Founder Julian’s Story: Why I Built My Heartspace

If you entrust something precious to an app, you want to know who’s behind it (at least, I know I would).

Who makes sure your last words truly reach the people you love? Who ensures your digital legacy is safe, preserved, and delivered at the right moment to the right person? I get that. And that’s why I, Julian van der Wijst, founder of My Heartspace, want to share my story with you.

Many founders prefer to stay in the background, behind a screen, a title, or a brand. But My Heartspace was built on something different: connection. On the belief that we only truly touch people when we dare to show who we are.

The reason I’m sharing my story is because this app wasn’t born out of market research or a business plan, but out of something deeply personal. Out of my own loss. Out of my own fear of being forgotten. What I built started with one simple, confronting thought:

“What if one day I’m gone, and no one really knows who I was?”

As a child, I was fascinated by computers. Sure, I played games, but what really hooked me was something else: I wanted to understand how it all worked. Why something happened when you clicked a button. What was happening behind the screen.

My uncle Hans and my father noticed that curiosity and encouraged me. They helped me take my first steps into programming. Hans, a programmer himself, often took the time to explain things patiently, with joy. He showed me how you could build something, going from nothing to something real that actually worked.

He also gave me my very first laptop. It wasn’t much, but for me, it meant everything. From that moment, I would spend hours puzzling, experimenting, building. That feeling of creating something with just my mind and my hands never left me.

Hans was also the first person in my life to pass away. I was young, and it left a deep mark. He was someone I looked up to, someone who taught me that knowledge could make a difference. Losing him felt unfair—I had so much more I wanted to learn from him. I was left with grief and a great emptiness. Looking back, Hans was likely the biggest inspiration for me to study Software Engineering.

Without Hans, I might never have ended up there.

”On paper, I had everything but inside, I felt empty.
Julian van der Wijst

In just a few years, I lost several uncles and an aunt. Each of them in the middle of life, families, careers, future plans. And suddenly, they were gone.

They all died at relatively young ages. It shook me more deeply than I could process at the time. Until then, death was something that happened to others, something you heard about. But now it came close. Too close. And something started to take root in me: the idea that this could happen to me. Not someday, but maybe soon.

By my late twenties, that thought started to haunt me. What if I don’t get old? What if in just a few years, it’s all over? The fear crept in slowly, first as a thought, later as a feeling I couldn’t shake.

I started wrestling with questions: What do I want to leave behind? What would remain if I were gone? Would there be anything of me that truly mattered? Anything that would last?

At seventeen, I started working at Philips Medical as a programmer, a valuable first step into the world of medical software. At twenty, I moved to IT consultancy firm Itelligence. After graduation, by age 24, I had become a lead developer, rare for that age. I wasn’t just responsible for systems, but also for people and processes.

Around the same time, together with two friends and an investor, I started Anycoin Direct, a platform for buying and selling cryptocurrency. We were one of the first in Europe. What began as a small experiment grew into great success.

We obtained an official banking license and eventually had over 700,000 users. In the early years, I was the only programmer. Everything you saw or used on the platform, I had built it. From frontend to backend, database to security.

Security became my specialty. For a platform handling large money flows and sensitive data, safety isn’t a side issue, it’s the core. Encryption, access, authentication, audits, compliance, everything had to be right. That responsibility gave me not only knowledge, but also the confidence I would later need to build something like My Heartspace.

As the company grew, I became CTO. That role gave me the oversight and insight that I could design and maintain a technically complex and secure platform. That experience still underpins everything I do today.

On paper, I had it all: success, recognition, financial freedom. But inside, it felt empty. The pressure kept building. Panic attacks became more frequent. I had given everything for years, but felt increasingly disconnected from myself. At 32, I burned out.

And then you sit there. Everything has worked out and yet it feels like you’ve lost what really matters.

After my burnout, I knew one thing for sure: I couldn’t go on like this. I needed distance, not just from work, but from the way I was living. My life was about performing, pushing, surviving.

So I did something completely out of character: I let go.

I stopped working in the company, sold my stuff, bought a camper, and set off through Europe with my then-partner Sabine. No final destination, no tight plan. Just rest and space.

That trip wasn’t only about coastlines and new places, it became a journey inward. For the first time in years, I slowed down. I had time to feel. My days were filled with reading, exercising, walking along empty beaches. Everything I had pushed away for years slowly surfaced.

But even in that peace, the fear remained in the background. Fear of dying. Fear that everything I had experienced and built would just vanish. That my memories, my thoughts, my voice would simply disappear.

Sabine and I talked about it more and more. What would you want to leave behind if you weren’t here anymore? How can you leave a message for after your death? And why isn’t there already a good way to do that?

We started sketching. Jotting down ideas in a notebook. What if there were an app where you could preserve your memories for later, in your own way? Not from control, but from love. Not a legal document, but a heartfelt message for those you love.

That was the first seed of what would later become My Heartspace.

Those months on the road gave me peace. For the first time in a long while, I felt space in my mind. And slowly, something began to stir again, not pressure, not ambition, but desire. The desire to build something that truly matters.

The spark returned. I picked up my laptop and started experimenting. Prototypes, sketches turned into code. The ideas we had scribbled down on the beach came to life.

We discussed endlessly what such a platform should look like. What users would need. What matters when you want to leave behind something that truly lasts. Safety. Timing. Words that endure.

We wanted a place where love can live on. Where people can preserve their voice. Not because they have to, but because they can. Because everyone deserves to be remembered.

Bit by bit, I built the first version of the app. Every working feature grew my confidence. It took years, more than two, before we were satisfied.

But it was there.

My Heartspace was born from one deep question: How do you make sure your love, your words, your story remain, even when you are no longer here?

Although the calm of traveling had helped me, the real work began once we were home. Building an app like My Heartspace was harder than I imagined, not just technically, but mentally.

In the beginning, I did most of it myself: designing, coding, testing, rewriting. Like any perfectionist, I made dozens of versions, deleted, restarted.

At the same time, the sale of Anycoin Direct was in progress, draining energy. To keep My Heartspace moving, I brought in a few trusted external developers. They helped push the project forward technically, but the vision, the choices, the core, that was mine.

In the same period, I was diagnosed with ADHD. Suddenly, so many puzzle pieces fell into place: the restlessness, the unpredictable energy, the ability to hyperfocus and then crash. Naming it gave me understanding, and some relief.

Building wasn’t easy. But every step brought me closer to what I envisioned: a safe place for memories, where love can live on. That was the drive. Always.

”It’s about people. It’s about stories. It’s about love that shouldn’t be lost.”
Julian van der Wijst

From the start, I knew this had to be something I could fully stand behind. No investors. No outside pressure. I wanted it to stay genuine. Every choice based on meaning, not profit.

I built My Heartspace with my own savings. The tech, the security, the infrastructure, it’s all in my own hands. Even now, years later, I personally answer user questions. Not because it’s efficient, but because it shows what I want to stand for: involvement, responsibility, trust.

Trust isn’t built on words, but on what you actually do. Especially for an app like this, where people entrust their most precious memories, you must show you mean it.

And I do.

This app isn’t about marketing or smart features. It’s about people. About stories. About love that must not be lost. And for that, I stand. Now, and in the future.

My Heartspace wasn’t an opportunity that happened to work out. It was born from a deep need. First mine, then others’.

It’s for people who want to leave something behind but don’t know how. For those who feel the end is near and still want to say something. For those afraid of being forgotten, or afraid of forgetting themselves what mattered most.

I’m not a therapist. Not a coach. I’m someone who knows the weight of that fear inside. Of wondering: what will remain of me if I’m gone?

What I can do is build. And what I have is the knowledge to create something safe, simple, and filled with love. A place where people can preserve their voice, their words, their story, in their way.

My Heartspace is for anyone who believes love doesn’t end with death. That memories are more than photos in a folder.

It’s a way to stay. Not physically, but emotionally. Not every day, but at exactly the right moment.

No one knows what the future will bring. But my hope is clear.

I hope My Heartspace can grow into a platform that truly helps people. Not by being big in numbers, but by being big in meaning. A place where every message counts. Where every voice is heard, even when someone is no longer here.

I dream of a world where it’s normal to think about what you want to leave behind. Not as something heavy, but as something beautiful. Something that brings peace. To yourself, and to those you love.

When I see that someone finds comfort in a Heart Message, when a child on their 18th birthday receives something from a parent who’s been gone for years, that’s when I know why I built this.

That’s my deepest drive: to contribute to something that remains, so love doesn’t end with life.

”Ultimately, that is my greatest motivation: to contribute to something that lasts, so that love does not end with life.”

Julian van der Wijst

Maybe you’ve thought about it. Or maybe, like so many, you’d rather push it aside.

But deep down, you know: there will come a moment when you can’t say what you wanted to say. A birthday without you. An empty chair at the table. A phrase that never gets spoken.

And in those moments, a loving message from you can make all the difference. For the people you love most. Something that lasts. Something that touches.

My Heartspace was made to make that step easier: a safe place for your words, memories, advice, or simply: “I love you.” You don’t have to get it right the first time. Each Heart Message can be adjusted, expanded, or removed whenever you want. It grows with you.

Start with just one message. Sometimes, that’s enough to live on forever in someone else’s heart.

Download the app, explore the inspirational questions, and create your first message in just a few minutes. What you share today will live on tomorrow.