The Four Founder Lies That Almost Killed My Project
I was one week away from my launch deadline, and I had a terrible secret: I’d built something completely useless.
For three weeks, I’d been heads-down in a 30-day challenge, fueled by coffee and the thrill of a new project. I was building a "serverless boilerplate." It was technically elegant, the code was clean, and I was genuinely proud of it.
Then I realized something: I was staring at a beautifully engineered solution to a problem nobody actually had.
The Problem with “Cool” Ideas
Most of us get into building things because we love the craft. We see a new technology—serverless, AI, the framework-of-the-week—and our brains light up. "I could build something with that!"
The problem isn't that cool tech is bad. It’s that we convince ourselves its novelty is a substitute for value. We end up building hammers, then desperately wander around looking for a world full of nails. It’s no wonder so many launches end with the sound of crickets.
We’re not building for customers. We’re building to impress ourselves.
The Four Brutal Truths That Saved It
With one week left, I had to face some hard truths. I threw out my "cool" idea and pivoted. That gut-wrenching decision was based on unlearning four lies I’d been telling myself—lies you’re probably telling yourself right now.
1. Solve a Pain, Not a Puzzle
My first project, the "serverless boilerplate," was a technical puzzle. It was interesting to me, a developer. But who wakes up in a cold sweat thinking, "I desperately need a serverless boilerplate"? Nobody.
The pivot was simple, but profound. I turned it into a "SaaS boilerplate."
Serverless Boilerplate: A curiosity for tech hobbyists.
SaaS Boilerplate: A time machine for founders.
This wasn't about changing the code; it was about changing the job the product did. A SaaS boilerplate solves a real, expensive, and deeply annoying pain: setting up user accounts, subscriptions, and billing. It lets a founder launch a business in days, not months.
The key: You're not selling code; you're selling a shortcut to revenue. Stop asking "Is my idea cool?" and start asking "Whose expensive headache can I make disappear?"
2. Your Product Is Only Half the Product
I built a slick landing page. I polished the docs. I had a nice logo. I launched. And where did my first sale come from?
A random comment I left on Reddit.
Let that sink in. All the design and polish? $0. A single, 10-minute comment aimed at one person with a specific problem? That’s what made me money.
We fall for the myth that if we build a masterpiece, the world will find us. It won’t. In today's world, your distribution plan is the other 50% of your product. Most founders spend 99% of their time on code and 1% hoping for a miracle on launch day.
I didn’t just broadcast a link. I went to a developer community, found someone complaining about the exact pain of setting up subscriptions, and offered help. The sale happened in the DMs.
The key: Distribution isn't something you do after you launch. It is the launch.
3. Helping Isn't Spamming
My biggest fear? "I'm bothering people." The thought of sliding into someone's DMs made my skin crawl. It felt like I was becoming the pushy salesperson I despise.
This fear will keep you broke.
Here’s the reframe that changed everything for me: If you find someone with a real problem that you can solve, your message isn't spam. It's a solution.
You're not cold-emailing a list of 10,000 randoms. You’re finding someone publicly saying, "Ouch, I have a splinter," and you're walking over and saying, "Hey, I have tweezers." You aren't a spammer. You're a hero. Your silence is a disservice.
The key: If you found someone yelling about a splinter, offering them tweezers isn't spam—it's relief.
4. Ship It Before You're Proud of It
"I could have spent another month adding features," I told myself. I had a long list: social logins, team accounts, a fancier dashboard...
The "one more feature" lie is the most comfortable one. It protects us from the terrifying possibility of launching something and having no one care. We hide behind our roadmaps.
My first customer didn't ask about my roadmap. He didn't care about the five features I thought were "essential." He cared about one thing: did the product, as it existed right now, solve his immediate problem? Yes. He bought it.
That's the ultimate validation.
The key: Your first customer isn't buying your vision. They're buying a painkiller for a headache they have today.
What This Actually Looks Like
Here's the play-by-play for that first sale:
I was scrolling a developer subreddit and saw a comment: "Ugh, I hate setting up Stripe subscriptions every time I start a new project." I replied, "Hey, I feel that. I actually just built a boilerplate to handle all the user auth and billing setup to solve that exact problem for myself."
The person DM'd me. They asked a few questions. They were a reseller who needed to spin up projects for clients fast. My imperfect, 80%-finished product was a perfect solution for them.
Result: One sale. Not from a fancy launch, but from a real conversation about a real problem.
Getting Started (Without the Overthinking)
You don't need a grand strategy. You just need to be honest with yourself.
Pick one online community where people who might have your problem hang out.
Spend 30 minutes a day just listening. What are they complaining about? What questions do they ask over and over?
Find one person asking a question and give a genuinely helpful answer. Don't mention your product. Just build the muscle of being useful.
Define the single, core function of your product that solves an immediate pain. Everything else is a "later" problem.
Set a ship date. And a tiny, tangible goal, like making $10. It forces you to be ruthless.
That's it. No "growth hacks." No "synergy." Just finding a pain and offering a painkiller.
The Bottom Line
Building a successful product isn't about having a brilliant idea in a vacuum. It's about a willingness to be brutally honest with yourself when you realize you're building something for the wrong reasons.
The best products don't feel like they were built in a lab. They feel like they came out of a real conversation with a real human who had a real problem.
And that's not a framework you can download—it's just listening.