Every year when this season rolls around, my timeline gets a little restless. Someone's app has crossed tens of thousands of users, their ARR has exceeded XX million yen, they took first place on Product Hunt. Every time I see reports like that, I quietly close the screen and secretly open my own dashboard. The numbers are still small as ever. A sigh of "I have to work harder" came as a package deal every time. This essay is about the day I stopped sighing. It's about the moment I let go of the pressure to "keep growing" and made up my mind that staying small was okay. I want to write honestly about the story of how "not scaling" became a legitimate choice.
There's almost no technical talk. I'm setting aside how to present numbers, marketing strategies, growth equations—all of that for today. I'm just writing this hoping it reaches even a little bit to people who keep making something on their own.
When I Was Stuck in the Comparison Trap
I released my first app around the time work was finally settling down. I made it a little bit every day, pressed the release button despite being scared, and started it with nothing but the hope that "someone might use it."
The first few weeks were purely fun. I was happy just to get one piece of feedback, and fixing bugs felt positive because I could feel that someone was actually using it.
But things gradually began to change. As I saw other indie developers' release announcements and growth reports on social media, the thought "Why isn't my app growing even though I'm working this hard?" began to take root in my mind.
Everything Fell Apart When I Made Numbers My Goal
At some point, I decided to "set a target number of users." There was no real basis for it, but I decided on "100 people per month" and started working toward that. I refined my announcements, researched hashtags, rewrote my landing page over and over.
The results didn't change. The numbers moved a little here and there, but never reached my target. Each time, I'd think "What am I missing?" "Is my approach wrong?" "Am I just not cut out for this?"
I was spending more time staring at numbers and sighing than actually making the app. This was a pretty bad state to be in.
The turning point wasn't dramatic.
One morning, I went to open my dashboard right after waking up, and my hand just stopped. A voice inside me said, "It'll be the same even if you look." I think I was exhausted. I was quietly burning out from my obsession with the numbers.
I just sat there for a while, and instead opened my app to use it myself. The feature I'd made first was still working fine. It was modest, but it was something I'd made because I wanted it. "Hey, this is actually working," I thought, and I almost laughed.
During the time I was desperate to grow, I realized I hadn't even been using my own app. That was the first moment I let something go.
A Few People Who Log In Every Day
Around the time I loosened my grip on the numbers, I noticed something while looking at the logs. There were accesses at the same time every day. When I checked, the same few people were logging in almost every day.
The number of registered users wasn't large. But within that small group, several people were using it like it was part of their daily routine.
That fact resonated with me in a strange way. Not flashy growth reports, not going viral, not major updates—just the quiet fact that "there are people using this every day." Without scaling, it had genuinely become part of someone's life.
The Fact That What I Made "Exists"
This might sound obvious. But when I was caught up in growth, the state of "just existing and being used" looked like "failure" to me.
Not tens of thousands of users—failure. Didn't go viral—failure. Didn't become a topic—failure. I'd been looking at what I made through this lens of deduction the whole time.
But the reality was, there are people using it every day. When something breaks, I fix it. When I make it easier to use, I get "thank yous." It's small, but it's a real cycle.
In the indie dev community, the word "scale" comes up a lot. Grow your users, monetize, nurture your product. None of that is bad in itself. I'd still like to aim for it if I could.
But there's an atmosphere where "scaling" is the default right answer, and anything else looks like "giving up" or "abandoning halfway." I'd always felt suffocated by that atmosphere.
What I decided was simple: "I'm going to keep making this app carefully, just for the people who are using it now." I stopped trying to implement growth strategies and just focused on making sure the people here could use it comfortably. The day I made that decision, strangely, I felt lighter.
Not scaling isn't giving up. I now think of it as an active choice to "cherish the people who are here now." Taking root in a small part of someone's life. It's hard to measure in numbers, but I feel it's genuinely valuable.
Making Became Fun Again
After letting go of the obsession, the changes were subtle but real.
The biggest thing was that touching my app became purely fun again. Instead of thinking "Is this feature necessary to grow?" I could now think "This person seems to be struggling with this, so let me fix it."
How I engage with feedback changed too. Before, I could only read it in the context of "Maybe this is why users aren't growing," but now I can read it as "Oh, this person uses it this way." Because it's small enough to reach, I can actually see each person. I realized that's a strength that comes from being small.
Small Improvements Accumulate
Instead of pushing out big updates, I started fixing small inconveniences one by one. Changing the wording in a menu slightly, making error messages clearer, adjusting the order of displays.
By continuing to do these mundane improvements even when no one's watching, I feel the app gradually becoming more familiar in my hands. It's less like I'm nurturing it and more like we're growing together.
Even without dramatic changes, accumulation does change things. It's like slowly and carefully tending a small garden.
After writing all this, I'll be honest: I haven't perfectly let go.
Even now, when I see someone's big achievement report, it stings a little. Sometimes I think "Maybe things would be different if I'd done it better." I think that feeling will probably never go away.
Being in a community makes it surprisingly hard to keep your own pace. Sometimes I get dragged along by everyone else's energy and almost slip back into "I have to grow" mode.
But the time it takes to go from that sting to "well, whatever, let me work on it today" is getting shorter little by little. I think that's enough for now.
I don't need to reach some perfectly detached state. I think the real picture of an indie developer is to keep wavering and yet keep working anyway.
Even as I write this essay, my app isn't doing anything particularly flashy, and the same few people are using it. The dashboard numbers are still modest.
But today I fixed a small bug I wanted to fix. I corrected a display misalignment that had been bothering me for a while. Hoping that the people using it might feel a little better.
I don't think deciding "it's okay to stay small" gave me permission to slack off. I'm going to keep working for the people who are here. I just stopped putting the illusion of "tens of thousands of users" at the end of that path.
To those of you making something on your own. Even if your app is small, that's a legitimate choice. If even one person uses it every day, I think that's already a form of success.
Today too, let's keep working.
Lily (@bokuwalily) — Indie developer. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI.
🎁 A free bonus for reading all the way through: LINEで「自動化」と送って受け取る（実装テンプレ7本）
Lily (@bokuwalily) — Indie developer / AI adoption and business automation consultant. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI while consulting on AI adoption and automation for companies.
🖥️ Creations and articles → bokuwalily.com
🐙 OSS → github.com/bokuwalily
🌍 Latest updates and inquiries → X @bokuwalily
