2 AM. In my room, there's just me and my computer, and outside is silent. I've been staring at the same screen for hours now, and finally one thing started moving. That feeling when a part that's been stuck for so long suddenly gets solved by a sudden realization. I thought "I did it." But there's no one to tell that "I did it" to. When you're doing solo development, there are so many moments like this. Small victories no one knows about, late-night successes no one witnesses. While Lily has been making various things on her own, she's spent a lot of time in these quiet hours. Today, I'd like to write about one of those late-night stories.
There's No One to Praise You
When you're developing as a team, there's code review, and when something gets merged, someone might say "nice work." But solo development is different. Only you know what you've created.
At first, it felt a bit lonely, and I even tried posting "Done!" on social media a few times. But somehow, I couldn't quite put it into words. Writing "I implemented 〇〇 feature" felt pointless when I could already see it being ignored, so I'd usually just delete the draft.
It's not that I want praise. It's just that I wanted someone to know about this "I did it"—or rather, I wanted to properly record it, I think.
Progress Gradually Becomes Invisible
Another problem is that the sense of progress fades. I'm working a little bit every day, but gradually I stop understanding where I'm heading or how much progress I've made. Before I know it, I'm in a mode of "it feels like I haven't done anything."
Even if I make a to-do list, completed items just disappear. Since they disappear, I can't answer the question "what have I been building up?"
I still remember a certain late night.
A part that hadn't worked for over a month finally started working, and all the tests passed. I was happy, but had no one to tell, and when I went to save the changes as usual, I accidentally wrote:
"Finally passed!! At last!!! "
As a work record, well, it's not great, right? I know the proper way is something like "Added 〇〇 feature." But at that moment, I didn't have the energy to care about that, and I didn't want to. I just wrote honestly, and there were three exclamation marks.
That was the beginning.
It Became a Habit Before I Knew It
That one time gradually became a habit. When something actually worked, when I finally solved a difficult problem, when I created something that felt good, I started quietly writing my true feelings in the message when saving.
"Finally figured out the thing I've been stuck on for 3 days" "Honestly I was thinking about giving up, but today I grew to like it a little" "I hope someone gets to use this someday"
No one reads it, just my own words. But writing it somehow calms me down.
The Day I Looked Back at the Logs
One day, I casually looked through my past change history. At first it was just to check "when did I change that," but before I knew it, I'd been reading for a while.
"So that happened" "I felt that way at that time"—there was a record of it. Between the technical change records, fragments of my emotions were mixed in, like reading a diary.
Right after a past version of me wrote "maybe I can't do this," the very next record said "oh, I got it. It works." That flow was preserved there, and I couldn't help but laugh. I really did get through it.
During the day, while working or writing ideas on my phone while out, I somehow try to use "proper words." I put on a bit of a facade, assuming someone might see it.
But a one-liner at 2 AM has that filter removed. I'm tired, so I don't even have the energy to look cool. I just write it as is.
As a result, the late-night one-liners are more honest. "tired" is written there, or doubts like "was this really okay?" are just left in. But that honesty resonates most vividly when you read it back.
The value as a record might be higher in honest words than in organized ones. I've been thinking that lately.
What I Noticed in the Morning
After a while, I noticed something. On mornings after nights when I'd written "finally did it" or "felt pretty good today" before bed, opening my computer somehow didn't feel like a burden.
Conversely, on mornings after days when I'd ended without writing anything, still feeling "I can't do this," opening my work folder felt a bit heavier.
I can't prove the cause, but I can feel it clearly. The way I ended the previous day affects how I start the next day. And I think that late-night one-liner is slightly changing that "way of ending."
Can You Think "I'll continue tomorrow"?
I've come to think that what's needed to continue solo development isn't big motivation, but the small feeling of "I'll continue tomorrow."
Whether you can pass that feeling to the next day. That seems to determine whether you can keep going long-term.
That late-night one-liner might be like a letter to my future self. It's a report saying "I got this far today," and also an invitation saying "come back tomorrow."
When doing solo development, you often don't acknowledge your own progress because of reasons like "I haven't released it yet," "I don't have users yet," "it's not finished yet." Lily did that for a long time too.
But if you wait until completion to celebrate, there's almost no opportunity to celebrate. Completion is still far away.
Picking Up "Today's Small Victories"
Since I started writing honestly, something changed a little. I started reflecting on "what happened today" at the end of work.
It doesn't have to be big progress. "Finally understood a term I've been confused about," "managed to focus for 10 minutes," "checked one thing off"—that level is fine.
Add just one line about it and save. That's all it takes for that day to become "not a day where nothing happened."
Records Aren't Self-Affirmation, They're Evidence
Lily has a bit of resistance to talk like "let's build up self-affirmation." Even if I try to force myself to think "I'm doing it! I'm amazing!" somewhere the brakes kick in with "but really..."
So instead, I record it. Not emotion, but fact. "I did this today"—accumulating evidence.
I don't need to pump myself up with feelings. If the facts remain, I can look at them and confirm. "I really have been doing this" isn't a feeling—it's confirmation.
I wrote this because I wanted it to reach someone else working alone in the late night.
Solo development is basically solitary. There are almost no moments when someone applauds you. But that doesn't mean your "I did it" doesn't exist.
It doesn't have to be in change history. A notepad, phone notes, anything. I want you to write down somewhere what moved a little today, what you understood, what you managed to continue.
Lily will probably keep writing her true feelings in those 2 AM one-liners. No one might read them, but my future self will. And probably, that future self will start again tomorrow.
To everyone still making things alone, thank you for your hard work today.
Lily (@bokuwalily) — Solo developer. Making iOS apps and web services with AI as my partner.
