Last month, I held out my smartphone screen to my mother. It was an app I had created myself. It took three months to release. I redesigned it many times, tested it alone late into the night, and for some reason couldn't sleep the night before pressing the release button. I still vividly remember that night when I was finally able to show the app to someone I care about. My mother stared at the screen for a while, then looked up and smiled with a small nod. "That's amazing, it's working properly," she said, and handed the smartphone back to me. I thanked her, but somewhere deep in my heart, I felt a hollow emptiness. This time, I'm going to write honestly about that. I'm thinking that those of you doing indie development probably have some sense of what I'm talking about.
After dinner, we sat side by side on the sofa, and I explained how to use the app one step at a time. "This is the recording screen, you can input here by tapping, and the graph is over here." My mother listened properly. She nodded along, saying "mm-hmm" in agreement.
But halfway through, I noticed something. My mother's gaze wasn't directed at the content of the screen, but at the fact that "my daughter is explaining earnestly."
It was a very warm gaze. But it wasn't the gaze of someone who understood the app's value. It was a look mixed with surprise that "my daughter has become capable of making something like this," affection, and a feeling of support even though she didn't quite understand—all blended together.
The problem I had spent three months trying to solve, the ingenuity I had put into the design, the countless difficult UI decisions I had agonized over—almost none of it came across. It wasn't that this was bad; it was just that I realized that's how it is.
Looking back, I had been under a misunderstanding all along.
If I showed it to someone I care about and they were happy, then it had "gotten through," I thought.
But when I saw my mother's face with that small nod, I felt that was slightly different. My mother was happy not because she understood the app's value, but because of the fact that "Lily created something." That's wonderful in its own way. But it's a slightly different story from "getting through."
When I first started indie development, I thought, "If someone uses it, then it has gotten through." Next, I thought, "If the person who uses it praises me, then it has gotten through." But I'm starting to feel that's not quite right either.
About My First Release
When I released my first app, I posted it on X. I wrote "I made it!" and attached screenshots. I got some likes and replies saying "Amazing!" But the download count was in the single digits.
I was praised, yet it wasn't being used. This gap stuck with me.
When I showed it to acquaintances, something similar happened. They would say "That looks interesting," but never used it again. There was no ill intent. It just wasn't something they needed. But back then, I counted that as "getting through." That's why it was even harder.
The turning point came with a single message.
About two months after release, I received feedback from a user I didn't know. "I use this app every morning. Before, 〇〇 was such a hassle that I couldn't keep it up, but thanks to this, it's become a habit," the message said.
When I read it, my chest tightened.
My mother's small nod and smile were nice. My acquaintance's "That looks interesting" was nice. But the weight of this message was completely different. I felt like the sense of "getting through" finally made sense.
That person doesn't know me. They don't know how many months I spent making it, or that I couldn't sleep the night before release. But the app had truly taken root in their life.
The Resolution of "Getting Through" Changed
That's when it happened—the resolution of the phrase "getting through to someone" changed.
I started to think that getting through means solving someone's problem. Not making them smile, not getting praised. It's when the inconvenience or hassle or something that wasn't working out that someone was dealing with becomes just a little bit easier. Maybe that's what "getting through" really means.
If that's the case, then even though my mother smiled and nodded, maybe "getting through" didn't happen there. My mother didn't have the problem my app was trying to solve in the first place. That's natural, and no one is at fault. It was just that the "person to reach" was different.
The experience of "not getting through" is painful. Especially when someone you care about doesn't quite get it, it can feel like your creation is being rejected.
But now, my perspective has changed a little.
Maybe it didn't get through not because what I made was bad, but because I was trying to reach the wrong person. When I think about it that way, I realize it's important to think more carefully about "who I want to reach."
At first, I was making things for "people who are somehow struggling." But that doesn't reach anyone very well. Once I started imagining a specific person with a specific problem, things gradually started to change.
I Started Taking Small Actions
I haven't done anything big. But I've started doing small things like this.
First, I started writing a line before release saying "I'm making this for people like this." It's to clarify my target audience in my own mind before writing the description. When I write it out, I increasingly notice, "Wait, who am I actually making this for?"
Next, I started reaching out to people who used it. Nothing as formal as a survey, just a single line: "How was it using it?" That alone let me discover that the way I imagined it being used was completely different from how it was actually being used.
And I started keeping a record of messages and comments that showed it got through. So I can read them again when I'm feeling down. If there's even one comment saying "This was convenient," my motivation to keep making things comes back.
This is getting long, but let me be honest at the end.
My mother's small nod and smile is a treasure to me.
Even if she didn't understand the app's value, even if she didn't have the problem it solves, the fact that she smiled with the feeling "Lily worked hard" is something I think is amazing.
When you're doing indie development, you sometimes feel lonely. You write code alone, you carry failures alone, and there are nights when things don't work out and you're alone. In those times, the presence of someone who doesn't understand but is quietly supporting you can gently push your back.
The meaning of "getting through" is in a slightly different place from a loved one's smile. But a loved one's smile is also necessary. It's a different kind of thing, but equally important, I think.
When you're doing indie development, you sometimes feel like "no one understands."
But maybe it's just that you haven't met the person you're meant to reach yet.
My mother smiled and nodded. It wasn't a response to the app's value, but a response to "Lily keeps creating." While receiving that, I keep making things.
To meet that one person I'm meant to reach, I'm going to keep trying to reach a little longer. There's no need to rush. I don't mean to sound preachy, but I do think continuing is the only path.
I hope what you've created reaches the person it's meant to reach. And I hope I can keep creating properly for that "someone" too.
Lily (@bokuwalily) — Indie developer. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI.
