I opened the app's dashboard for the first time in three months, simply because I felt a bit nostalgic about it. It wasn't because the user count had grown, or because there were bug reports. I had a little free time one evening, and I just thought to myself, "I wonder what's happened to that app?"
The moment I logged in and checked the screen, I was a bit surprised. Six activities just today. Five yesterday. Last week too, and the week before that—there were traces of someone continuing to use it properly. Even though I hadn't launched it myself for over half a year, there was someone opening this app today. When I learned that, I felt something indescribable.
It wasn't simple pride or joy. It was something quieter—a quiet surprise that said, "Ah, this app has left my hands and is living properly on its own." I wanted to write today about this small change: how something I made "for myself" had somehow become something that "works for someone else."
"I Just Wanted to Record Things a Little More Gently"
Originally, it was an app to record my own habits. But the reason I couldn't manage it with existing apps wasn't technical—it was psychological.
At that time, I was a bit exhausted. Things weren't going well at work or in my personal life, and I had developed a strong aversion to "continuing every day." I kept using habit-tracking apps and then stopping partway through. When my consecutive streak would break and "STREAK 0" appeared on the screen, it felt like I was being blamed, and gradually I became afraid to even open the app.
So what I made was an app that was gentle with failure. It didn't display streaks. It had no concept of "days I skipped." It simply lined up the days I recorded, quietly and simply. The design was plain, the features minimal. But that was exactly what I needed at the time.
I Got a Little Stronger While Making It
While writing the code, I felt a little lighter. The sense of "creating something I need for myself" became a small anchor for me back then. When so many things weren't going well, having something I could feel I had control over was reassuring.
In the first week after release, I used it every day. Each time I recorded something, I felt like "I did it," and that made me happy. There was a strange feeling of being saved by something I had made myself.
Graduation Without Noticing the Graduation
Around six months in, I realized I had stopped opening the app. Not for a bad reason. Life had settled down a bit, and the act of "recording to encourage myself" was no longer necessary. Before I knew it, the habit had stopped being a habit—in other words, I had changed enough that I no longer needed the app.
Strangely, you don't notice this kind of "graduation" when it happens. You only realize it later, looking back: "Oh, I stopped using it around that time." It's a bit like how your favorite café gradually becomes somewhere you don't visit anymore.
Guilt and Awkward Limbo
To be honest, I felt guilty about not using my own app. It felt like I was "leaving it as is." I kept paying the server costs, wasn't using it myself, and wasn't updating it. Somewhere in my mind I thought "maybe it's okay now," but I didn't have the courage to delete it, so it stayed in this awkward state indefinitely.
If you're doing personal development, you might recognize this feeling. You don't know if it's being used, you don't know if you're using it, but you don't have the courage to delete it—maybe you have an app or two like that.
"Because It Doesn't Blame Me, I Can Keep Going"
One day, I finally checked the app's feedback section properly. There was a message like this:
"I was able to record again after a long time. I think I can keep going with this app because it doesn't blame me."
The sender was someone I didn't know. It was just a short line, but I couldn't move for a while after reading it.
"Because it doesn't blame me, I can keep going"—that was exactly why I made this app. Someone I didn't know was receiving today what I had wanted most back then.
Someone Like Me Back Then
After that, I started looking at the logs more carefully. Someone recording late at night. Someone using it at the same time every day. Someone picking it back up after a week away. Just from the numbers, I could almost see the outline of their life.
Reading through past feedback, I found someone who said, "Other apps started to scare me, so I switched to this one." Another person said, "I've failed many times before, but I think I can keep going with this." Every word overlapped with my past self.
I made this app for myself, but "the me from back then" exists somewhere in the world, and today they're opening this app too.
From the day I read that feedback, my feelings gradually changed.
Before, my stance was "I'll fix it because I use it." I'd improve it because I was dissatisfied. I'd add features because I wanted them. But now it's different. I don't use it anymore, but someone does. A feeling emerged that I wanted to be a little more careful for that someone.
It wasn't a dramatic change. One weekend, I fixed a small display misalignment on a screen that had been bothering me for a while. That's all. But just that, and the feeling when I released it was different from before. For the first time, I made an update "for someone else" rather than "for myself." I still remember the slight tension at that moment and the quiet feeling after release.
It Doesn't Need to Be Big, It Doesn't Need to Be Deleted
This app isn't a major product. The monthly users aren't that many, and there's almost no revenue. The features have barely changed since the beginning. And yet someone is opening it today, and maybe someone will record tomorrow.
Given that fact, I think what I can do is "keep it running." There's no need to rush to add features. But if it breaks, I'll fix it. If the display gets weird, I'll fix it. I want to continue this kind of small involvement, thinly and steadily.
"Whether It's Being Used" and "Whether I'm Using It" Are Different Things
When you continue personal development, there are many moments when you feel anxious: "I wonder if anyone's using this?" Especially for things you no longer use yourself. But what I realized this time is that "whether it's being used" and "whether I'm using it now" are completely different things.
An app leaves the hands of the person who made it and becomes the possession of the people who use it. I finally felt this sink in as I gazed blankly at the dashboard logs.
One last thing.
I think "making something to solve your own problem" is probably the most sincere motivation. Not a pretense of doing it for someone else, but making it because you're struggling. That earnestness really does live in the product.
So when that problem is solved—when you realize you've "graduated"—maybe you don't need to let go of the app. Because the worry you had yesterday might be what someone has today. Because the app you quietly let go of might be opening right now in someone's hands.
I'm still paying the server costs for an app I don't use myself today. That action, which felt frustrating not long ago, now feels just a little bit proud. If someone like me from back then was able to record properly today—that's enough.
Lily
Lily (@bokuwalily) — Individual developer. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI.
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Lily (@bokuwalily) — Individual developer / AI adoption and business automation consultant. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI while consulting with companies on AI adoption and automation.
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