I've been building software for over 20 years. Flash games, web apps, enterprise platforms, UX systems — I've shipped more projects than I can count. So when I told people I was going back to university to do a PhD, the reaction was pretty consistent: "Why?"
Not encouraging why. Skeptical why. The kind of why that really means "you have a career, you have experience, what could academia possibly give you that you don't already have?"
Fair question. Here's my answer.
It Started at Home
I have a daughter on the autism spectrum. She's brilliant, curious, and absolutely full of energy for the things that interest her. But when she uses edtech tools — the apps and platforms designed to help kids learn — she gets distracted. Easily. Frequently. And none of these tools notice. None of them adapt. None of them care.
They're not built for her. They're not built for any child with special needs, really. They're built for the average learner, whoever that mythical person is, and everyone else is expected to just... keep up.
I watched my daughter struggle with tools that were supposed to help her learn, and I thought: I've spent 20 years building software. Why can't I build something that actually works for her?
That question wouldn't leave me alone. I tried to shake it off, to file it under "someday." But it kept coming back. Every time she got frustrated with an app. Every time I saw a learning platform treat her like every other kid. Every time.
So I stopped waiting and started a PhD.
What People Said
Most people were skeptical. And I get it. From the outside, it looks like a step backwards. I had a career. I had clients. I had income. Going back to being a student at this stage? Voluntarily?
The doubters weren't wrong about the practical side. The finances are real — a PhD doesn't pay like industry, not even close. And the pace is completely different. In industry, you build fast and ship. In academia, everything moves slower. Papers take months. Ethics approvals take months. The feedback loop that I was used to — build, test, deploy, iterate — doesn't exist here. You read, you think, you write, you wait.
Those have been the hardest adjustments. The money and the pace. I won't pretend otherwise.
The Mountain of Reading
Here's something nobody warned me about: the reading. I knew a PhD involved research. I knew there would be papers. What I didn't fully appreciate was the sheer volume of it. The systematic literature review alone — which is just Phase 1 of my research — means reading hundreds of papers. Not skimming. Actually reading them, understanding the methodology, extracting relevant findings, mapping the landscape of what's been done.
In industry, if you need to learn something, you find a tutorial, build a prototype, and figure it out by doing. In academia, you read everything that's ever been written about the topic first. Then you read the things those papers reference. Then you read the critiques of those papers. It's reading all the way down.
I'm not complaining — it's genuinely fascinating. But it was the biggest surprise. My industry career did not prepare me for this amount of structured reading.
Does Industry Experience Help?
In some ways, yes. I can build things. When the time comes to implement and prototype, I won't be learning to code from scratch. I understand systems architecture, user experience, real-world deployment challenges. That matters.
But academia values different things. Publications matter. Methodology matters. The ability to position your work within existing literature matters. Your 20-year CV doesn't carry the same weight as a well-cited paper. It's a different currency, and you have to earn it from scratch.
It's also a double-edged sword. My experience makes me impatient sometimes. When I see a problem, my instinct is to build a solution. In research, you have to resist that urge and make sure you deeply understand the problem first. You have to earn the right to propose a solution by proving you understand what's been tried before and why it didn't work.
What I'm Actually Researching
My PhD at the University of West London is focused on building a modular AI framework for detecting engagement and focus shifts in autistic higher-education students. The technical side involves affective computing — using facial expressions and vocal cues to understand how a learner is feeling in real time.
But the human side is what drives me. I want to build something that notices when a student is losing focus. That adapts instead of ploughing ahead. That works with how neurodivergent minds operate instead of against them.
I'm not just researching this because it's academically interesting. I'm researching it because I've seen the problem firsthand, at my own kitchen table, with my own daughter.
What's the End Goal?
Everything, honestly. I want to build the tool myself — not just write about it theoretically, but actually create something that works. I want to push the edtech field to take neurodivergent learners seriously, not as an edge case but as a core design consideration. I want to bridge the gap between industry and academia, because both sides have things the other needs. And yes, I want the personal growth. I want to prove to myself that 20 years of experience can be channelled into something bigger than the next client project.
Am I there yet? No. It's too early to tell if this was the right call. I haven't had that big confirmation moment yet. But I also haven't had a moment of real doubt. The motivation is too personal for doubt.
So, Should You Do a PhD?
People ask me this now. Developers with 10, 15, 20 years of experience. "Should I go back and do a PhD?"
My honest answer: do it. No regrets.
But I'll qualify that. Do it if you have a question that burns. Do it if there's a problem you can't stop thinking about. Do it if you're willing to trade speed for depth, income for purpose, and comfort for growth. Don't do it for the title. Don't do it because you're bored. Do it because something matters to you enough that you're willing to spend years understanding it properly.
For me, that something is my daughter. And every kid like her who deserves technology that actually sees them.
I'm at the beginning of this journey. Phase 1. Systematic review. Hundreds of papers and a growing understanding of just how much work lies ahead. But for the first time in my career, I'm not building something for a client or a deadline. I'm building something because it needs to exist.
That feels different. That feels right.