I decided to write this because I recently found myself in a similar situation again. Sitting in front of my screen, muttering to myself "I'll release it once I make just a few more tweaks," I stared at the same file for thirty minutes. Before I knew it, it was past eleven at night, and once again I went to sleep without releasing anything that day. This cycle continued for several weeks.
If you're doing personal development projects, you might recognize this loop. You're afraid to put what you've made out into the world. But you keep finding reasons to keep fixing it. The closer you get to completion, the further away release feels. Lily was stuck in this cycle for a long time too.
Today, I want to write about the day I suddenly broke free from that loop. I wanted to keep that day as a record of my emotions rather than just a development log. I'd be happy if it resonates with something in you, the reader.
I started making this product in early spring. It was a simple web tool created to solve a problem I'd been having in my daily work. I had a pretty clear image of what it should look like early on, it had few features, and there was nothing technically difficult about it.
Yet it took three months to release.
The Trap of "It Has to Be Proper Before I Can Release It"
The reason it took so long was that I couldn't shake the feeling that "it's not ready to release yet." If the UI were a bit cleaner. If I handled errors more carefully. If the explanations were clearer. If it ran a bit faster.
Each of these was a legitimate reason, and individually they were tasks that would take just a few hours. But fixing one thing would make me notice the next "incomplete" part. Even though I was getting closer to completion, I had the sense that the finish line was slowly moving further away.
What I Was Really Afraid Of
At some point, I asked myself honestly: "What am I waiting for?" Was I afraid someone would say "this is hard to use"? Or that no one would use it at all?
Both scared me, but if I'm being honest, the latter scared me more. Criticism hurts, but at least there's a response. Disappearing without any response at all felt much lonelier. Behind "wanting to release but not being able to" was that feeling.
On a certain night in the third month, nothing special happened. I came home from work, finished eating, and opened my editor as usual. I was planning to do another round of "just a little more" work, but that day, somehow, my hands moved first.
It wasn't like I decided "okay, let's release this." My body was moving before I could think—that's the most accurate way to describe it.
What Lily Did After Pressing the Publish Button
A confirmation screen appeared, and I just pressed "publish." I stared at the screen showing the newly issued URL for one second, and then—I closed my laptop.
It sounds like a joke, but that's really what I did. I was too scared to look, so I closed the screen. I didn't post about it on social media or tell anyone. I just quietly went to sleep. Even in my dreams I felt unsettled, and I remember opening the analytics nervously the next morning.
The next evening, a message arrived from an unknown email address. It was a short line written in the form:
"I tried it out, and it's way more convenient than I expected. Thank you."
That was all. Nothing about the UI roughness Lily had been worried about for three months. Nothing about the slow performance.
The Flaws I'd Been Worried About, No One Cared About
Reading that one line, the first thing I felt wasn't joy, but a slightly deflated sensation. "Oh, so that's it," kind of feeling.
The parts Lily had been fixing didn't appear once in the feedback from the person using it. In fact, when I later asked about the UI part I thought was "the worst," they said, "I didn't really notice anything wrong with it."
What the creator worries about and what the user cares about are completely different things. I finally felt in my body what I'd understood intellectually before.
Following that first message, feedback started arriving little by little. And I noticed something.
Almost all of the "it would be nice to have this feature" requests were things Lily hadn't anticipated. Conversely, the parts I'd spent time carefully refining were barely mentioned by anyone.
Nothing Could Have Started If It Remained Unpublished
If I'd kept fixing things for three more months, the feedback would have stayed at zero. I might have kept pouring time into details no one was asking for, or I might have never noticed the features people actually wanted.
I only understood what mattered after releasing it. That was something I absolutely couldn't have known before releasing.
I often think that if my hands hadn't moved on their own that night, I'd probably still be repeating "just a little more" now. Breaking out of that loop through sheer willpower was that difficult.
So if there's anyone out there who feels "I still can't release it," let me say one thing from Lily's experience.
"It Doesn't Have to Be Perfect" Was Actually True
The phrase "it doesn't have to be perfect"—you hear it a lot in the indie dev community. Lily always thought "but still..." I understood the words, but I didn't think it applied to my own product.
But after actually releasing it, that phrase finally made sense to me. "It doesn't have to be perfect" doesn't mean you can cut corners—it might mean that perfection can only be understood after you release it.
The "perfection" you imagine before release and the "what's actually needed" that becomes clear after release are different things. Only by releasing can you see where you should focus your effort.
One Small Action You Can Take Today
If you're stuck in the "just a little more" loop, I have one suggestion.
Today, in its current state, show it to just one person. You don't need to post it on social media. A trusted friend, family member, or someone from your community is fine. Just one person.
When you see their reaction, you might quickly realize "oh, I was the only one worried about this." For Lily, that was that first message.
Finally, let me reflect on that night one more time.
The night I closed my laptop and went to sleep, Lily was scared. Really scared. "Maybe I failed." "Maybe no one will use it." "Maybe I'll be laughed at." These thoughts kept spinning in my head as I slept.
But the message that arrived said "thank you."
I'm glad I released it even though I was scared. If I'd waited until the fear went away, I probably never would have released it. Once you experience releasing something even while scared, I think you can release the next thing a little faster.
The moment your creation reaches someone doesn't come after you're fully prepared—it comes after you release it. Lily learned that from that night.
I hope what you're making reaches someone.
Lily（@bokuwalily）― Independent developer. Making iOS apps and web services with AI as my partner.
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Lily（@bokuwalily）― After leading a marketing organization of 50 people as CMO, I now make iOS apps and web services independently. I consult on customer acquisition, user flow design, and AI implementation and business automation.
🖥️ My creations and articles → bokuwalily.com
🐙 OSS → github.com/bokuwalily
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