This post is a little different. It’s personal. It’s vulnerable. But most of all, it’s healing.
Years ago, a therapist gave me one of the most helpful and emotionally grounding tools I’ve ever received. He said, “When something is weighing heavy on your heart or mind, write a letter. Write it to yourself, to the person, or to the situation. Then tuck it away. You don’t have to send it.”
That piece of advice has stayed with me and helped me process some of the most complicated feelings I’ve carried.
Here are two very personal examples of how this tool made a lasting difference in my healing journey.
💔 Letter to a Former Coach
When I was a teenager, one of my favorite softball coaches—someone I admired and trusted—was arrested for possession of child pornography.
I was in total shock. I trusted this man. He had coached me, encouraged me, given me rides home from practice. I never would have believed he was capable of something like this—but I knew he was guilty.
My therapist reminded me of the writing exercise. So I sat down, and I wrote him a letter. I poured out the betrayal, confusion, disbelief, and anger. I wrote about how much he shattered my trust, how devastated I felt, and how that moment shifted something in me.
Years later, as an adult and especially after becoming a mother, the emotions evolved. I realized how vulnerable I had been as a child. While nothing inappropriate ever physically happened, I now see certain conversations—like him asking how many kids I might want someday—as deeply inappropriate and unsettling.
But I didn’t need to write him another letter. Because not long after my son was born, I ran into him at Wal-Mart. He had already served his sentence. I approached him. I told him I knew what he had done, and I was deeply disappointed. But I also told him I wished him well.
At the time, I didn’t fully understand why I said that. But now, I believe I do: forgiving him wasn’t about excusing his behavior—it was about freeing myself from the emotional prison of unresolved anger.
❤️ Letter to My Grandfather
The second example is more tender.
When I moved to South Carolina, I found myself thinking about my grandfather, who passed away when I was nine.
There was so much I wanted to tell him—about my goals, my accomplishments, and the kind of woman I was becoming. I could pray, I could talk to him in my mind, but I wanted to write it down.
So I did.
I wrote him a letter and placed it in a special spot in my office. I never reread it. I don’t need to. The act of writing it down was enough. It helped me feel close to him again. It helped me process grief and pride and purpose all at once.
🕊️ Why Writing Letters You Don’t Send Can Heal
This practice is powerful because it gives you a safe space to say what you need to say—without fear, without consequence, without interruption.
Whether it’s grief, anger, regret, or love that you didn’t get a chance to express, letter writing can be a form of release, reconciliation, and reflection.
So I ask you this:
Have you ever written a letter to someone who hurt you—or to a loved one who has passed?
If not, maybe give it a try.
If you have, I’d love to hear how it helped you heal.
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