When I first opened my personal web page, it looked sad; plain black text on a white background, no margins, no personality. Learning CSS felt like discovering a box of paints after years of pencil sketches. Suddenly, I could color paragraphs, adjust spacing, and animate elements. Each felt like me, even though I barely did anything with the color it meant a lot to me.
I started with basic color theory. I learned that colors play a psychological role: blues calm, yellows energize, and muted tones soothe. I chose a soft teal for my headings and a warm gray for body text. As I tweaked hex codes, I realized I was experimenting with my own mood. Brighter colors lifted me when I felt stuck; darker themes grounded me in late-night coding sessions.
Next came layout. CSS Flexbox felt like learning to dance—aligning items, spacing them evenly, and justifying content. When I mastered display: flex; justify-content: space-between; align-items: center;, I felt a rush of confidence. My navigation bar looked balanced, and my images aligned perfectly. Flexbox wasn’t just a tool; it was sort of teaching me that balance needed in code.
Box shadows and transitions added subtle depth. I used box-shadow: 0 2px 4px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); to lift card elements off the page and transition: background-color 0.3s ease; to make buttons respond smoothly on hover. These small details felt like courtesy: my page was acknowledging every visitor’s actions. In doing so, I realized design isn’t only about aesthetics; it’s about empathy.
Responsive design was a big challenge. I learned how @media (max-width: 600px) could change layout rules for phones and tablets. Making my site adapt felt like solving a puzzle: how do I preserve my design’s essence on a tiny screen? When I finally got my header menu to collapse into a hamburger icon, I cheered. The site had learned to breathe and bend, just like I had while learning it.
My CSS journey also taught me to embrace mistakes. I once wrote background-colour instead of background-color and spent an hour wondering why nothing changed. That typo lesson stuck harder than any tutorial. I started to appreciate the precision CSS demands, and with it came patience.
Today, my stylesheet is more than code; it’s a journal of my confidence. When I open my editor, I don’t just see declarations, I see my growth, one selector at a time.