It's been almost 3 years since I started solo development. The first year was all-consuming. There was an exhilaration in "being able to create my own product," and learning something new every day was genuinely fun. But around the time I entered the second year, I began noticing a strange sensation in certain moments. It wasn't so much "loneliness" as it was a sense of "unreality"—a peculiar floating feeling of "Am I creating something right now in a place where no one can see me?" This article is about the day Lily, experiencing this, sent a DM to another solo developer she spotted on social media. It wasn't a big deal. What she sent was just one line. But that single line opened a small window in the development room where she had been working alone.
I think the greatest freedom in solo development is not having to ask anyone for permission. If I want to change the design, I can. If I want to cut features, I can. There's no "deciding in meetings" or "getting approval from a boss." That freedom is truly comfortable, and it's one of the big reasons I chose this way of working.
But behind that freedom, something gradually becomes heavier.
All decision-making comes back to me. Even if I ask someone "Is this feature really necessary?" they'll say "decide for yourself"—but when that "self" is the only one around for a long time, I notice my judgment criteria gradually becoming distorted without realizing it. When I postponed a release, I couldn't confirm with anyone whether "this is being careful or just being scared," and I had to reach a conclusion alone. That accumulation didn't feel like fatigue so much as sediment settling at the bottom.
When SNS Was My "Peephole"
I followed hashtags where solo developers gathered and read other people's progress reports every morning. "Released it," "Finally got v2.0 out," "Got 100 people using it"—I had time to gaze at posts like these while sipping coffee.
But that was only "observation." I'd like their posts, but I never spoke to them. I can't quite put the reason into words, but there was this sense of "I wonder if I'm allowed to enter that space." Everyone's moving forward. I'm still in the middle. That kind of shyness had always been deep in my chest. Somewhere, I believed that speaking up required some kind of "qualification."
The turning point came in November 2024.
A certain account posted this: "Solo development, 8 months in. I have 30 users. It's starting to feel empty." The account had few followers, and there were barely any replies. But that one sentence hit me so hard I saved it as a screenshot.
"8 months in," "30 users," "starting to feel empty"—isn't this my story from last year? The numbers were different, but the emotion felt like it had been copied exactly. Through the screen, I felt like I could see someone standing in exactly the same place, stuck.
I hesitated for about 5 minutes whether to comment on that post or send a DM. A comment felt too short; I wanted to have a proper conversation, so I sent a DM.
When I Typed "Are You Experiencing the Same Thing?"
This is all I wrote:
"Hi. I just read your post and felt compelled to reach out. I've experienced that emptiness at 8 months too. Are you experiencing the same thing?"
After I hit send, regret came slowly. "They might think I'm someone who can't read the room," "They might leave me on read," "Maybe I'm being a bother." I turned off notifications and tried to escape to other work. But 2 hours later, a reply came.
"Thank you so much. I never thought anyone was reading, so I almost cried."
Reading that one line, I almost cried too.
After that, I exchanged DMs with that person for about an hour.
I noticed something. The other person had much more solid technical skills than me. But they were "scared to show anyone, stuck in beta for over half a year." I released relatively quickly, but I was stuck in a sense of "not resonating with anyone." We were standing in front of different walls, but the roots were quite similar.
I realized that each person stands before a different wall. But that wall, invisible as it is, is really there—and I only truly felt that when I talked about it with someone.
The Event That Changed My Judgment
During that exchange, the other person said: "Even when I release it, it doesn't reach anyone, and I don't know if there's meaning in creating anymore."
I spoke honestly. "I experienced the disappointment of releasing and not reaching anyone, and because of that, I started thinking 'how do I deliver this' first. I started designing the delivery method before the creation itself."
As I said that, I realized something. I thought I had figured out this shift in judgment on my own, but this was the first time I'd put it into words. If I hadn't talked about it with someone, it might have stayed vague in my mind forever. By speaking it aloud, my experience finally took shape. That was the moment when "something I'd been vaguely feeling" became "something I had learned."
Until then, I had vaguely seen "joining a community" as something grandiose. Entering a circle, introducing myself, taking on a role, contributing—I imagined all that weight, and I had the belief that "it's too early for me," "I'd be a bother if I joined without having accomplished anything."
But what I learned from that DM exchange was that connection doesn't require "qualifications."
"I've experienced that emptiness at 8 months too"—that was enough. Achievements and fame didn't matter. As someone who had been in that same place, I just needed to say "I was there too." It took me a long time to realize that simplicity.
What I Changed Into Small Actions
Since then, I've changed how I use SNS a little. I went from being "someone who observes" to being "someone who speaks up" once a month. My one rule—"only speak up when I see a post that overlaps with my own experience." Don't send words without genuine empathy.
That alone changed things. I've only exchanged messages with a few people, and I haven't become friends with all of them or worked on projects together. But the sense of "I'm doing this alone, but I'm not alone" is slowly accumulating. My work room is still quiet, but the quality of that quietness feels a little different.
Solo development is lonely work. That's unavoidable, and I think it's okay to some extent. Because that lonely time is what lets me concentrate and hear my own voice.
But being lonely and being isolated are different things.
If there's a moment when you read someone's post and think "oh, that's me too," I think there are people reading this article who've felt that. That feeling is okay to turn into action. "I haven't accomplished anything yet" doesn't matter. The size of your achievements and your right to connect are separate things.
"Are you experiencing the same thing?"—this one line seems like a question to the other person, but it was actually a way of giving myself permission. Permission to believe "maybe I'm not alone."
I wrote this hoping that a small window opens in that lonely work room.
Lily（@bokuwalily）― Solo developer. Creating 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, I now create iOS apps and web services independently. I consult on customer acquisition, user flow design, and AI implementation and business automation.
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