I still remember the day I released it well. The moment I posted it, my heart raced just a little. That feeling of finally putting something into the world that I'd spent months creating. I opened the dashboard over and over, and every time the numbers moved, I felt restless somewhere inside. When someone gave me feedback, I pumped my fist silently in front of the screen, without making a sound. But that intensity didn't last long. This is a story from after that heat cooled down. It's about the days when I kept updating quietly, even after no one was talking about it anymore. And about what I could dimly see beyond that. I'm writing this hoping it reaches even a little to people who, like me, continue to create something individually.
The time right after release is strange.
For the first few days, I was just concerned about reactions. I checked every time a notification came in, and I was happy whenever the number of accesses increased even a little. I was encouraged by the fact that "someone is using it." In personal development, there's no opportunity for a team member to say "nice work." So external reactions tend to become the only fuel.
But that settles down within a week.
Posts flow away from the timeline. The 100 accesses a day from the beginning became 50, then 20, and before I knew it, it was down to single digits. DMs with feedback stopped coming. Followers didn't increase. Looking back, the time I felt "it was a hit" was only a few days.
The Feeling That "My Turn" Was Over
No one is at fault. I understand that.
Information on the internet constantly flows, and the focus shifts to new places one after another. The day after my release gets attention, someone else's work is already being noticed. That's only natural.
But even knowing that, that "silence" was hard to bear. Even if no one is looking, does it make sense to fix bugs? Even if I create new features, no one might notice. Those feelings slowly crept in.
To be honest, I thought about quitting several times.
There were three or four nights when I thought, "Maybe I don't need to update anymore." Organizing documentation, fixing bugs, continuing to do these things when no one is watching—it took more energy than I expected.
I Kept Fixing Bugs, Alone
One day, I received one bug report. A short message from someone I didn't know. It said something like, "When I was using it, it behaved like this." When I read that message, I felt suddenly pulled back to reality.
Someone is using it. And they're even taking the time to give me feedback.
So I fixed the bug. I wrote one line in the release notes. I don't know how many people saw it. But I still remember a little of the feeling after I fixed it and sent it out. There was just a tiny bit of the sensation of "it really reached someone."
After that, regardless of whether there was a reaction, I started fixing things one by one as I noticed them. I continued with small updates once or twice a month.
From "Showing" to "Nurturing"
Somewhere along the way, something changed inside me.
At first, the feeling of "I released this to be seen" was strong. But as I continued, before I knew it, I had shifted to the feeling of "I'm updating this because I want to make it better."
The difference seemed minor, but it was significant.
If it's "to be seen," motivation disappears without a reaction. But if it's "to nurture," there's always something to do even without a reaction. I can fix things that bothered me while using it. I can polish places that might become a bit more user-friendly. I realized that was enough.
About half a year after that quiet period, there was a slight change.
New people started using it. I don't know where they found out about it. But messages like "I started using it recently" began arriving little by little. It was spreading gradually, even though it wasn't a hot topic.
People Who Found It Through Search
When I checked later, I saw that more people were coming through search.
During the period of high energy, I only thought about traffic through timeline sharing. But actually, by continuing quietly, it had gradually started showing up in search results. Someone had written an article introducing it as "a tool that can do this kind of thing," or it was mentioned in passing on a forum. That hadn't happened during the period when it was a hot topic.
If I had stopped updating, it might have disappeared right there.
Through this experience, I understood one thing clearly.
The buzz right after release and being used long-term are completely different things.
The former is something like a "chance." A window where many people's eyes can see it opens for just a moment. But what remains after that window closes depends on what you do next. A product that continues to be updated even after it stops being a hot topic has the possibility of catching someone else's eye months later. Conversely, a product that stops while still being talked about will just fade away.
The Quiet Period Is When the Creator Is Tested
During the period of high energy, honestly, skill doesn't matter much.
Whether something spreads often depends on timing, luck, and small word choices. But whether you can continue during a period when no one is watching is the creator's own issue. Do you make it because you love it, or because you want recognition? I think which one is stronger becomes apparent during the quiet period.
For Lily, the answer was only that both were true. I honestly do want recognition. But I also genuinely had the feeling of "I want to make this better." That's the honest truth—continuing with both of those mixed together.
Looking back now, what changed the most during that quiet period might have been me, not the product.
The axis gradually shifted from "making something to show others" to "making something I think is good." I think that was progress, not regression. Because I'm not dependent on recognition, my judgment doesn't waver as much. When I think "is this feature really necessary," before, there was a criterion mixed in of "would adding this get me a reaction?" But now, I can think about it a bit more simply.
Not Quitting Itself Has Meaning
If there's one thing I want to tell people continuing with personal development, it's that "not quitting itself has meaning."
This isn't a matter of spirit—I think it's true as a physical matter. A product that continues to be updated has the possibility of being discovered by someone one day. Something that's stopped is harder to trust even if it's found. Not many people would want to start using a product that says "Last updated: 2 years ago," right?
Continuing accumulates quietly, but it really does accumulate.
As I wrote directly in the title, that's all there is to it.
Even after the intensity right after release cooled down, even after no one was talking about it anymore, Lily continued. There wasn't a cool reason for it. There was no reason to quit, and there were a few people using it, and there were things I wanted to fix, so that was it.
Most of the time in personal development isn't flashy. I make it alone, fix it alone, and worry about it alone. But I've realized that the accumulation of such unglamorous time becomes my greatest asset when I look back on it.
The buzz will end someday. But I think continuing to create doesn't have to end.
Today, somewhere, someone is quietly continuing to update. As a fellow creator, I sincerely respect each of those people, quietly continuing in their own place.
Lily（@bokuwalily）― Personal 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, I now make iOS apps and web services individually. I consult on customer acquisition, user flow design, and AI implementation and business automation
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