money, approval, and career achievements. The real reward is getting to know her. Our little “pineapple” has a surprisingly good music taste than her dad, and she loves listening to me sing, even hitting the high notes in “Phantom of the Opera”. We’ve also noticed she might be left-handed, which is new for us right-handed parents.

Now, as I watch her lying there, hand waving in the air, I wouldn’t call her a miracle. She’s Ellie, my beacon of hope, helping me navigate this adult world that sometimes feels as daunting as a zombie apocalypse.

If you enjoyed this article and want to support my writing (or suggest my next topic), you can buy me a coffee on https://ko-fi.com/amyma101! ☕✨

An Unfiltered Review of My Parenting So Far was originally published in Human Parts on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I was laid off during my fifth month of pregnancy, and just two weeks post-delivery, I found myself with a tight butt.

The latter revelation came courtesy of my pelvic floor therapist as she tried to figure out why I struggled to walk after giving birth. As she pressed the muscles in my butt, I couldn’t help but yell in pain and gasp for air. “You need to relax, Amy. Your tense breathing is affecting your body,” she advised as she continued her examination, and boy, did it hurt!

So, there I was, a new mom to a 2-month-old baby girl, jobless and with the aforementioned tight butt. It sounds pretty miserable, right? And it was, at first. But not anymore. These challenges have been teaching me valuable lessons that I’m still absorbing:

First, the importance of taking long, deep breaths. It helps in relaxing both body and mind.

Second, your worth isn’t tied to your job. You need to be gentle with yourself.

This post isn’t just a narrative; it’s my personal experience about resilience, adaptability, and learning to flourish amidst life’s unforeseen changes.

Before we delve deeper into this journey of challenges, a little about me: I’m someone who likes to handle things independently, usually keeping a low profile and, quite literally, ‘clenching my butt’ in most situations. This became evident during my second year at college in China.

Back in 2011, my parents gave me 12,000 RMB (about 1.8k USD) to pursue master’s programs in the USA. Sounds great, right? Well, not exactly. The money wasn’t enough to hire someone to guide me through the process. I had to write all the personal essays and search for programs entirely on my own (without google btw). Not to mention, my GPA was a humble 3.2 at the time because I loathed both my program and university.

To make things even more challenging, my English skills left much to be desired (and I’m still working on them today) and I had to conquer the GRE and TOEFL exams within two years.

I tackled it all solo and was afraid of asking extra support from my parents. And confessing the gap between where I stood and those master’s programs was quite embarrassing. But with sheer determination and a lot of hard work (and yes, a clenched butt), I made it into the statistics program at Rutgers.

Ever since I can remember, my life resembled a relentless race against time. Constantly planning, striving, yet never quite understanding what I was chasing. The world felt like an unending competition, surrounded by peer pressure, amplified by social media. LinkedIn was constantly reminding me to congratulate friends landing jobs at big companies like Google and Apple. Instagram made me feel like I was missing out on fancy eateries and picturesque places. Even spending a weekend playing PS4 amidst fast food made me feel guilty. Society seems to measure your worth in so many unseen ways — popularity, an instagram like lifestyle, a prestigious job, or material symbols like a Birkin bag. But deep down, I questioned this measure of value and happiness.

My first date with my now-husband is a comical testament to this. We both pretended to love traveling and exercising, only to discover later that we’re both homebodies. It’s funny, yet a bit sad, how we felt the need to embellish to seem attractive. Fortunately, despite our initial pretenses, I found my perfect match — another ‘couch potato.’

You may question the relevance of my marriage to another homebody in this narrative. It underscores a lifelong pattern of seeking societal validation, tightly holding on to the quest for acceptance without seeking support. This pursuit, marked by a blend of loneliness, desperation, yet a strange sense of confidence due to my plans seemingly working out, became a part of my identity. The idea of taking a break from this relentless chase seemed unthinkable. However, this unyielding pace of life persisted until it reached a critical turning point in May 2023.

My husband and I were overjoyed to learn we were expecting our first child. Amidst the family celebrations, however, my career took an unexpected turn — I was laid off, just two weeks after revealing my pregnancy to my employer. The joy of impending motherhood was overshadowed by the dilemma of seeking employment during pregnancy or facing joblessness. Opting for the latter, given my condition, I plunged into a phase of stress and uncertainty. Even as I tried to keep my skills sharp, the practical, hands-on nature of being a data scientist made me feel like I was losing touch with my expertise and coding skills.

The following six months were a blend of uncertainty, pain, and hope, unlike anything I had ever experienced. My mind and body were constantly tense, unable to relax. During this period, I grappled with the collapse of my plans and the loss of my professional identity. The embarrassment of being laid off kept me from sharing my situation with friends and former colleagues. Imagine a pregnant woman with a forlorn expression, reluctantly sipping milk she detests for the sake of her baby’s health — that was me.

On October 1st, my daughter Ellie was born in New York City. Her first cry lasted five seconds, while my tears, a mix of joy, sadness, and fear, flowed for minutes. I mourned the loss of my old lifestyle and confronted my fear of the future. Holding Ellie, I apologized for the uncertainty of being able to provide the life she deserved.

Two months postpartum, I found myself unable to walk or lie on my left side without intense pain. A visit to a pelvic floor therapist became necessary. It was during therapy, focusing on breathing — “Inhale, one, two, three; exhale, one, two, three, four” — that I realized my body and life were urging me to slow down. My tense muscles were a testament to the pressure I had placed on myself, striving to meet others’ expectations and worrying about their perceptions. I had been punishing myself in a relentless pursuit of societal value, failing to adapt to life’s unexpected turns.

Even now, uncertainty remains a constant companion, and waves of anxiety occasionally wash over me. Yet, there’s a newfound determination in my approach to life. I’ve largely disconnected from the relentless churn of social media and stopped applying for jobs indiscriminately. Instead, I’m rediscovering my passion as a data scientist, exploring the basics of machine learning in a way that truly resonates with me. The small earnings from my writings, though modest, have brought me more satisfaction than many of the accomplishments of the past eight years. My life’s pace has shifted; I’m moving slower, with intention, kindness towards myself, and a focus on what genuinely matters. I want to savor every precious moment with Ellie and teach her that when life throws curveballs, it’s okay not to have all the answers.

To those who find themselves in a similar situation, especially if you’ve recently been laid off in these challenging economic times, this message is for you. It’s natural to feel unmoored, to grapple with a sense of loss and anxiety about the future. Remember, your job doesn’t define your worth, and being jobless is nothing to be ashamed of. You’re more than your professional title; you’re a son or daughter, a best friend, a parent. These roles are far more valuable than any position like tech lead or manager.

Now is the moment to reclaim your identity beyond the workplace. Say goodbye to what used to be — your old job included. Take a moment, breathe, relax, and always be gentle with yourself. This point in your life is more than just a hiatus; it’s a pivotal opportunity to pause, reflect, and reassess where you’re headed.

Acknowledgment

As I wrap up my ramblings on my personal experience, I can’t help but toss a massive shoutout to my superhero therapist, Venessa. Seriously, our conversations are like a magic potion for my overthinking brain — especially when it goes into overdrive about job stuff. She’s like a wizard of wisdom, sparking so many ‘aha!’ moments that you see sprinkled throughout this post. Thank you, Venessa, for turning my ‘ah’ days into ‘oh yeah’ days!