I remember well the day I decided on the release date. When I wrote "Let's aim for the end of March" in my planner, for some reason I felt a little brighter. Even though there was a mountain of things to do, once the date was set, I felt like I could run. With that thought, I put down my pen. But the end of March came and passed quietly. April too, May too. Ever since, I've been repeating the same thing. I set a new date, and when that date arrives, I think "just a little more" and push it forward, then set another date, and push it forward again. No one scolds me, there's no penalty. I'm the only one who knows about this deadline, and I'm the only one breaking it over and over. Today, I thought I'd write about this a little more honestly. I'm not sure if I can organize it well, but I'd be happy if it reaches someone having the same experience.
Why I Didn't Tell Anyone
Lily started making her first app in weekend work squeezed between her job. She decided "first, something I can use myself," narrowed down the features, and intended to finish it simply.
The reason I didn't publicly announce the release date is clear. I didn't want to fail. Rather than being disappointed by someone when I announced a date and couldn't keep it, it felt easier to work on it without telling anyone. If I couldn't release it, if it stayed contained within myself, I wouldn't get hurt. That's what I thought.
Looking back now, that choice to "avoid getting hurt" might have become the breeding ground for allowing delays. Not seeing failure means not seeing progress either, and I could continue in a state where no one would know even if I had stopped moving without realizing it.
The First Excuse Was "Polish"
When I pushed back the first deadline, the reason was "I want to refine it a bit more." The UI was too rough, error handling was insufficient, onboarding was too unfriendly.
None of these were lies. But I vaguely knew that none of them were truly "reasons not to release." I was pretending not to see that behind "I want to refine it" was the feeling "I'm scared and want to procrastinate." I was turning a blind eye to it.
One day, I went back through my planner and counted.
I picked out the dates I'd written as "〇 month end," and there were 7 of them. Counting from the first target, roughly 11 months had passed.
7 times.
When I said it out loud, it was more than I expected, and I laughed a little. I think I laughed because I had no choice but to give up. It was surprising that laughter came before anger. The number 7 seemed somehow comedic. But after laughing, a feeling gradually came: "I need to face this a bit."
A Post I Saw in the Community
Around the time I'd postponed the deadline 7 times, I saw a post in a Discord community for indie developers.
"I released it at 60% completion. If even one person uses it, I feel like I can keep going."
I didn't know that person well. I barely remember their name or icon. But that one sentence wouldn't leave my head for a while. The combination of the specific number "60%" and the small hope of "even one person" somehow hit me in a real way.
The part I thought was "unpolished" and that person's "60%" were probably in roughly the same state. Yet they released it. I didn't. I think the difference wasn't technical skill or time, but that one step of "well, let me just put it out there."
What I Changed Because of Those Words
The day after seeing that post, Lily made one decision: "I'll release it this weekend."
I stopped looking at the unpolished parts and used only one criterion: "Can someone touch this in its current state?" As long as it didn't crash with errors or lose entered information, I could release it. With that decision, I published it that weekend.
It wasn't perfect. But someone could touch it. When I shared it on SNS, three people tried it, and I got the words "it was easy to use." Those two days that weekend gave me so much more than the 11 months I'd spent postponing 7 times.
Since releasing, there's something I've been thinking about constantly.
What is a deadline that no one knows about really for?
When a deadline comes from outside, the meaning is clear. If it's a work deadline, someone will be inconvenienced if I don't meet it. If it's an exam date, the opportunity disappears if I don't take it then. But "end of March," which I announced to no one, isn't a deadline to protect something. No one suffers if I break it. But within myself, the fact that "I failed to keep it again" quietly accumulates.
A Promise to Myself Named as a Cage
I thought a deadline I set myself was meant to maintain motivation. Without that kind of boundary of "until this day," work felt like it would never end.
But in reality, as each deadline approached, the pull of "I still have time" and "it'll be better if I wait a little longer" grew stronger. The closer the deadline, the more scared I became, the more I wanted to run away. Looking back at why I postponed 7 times, technical issues were the cause for the first 1-2 times, but the rest were mostly "some kind of anxiety."
The deadline was supposed to be a tool to move me forward, but somewhere along the way it became a cage to blame myself for "not keeping it."
I Was Putting Too Much Meaning Into the Deadline
What I realized after postponing 7 times was that the date itself had no meaning.
Whether it was end of March or end of April, no one was waiting. The only thing that changed was my feelings. If that's the case, maybe "the resolve to decide to release" was much more necessary than "a deadline to release in good condition." If I'm going to use a deadline as a tool, it has to be something that moves me forward. A deadline that only exists to blame myself for not keeping it is actually a hindrance.
Even now, I set deadlines. It's true that nothing moves without setting them.
But I changed how I set them and how I use them a bit.
I Decide on a "Day to Judge" Rather Than a "Day to Release"
Before, I would decide "I'll release at the end of 〇 month." Now I decide "the end of 〇 month will be the day I judge whether to release or not."
It looks like a small difference, but the emotional burden is completely different. When the decision day comes, I check "is it in a releasable state," and if it is, I release it. If it's not, I write one line about what's missing and set the next judgment day. Since I started using this method, the time I waste blaming myself has decreased. Instead of "I failed to keep it," it becomes "I judged today that I shouldn't release," so I can stay a little more neutral.
I Set "Minimum Release Conditions" First
The other thing I changed is deciding beforehand "what needs to be there to release."
It works, information doesn't disappear, it doesn't crash with errors. If these three things are in place, I release. Even if the design is rough or features are few, if this standard is met, I can release, and I decide that upfront.
The way I work is a little different between continuing to work while moving the finish line and setting release standards upfront. The former is "still not enough," and the latter is "just this much left." "Just this much left" feels much closer to the end.
When I Postpone, I Write Just One Line About Why
Still, there are times I postpone the deadline. When I do, I write just one line about why.
"This part of the UI doesn't work," "I was feeling unwell," "I couldn't get myself to do it." If the reason is clear, the next deadline setting becomes more realistic. When I write "I was just scared for some reason," that's an honest reason in itself, and it becomes a chance to think a little about what I'm scared of.
I stopped thinking of postponing itself as evil, and it became a little easier. I think the problem wasn't postponing itself, but that I couldn't even grasp for myself why I was postponing.
I'm still making things.
That app whose deadline I postponed 7 times is still running. There are a few people using it, and feedback arrives sometimes, and each time I think "I'm glad I released it."
I'm not sure if "I could release it because it wasn't perfect" is the precise way to say it. But if I had kept thinking "I'll release it once it's perfect," I think I still wouldn't have released it.
Maybe a personal development deadline doesn't have to be something to keep. If I can use it as an excuse to move forward, that's enough. Counting the things I've released feels like it lets me keep making things much more than counting the number of times I failed to keep a deadline.
To you who are continuing to make things while deciding dates only you know and postponing them over and over. Lily is the same.
Lily（@bokuwalily）― Indie developer. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI
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Lily（@bokuwalily）― After leading a marketing organization of 50 people as CMO, now making iOS apps and web services individually. I consult on customer acquisition, user flow design, and AI implementation and business automation
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