Why are numbers so difficult to handle? When Lily released an app, she first checked the download count many times a day. Before even opening her phone in the morning, the image of that screen floated in her mind. 0, 1, 3, 5. Her heart leaped each time the numbers increased, and anxiety set in the moment they stopped. She continued this cycle without telling anyone. This article is about those "nights when you carry numbers alone." It's neither a story of success nor failure, but about how it's hard to talk to anyone whether the numbers are too small or too large—I've tried to write as honestly as possible about that frustration and the feeling when you find a place to confide. I'd be happy if this reaches even a little to those who are facing numbers in the same way.
The moment you publish an app is a strange thing. Something you've spent months creating finally goes out into the world. That feeling was truly warm and gradual.
But the next morning, when I opened the dashboard—the numbers barely moved.
7 downloads.
Excluding my own test downloads and the ones my family installed for me, it was really just 3 people. I posted announcements on SNS and reached out to friends. Yet this number. My head understood "that's how it is at first," but I couldn't take my eyes off it, opened it again in the middle of the night, and it was still 7, so I gently put my phone face-down.
The Difficulty of Saying "It's Small"
I couldn't tell anyone about this number 7.
If I told a friend, I felt like they'd give me a look that said "oh, that must be tough." If I mentioned it in a tech community, I'd probably get encouragement like "there's still room to grow," and that hurt even more. I didn't want to be encouraged—I just wanted to say "it's 7, you know," but those words got stuck in my throat.
A small number felt like proof of my own ability, and I was afraid to show it.
After that, over several months, I continued steady improvements, and the download count reached three digits. Sales started coming in little by little. I was happy. I was really happy.
But—I couldn't talk about it again.
The Contradiction of Numbers Being Too Large to Discuss
I started to tell a friend "I'm making about ○○ yen a month," but stopped midway. It wasn't a large amount. But the moment I said that number, it felt like something would change. The discomfort of being told "that's amazing," or the fear of a reaction like "that's all?" Either way, I was afraid.
Even in communities of other indie developers, talking about numbers felt difficult. What if it sounds like bragging? What if we compare, if I compare? With that consideration coming first, I'd end up glossing over it with vague words like "things are moving a little bit lately."
Whether it was 7 or 300, the numbers were always only in my chest.
Numbers you can't tell anyone about are heavier than you'd think.
When good numbers came out, I'd dismiss them with "this might just be a fluke," and when bad numbers came out, I'd drag them along thinking "I knew it." In that repetition, my ability to view numbers objectively became increasingly clouded. I couldn't celebrate a 0.01% improvement, or I'd get curious about competitors' numbers and start researching in the middle of the night. I was being swayed by numbers, but couldn't talk about it with anyone.
Solo development has the freedom to make all decisions and releases yourself. But at the same time, you have to bear all the weight yourself. Good or bad, you can't distribute it with anyone—you just keep digesting it alone. I realized at some point that this had actually been quite draining.
The Limits of Telling Yourself "Don't Compare"
People often say "don't compare yourself to others' numbers." Lily told herself the same thing. But even when I wasn't trying to compare, seeing a post like "10,000 downloads in a week after release" flow through my timeline would make my heart flutter. I couldn't tell if I was comparing or just taking it as information about my own numbers.
"Don't compare" wasn't the answer. I now realize I needed a place where I could talk about the part of me that does compare.
The turning point came at a small online study group.
It was a closed session with 5 or 6 participants. After introductions, the facilitator asked, "Would you like to talk honestly about your recent numbers?" It was a casual, pressure-free question.
There was a brief silence, and someone started saying "Actually, last month my sales were zero..."
At that moment, Lily felt like she might cry a little. Strange, right? Getting emotional hearing someone else's story. But the feeling of "oh, everyone has nights like this" slowly seemed to loosen something in her chest.
Speaking My Own Numbers Out Loud
Following that, Lily spoke too. "This month I had ○○ downloads and ○○ yen in sales." As she said those numbers nervously, one of the participants asked, "How did you get through that stage, Lily?" Not as judgment or envy, but as genuine interest.
While answering that question, Lily felt like she was treating her numbers as "information" for the first time. Not as shame or pride, but just as her current position. As material for the conversation about what to do next.
Once she said it out loud, the numbers weren't so scary.
From that experience, Lily changed one thing about her behavior.
Once a month, she started having what she calls a "numbers report meeting" with 2-3 fellow indie developer acquaintances. 30 minutes on Zoom, just talking about sales, downloads, recent failures and insights. No advice sought. No evaluation. Just taking turns saying "this is how it was this month."
Just One Rule
The one rule they set for this space was: "Don't comment on the numbers." Don't say "that's amazing" when good numbers come out. Don't say "that must have been tough" when bad numbers come out. Just respond with "I see, thank you."
It felt strange at first. But as we got used to it, it was surprisingly comfortable. Because there's no evaluation, you can share honest numbers. Because you can share honest numbers, you notice patterns you hadn't seen yourself. You can organize things as facts rather than emotions—what improved from last month, what's been stuck, everything.
What Lily thinks now is that the "inability to talk about numbers with anyone" is more draining than the numbers themselves.
Good numbers seem like bragging so you can't say them. Bad numbers are embarrassing so you can't say them. As a result, the numbers grow bigger inside you and you can't see them objectively. A month later, you're thinking "these numbers are my evaluation itself."
But actually, numbers are just measurements. Like your body temperature today—even if it's different from yesterday or different from average, it doesn't determine anything by itself.
"A Place to Talk" Can Be Found or Created
Ideally such a place would exist naturally, but if it doesn't, you can create one small yourself. A closed Discord channel, a monthly text report, any form works. Just being able to say "this is how it was this month" without evaluation changes how heavy the numbers feel.
If there's someone right now opening their dashboard in the middle of the night without being able to show it to anyone—I'd like them to try talking about those numbers to someone. The person you talk to should be someone who won't comment on your numbers. Just one person who will listen is enough.
Lily still gets shaken by numbers sometimes. But she doesn't carry them alone as much as before. Just that alone has made continuing to create feel a little easier. Whatever your numbers are.
Lily (@bokuwalily) — Indie developer. Creating iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI.
