I remember the night I pressed the release button well. I published it with a racing heart, posted an announcement on SNS, and thought "now I just have to wait." But the next morning, when I tried to open the admin dashboard, I somehow closed the browser tab. The day after that, and the day after that too. To be precise, it wasn't that I couldn't open it—I was pretending not to see that I couldn't open it. "I'm busy today," "It's too early," "I'll check it all together on the weekend," I kept making excuses, postponing the moment I'd have to face the numbers. Back then, the dashboard itself terrified me.
This article is a confession of my experience during that period. I'm writing honestly, hoping it reaches people who are similarly avoiding numbers.
The time right after a release is strange. The sense of accomplishment from finishing and the anxiety of "will anyone actually use this?" coexist in the same chest.
In my case, the anxiety won out. The fear of what would happen if I saw the numbers and "no one had come." Specifically, the dread of being confronted with the reality of single-digit access counts, zero registrations, things like that. If I didn't look, I could keep the possibility "alive." Even though I vaguely knew the truth, by not opening it, I was preserving my faint hopes within myself.
Numbers Looked Like "Evaluation"
Digging a bit deeper, for me at that time, numbers weren't "evaluation of the product"—they were "evaluation of myself."
Low access = what I created isn't wanted = my lack of ability. This conversion happened automatically. So looking at the numbers felt like being directly rejected, and it was terrifying.
I think people doing solo development tend to blur the boundary between their service and themselves. Because it's something I made, evaluation of it feels like evaluation of me. Now I can say this is one of the unique hardships of solo development, different from building a product as a team.
Days became weeks, weeks became months. Without opening the admin dashboard, I somehow added features, fixed the landing page copy. While maintaining the appearance of "improving," I was turning away from the information I really needed.
The "Spinning in Place" I Discovered Later
When I finally looked at the numbers, I was shocked. The page with the most traffic was one I'd barely touched. Conversely, the parts I'd spent time improving were barely being viewed by anyone.
What was I running toward while I wasn't looking? It felt like walking "somehow northward" without a map. I was using energy, but I was going in the wrong direction. That's what I regret most now.
The Cost of "Not Looking"
About two months after release, I finally steeled myself and looked at the numbers. What I learned was that "not looking" has its own cost.
Improvement hints were buried. If I'd seen user behavior, there were things I could have noticed sooner. Time kept passing while I was running away, and there's no way to get that time back. What I thought was scary turned out to just be "reality," and reality exists whether you look at it or not.
To be honest, there wasn't a dramatic realization. One day, someone else doing solo development posted something on SNS that hit me:
"Numbers are scary, but you can't start anything without looking at them. Even if it's zero, that's just your starting line."
So they were scared too—that gave me relief. And I liked the phrase "starting line." Zero isn't "proof of failure"—it's a "point of departure."
I Decided to Start Small
I think part of the fear came from trying to look at everything at once. So I made a rule: "Just look at the weekly access count." I'd put off detailed user behavior, conversion rates, and other complex things, and just check "how many people came" every Monday morning.
I told myself that much wouldn't be scary, and when I started, I was surprised I could keep it up. Once it became a habit, the fear of looking at numbers gradually faded.
As I continued the small habit, I learned more from the numbers. And as my approach changed, several concrete things shifted.
I Started Asking "Why?"
One week, access suddenly increased. Was it shared somewhere? Did search traffic go up? I started investigating the reasons.
Conversely, there were weeks when I added a new feature and the numbers barely changed. That was information too—"this feature didn't have the impact I expected." I became able to accept that as fact.
I thought it was an emotional issue, but it was actually a matter of perspective. When I stopped seeing numbers as "evaluation" and started seeing them as "hints," it got a little easier.
I Got Used to "Zero"
In the beginning, there were plenty of days with single-digit access. At first that was scary. But looking every week, I developed the sense that "zero is normal too."
I think it's rare for a solo developer's product to have lots of users from the start. When you "accept small numbers as reality," you can use your energy thinking about what to do next. By accepting it, I finally became able to move forward.
I Started Noticing Small Changes
This was the biggest gain. By looking consistently, I could see fine patterns: "access increased the day after I wrote this article," "more people come on certain days of the week."
Big growth isn't necessary. When you can confirm that something is slowly changing, you get a reason to keep going. I realized that when I wasn't looking at numbers, I was missing even these small changes.
To be honest, there are still days when I feel reluctant. Right after implementing something, I'm curious about "did it work?" but sometimes I can't bring myself to open it.
But the difference from before is that when I notice "I'm not opening it," I can tell myself "I'm running away again." With that awareness, I usually open it that same day.
The fear hasn't gone to zero. But I've learned to "look while feeling the fear."
Imperfect Data Is Fine
After I started looking at numbers, I thought "I need to do more proper analysis," and that became pressure again. I need to implement heatmaps, I need to do user interviews.
But now I think "looking at the numbers I can, as often as I can" is enough. With solo development, you don't need to do everything perfectly. Opening it first—that's what matters most.
If there's someone reading this who hasn't opened their dashboard in a while, I think we're in the same boat. I was like that for a long time.
It's natural to be scared. Looking at what you created in numbers feels a bit like being naked. Still, the cost of not looking accumulates quietly.
At first, just "looking" at the numbers is fine. Analysis and improvement can come later. Just open it, that's all.
Like I did, you'll probably accumulate experiences of "it was okay after all" when you finally open it. Scary things get a little smaller when you look them in the eye.
Why not open just one thing today?
Lily (@bokuwalily) — Solo developer. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI.
