When Lily first started personal development, she had always thought this way: "If I make something truly good, it will surely reach people." There was something like a vague belief, and conversely, by believing in it, she may have continued creating while crushing her diffuse anxiety. But before earning that first yen, that belief wavered in many places. Rather than wavering, it quietly crumbled. It wasn't dramatic enough to call it a shock, but feelings of "ah, I see," mixed with slight embarrassment and sadness accumulated over time. This article is about that period. It's not as dramatic as a failure story, but if there are people stumbling at similar points, it might make things a little easier.
The first product I released was something I myself thought "this is convenient." The usage was simple, the design was carefully finished, and I rewrote the explanatory text many times. I felt like I had done everything I could prepare.
I remember my hands trembling slightly when I pressed the release button. There was a baseless sense of security: "Now I just have to wait for it to spread."
But as the next day and the day after passed, almost nothing happened.
The timeline flowing through X, someone's viral post, "tried it out" reports from unknown accounts. My product's story appeared nowhere. When I opened the dashboard, the number of accesses was countable on one hand, and I think all of them were probably me and the friend I sent the link to.
The Illusion That "Good Things Get Found"
What I realized then was that "something good" is the creator's perception, and for people who don't know about it, it might as well not exist.
Every day, countless things flow through the internet sea, and to be found by someone, you first have to say "it's here." It's obvious, yet somehow I couldn't feel it until I released it.
When you concentrate on creating, it feels like "creating = delivering." But in reality, creating and delivering are completely different jobs, and you can't slack on either.
To be a bit honest, I had resistance to sharing.
"I don't want it to seem like advertising," "It's uncool to pitch myself," "First, I'll just quietly put out what I made"—those feelings. It was like creator's pride, or rather, not pride but shyness, maybe.
I'd write an announcement tweet and delete it, write and delete. I'd start a Note draft and leave it unfinished. I'd make excuses like "the features aren't complete yet" or "let me polish it a bit more," and keep putting off sharing.
The Truth Behind Procrastination Was Probably Fear
Looking back now, I think it was the feeling of "I want people to see it, but I'm afraid of being told it's no good."
If I don't share, no one can reject me. If I keep quietly creating, I won't get hurt. But at the same time, no one will see it. I was going in circles within that contradiction.
I now feel that sharing and revenue aren't really a technical matter—they're a matter of the heart.
A few weeks after release, the first payment notification came after I set up a paid plan.
The amount was small. But the moment I saw the notification, Lily found herself standing up from her chair. Someone I didn't know had paid money for something I made. It was just that, but I felt something indescribable. Not happy or proud, but something quieter—a sense of "ah, it really reached someone."
What That Customer Taught Me
After that, I received a short message from that person: "I was looking for something like this."
It wasn't about features or design. The words "was looking for." Someone was searching, found it, and chose it. Those words really struck my heart.
In other words, if I hadn't shared, this person wouldn't have found me. No matter how many people were "looking for" it, if they don't know it exists, they can't choose it. It's obvious, but I think I truly understood it for the first time through this experience.
Through this experience, I've clarified some thoughts.
In personal development, earning revenue and making good things are both necessary, but they require different skills. When you focus hard on creating, communicating tends to be neglected, and that's not a matter of technical ability but of priorities.
And one more thing: sharing isn't bragging or pitching—it's just a report that says "I made something like this."
I Reconsidered "Delivering" as Service
Someone once told me something: "Not delivering your product to people who need it is also an opportunity loss for them." I realized I had never had that perspective.
Not sharing might not be humility—it might just be cowardice. Those words have been slowly sinking in.
There wasn't a dramatic turning point, but I gradually changed a few things.
First, I made sure to post on X whenever I released something. While being careful not to seem like advertising, I'd write briefly about "how it came about," "who it's for," and "what I struggled with." Not a list of features, but the creator's story.
Next, I started regularly writing about the product's progress. What I updated, what I learned from users, what turned out to be harder than expected. Even small things—when I write about them, I sometimes get reactions, and that becomes fuel for what's next.
What You Can Do Even If You're Bad at SNS
To be honest, Lily isn't good at the vibe of SNS. Posts aiming for virality, techniques to increase followers—I'm still not drawn in that direction.
But "writing about my product in my own words"—I can do that. I think that's enough now. Even if the scale is small, if it reaches someone who needs it, that's fine. That's the spirit I'm continuing with.
If someone asks me now whether I'm good at sharing, I can't confidently say yes. When I write an announcement, I still hesitate a bit. "Is this necessary?" "Is it annoying?" I think these things, yet I post anyway. That's the cycle.
But I think there's a slight difference between the illusion I felt at first—"if you make it, it will reach people"—and where I stand now. Back then, creating was the end point. Now I know that beyond creating, there's delivering. Just that difference makes me feel like I'm standing in a slightly different place.
Revenue from personal development is something you can't completely control through algorithms or luck. But whether you make the effort to deliver—that's something you can choose. Lily just realized that a bit late, but it wasn't too late, and I think it's not too late for you either.
If there's someone else going in circles the same way, I'd be happy if this helped you move forward just a little.
Lily (@bokuwalily)— Personal developer. Creating iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI.
