I've lost count of how many times I've abandoned projects halfway through. But what I want to write about today isn't a story about "abandoning" something—it's about the time I "almost gave up, but somehow managed to see it through to the end." One night, when an app I was building was 80% complete, my hands suddenly stopped moving. The code was working. The design was nearly finished. Just a little left until release. And yet, I closed the screen and collapsed into bed. That unique kind of pain—a mix of anxiety and lethargy. Have you ever felt something similar? This article is an honest reflection on that night. I'd be happy if it reaches even one person who knows that same feeling.
When you're doing personal projects, the early and middle stages are somehow enjoyable.
At first, you only have an idea and the expectation of "this might be fun to make," and that's enough to keep you going. Since nothing has taken shape yet, everything looks like possibility. In the middle stage, even while wrestling with challenges, you feel the tangible progress of things gradually coming together. The joy of "it works!" outweighs the fatigue.
The problem is the final stage. The technically difficult parts are already behind you. Most of the features are complete. What remains is just tedious, unremarkable work—minor bug fixes, error handling, cleaning up descriptions. And because you can now see the finish line, the question "Is this really okay?" suddenly looms much larger.
Not the early-stage "I feel like I can do anything," but the late-stage "Is this really going to be okay?" The latter is infinitely heavier. I only realized it when someone pointed it out, but maybe the pain of the final stage is the price you pay for the joy of the beginning.
The app I was building at the time was a simple iOS app. All the core features were already implemented, and I could submit it right away.
And yet, starting from one particular night, I couldn't touch it at all.
"I'll do it tomorrow" became "I'll do it this week," and before I knew it, more than ten days had passed without opening the file. The strange thing is, I didn't hate it. Actually, when I imagined what it would be like when it was finished, I still felt happy. And yet, my hands wouldn't move. Just seeing the icon of the work folder made me feel heavy. I didn't even understand what was happening to me.
I realized later that the stagnation wasn't a "motivation problem."
The quiet fear of completion
What was most painful was the fact that by completing it, I would become "someone to be evaluated."
Before completion, I could stay in a safe zone. "Still in the process of making it" isn't failure or anything. But once I finish and release it, someone will use it, give me feedback, and maybe think "this doesn't work." When I started to feel that risk as real, I think I was unconsciously trying to avoid getting hurt by deliberately not finishing it.
It might have been unconscious self-defense. The state of "not yet complete" had become a kind of shield.
The question "Is this really okay?"
Another troublesome thing was that as completion drew near, I suddenly started caring about small details.
The font seemed a bit off. Is this UX really correct? Isn't there a better way? Things I didn't care about in the early stages kept popping up in the final stage. I was in a perfectionist mood, but really I was just running away from completion.
Dedication and avoidance look identical from the outside. I couldn't tell them apart myself, and for a while I believed it was "real dedication."
To be honest, it wasn't because "my motivation came back."
If I had waited for motivation, I think I still wouldn't have released it. Instead, there was a moment when, for some reason, I thought "Actually, I do want to finish this." It was a small, truly trivial trigger.
I remembered the people making things alongside me
It was a post that appeared on the timeline of solomaker and tsukutta—someone's "It's complete!" post.
I didn't know the person, but the words "I finally got to release it" and "Even while uncertain, I made it all the way through" hit me hard. There are other people making things like me. There are people who felt the same uncertainty and still moved forward. At that moment, I thought: if I finished this, would I feel like that too? That realization was huge.
Even knowing it was a one-sided sense of connection, the feeling of "maybe I'm not alone" slowly sank in.
I changed my goal to "completing it"
What really helped was a shift in perspective.
I lowered my goal from "make something good" to "just finish it first."
I can improve it as much as I want after release. v1.0 doesn't have to be perfect. In fact, being imperfect creates room to listen to the voices of people who use it and let it grow. Once I decided that, the brake of "I can't release unless it's perfect" loosened a little.
From that day on, I decided to touch it for just 30 minutes a day. Don't overthink it, just move your hands. That's all.
I accumulated small "completions" every day
The 30-minute rule actually made progress.
By breaking tasks down into smaller pieces—"today I'll just fix error handling," "today I'll write the descriptions"—I was able to experience a small "completion" every day. I realized again that motivation isn't something you create before working; it's something that's born after you work.
Not "I'll work once I feel motivated," but "I feel motivated after I work." I had the order backwards.
After release, I felt much clearer than I expected.
Despite all my fears about "is this okay?", when people tried it, some said things like "I like how simple it is," and I realized that half of what I was worried about was needless anxiety. If I could tell my pre-release self something, I'd say "It's not as scary as you think."
Of course, there are still plenty of things I want to improve. The font issues, the UX problems—I haven't solved all of them yet. But the fact of "completion" was heavier than any imperfection. Because it was complete, I could finally see what needed to be fixed next.
The common thread among people who keep making things
When I observe people who managed to release, they all say similar things: "I didn't aim for perfection from the start," "I put it out and saw the reaction," "I thought of v1 as an experiment."
On the other hand, people who keep making things for years without releasing keep repeating "It's still not enough," "I'll release it once it's better." If you ask which group seems more fulfilled, the people who finished are definitely having more fun. The next steps that come from completion seem to sustain their motivation. I think you can keep running longer by chasing completion than by chasing perfection.
Even now, when I reach the final stage, I feel the same sensation.
At the "just a little more" point, I suddenly feel sluggish. My motivation disappears. Other ideas suddenly look attractive. It's strange how it's always the same pattern. I think this will probably continue for the rest of my life.
But now, when that feeling comes, I can think "Oh, this again." If you know a storm is coming, you can stay a little calmer and handle it. What's scary is losing your sense of direction without realizing it's a storm.
If I could ask one thing, it would be: "Before you quit, just try touching it for 30 minutes one more time." Don't wait for motivation—just move your hands. Sometimes, that's all it takes to see what comes next.
That night, lying in bed, I seriously thought "Maybe I should just quit."
But now, there are people using that app. If I hadn't released it, it never would have reached them. That alone makes me glad I saw it through.
Just a little more until completion. It's hard because it's almost over.
Lily (@bokuwalily) — Independent developer. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI.
