Why I write letters instead of advice

When I was writing Dear Me, there were days I stared at my laptop as though it had personally offended me. I had agreed to write a book. Apparently, that also meant looking at the things I had spent years trying very hard not to look at. I was considerably less excited about that part.

I could talk. I could laugh. I could show up for people and have quite a lot to say. But explaining what was happening inside me was another matter. My diaries knew things that the people closest to me did not. On paper, I could take my time. I could begin a sentence, stop, and come back without having to reassure the person sitting opposite me.

So I wrote to Rih. That is the name I use for myself in the letters. It belongs to the version of me who does not need to have a clever answer ready. She can admit that she is hurt. She can also admit that she made a mess of something. Both are allowed on the page.

Speaking to the girl I had been

Writing to my younger self made me slow down. I had to remember what she knew at the time, what she was frightened of, and how much she was trying to carry. It is very easy to stand years away from a decision and explain how somebody should have done better. I have done that to myself enough.

A letter gave me room to ask a different question. What would I say if I actually sat beside her? Probably not everything I had been saying in my head. I could tell her the truth without using every mistake as evidence against her. I could remember the funny parts too. My life has never been entirely one thing, however convincing a hard day can be.

That is what I love about beginning with Dear. Before I get to the difficult part, I have acknowledged the person I am speaking to. There is affection in that small beginning. It asks me to remember that somebody will have to live with the words that follow.

Room for another person

When I began Dear Us, I wanted to make room for other people as well. The book holds parts of my experience alongside stories people shared with me. Listening to them meant accepting that I could recognise something in another person's pain without knowing all of it. Our lives do not become identical because we have a diagnosis or a difficult season in common.

I think about that when I am tempted to rush into advice. Sometimes advice is needed. A person may be asking a practical question and deserve a practical answer. But sometimes I have been so uncomfortable with somebody's sadness that I have wanted to get us both out of it quickly. A neat answer can be very convenient for the person giving it.

A letter lets me stay a little longer. I can say what happened to me and leave room for you to tell me that your experience was different. I can share something that helped without pretending I have found a set of instructions for your life.

You can begin privately

Writing has always been part of my life. I can tell you that finding words has always mattered to me, especially when speaking felt difficult.

If you want to try a letter, it does not have to become a book. Nobody needs a polished account of your hardest day. You can begin with something small and ordinary: what today felt like, what you wish somebody understood, or a memory you would like to keep. You can leave it unfinished. You can choose not to write about something yet.

I still like the thought of a page that belongs to you before it belongs to an audience. No performance. No need to make the ending impressive. Just enough room to hear yourself for a moment.

Dear you. You can start there.