When each of my children was born, I treated myself to a pair of expensive boots (totally reasonable). I also bought big spiral notebooks so I could write love letters to each child. I wanted them to experience my love in words, and I figured when they were older, they would get a kick out of having a detailed record of their early years.
I wrote my love letters to my kids as if I were talking to them. It was fun to explain what they were like, how they were growing, and the funny and weird things they did. I detailed how unspeakably hard it was to leave the house (that how after the 3 diaper changes, 4 feedings, and me trying to answer an email, when we finally managed to get outside, they’d inevitably poop all the way up their backs and that’d be that). The first tumbles down the stairs. The hilarious things they said once they could talk.
It wasn’t hard to reach for the notebooks; I wanted to catch as much as I could before the details evaporated from time.
With the chaotic hormones and fatigue and barely knowing what month it was, this effort of writing to my kids was my way of finding my footing as a parent. Recording their development, catching their existence in words, and having to think hard to find ways to express my incredulity and exhaustion and frustration helped me create a tether between us that I don’t think would have developed in the same way without my stopping time to write it all down.
Those few minutes when I forced myself into a “moment of repose” to let go of how hard everything was and instead focused on the miracle, the magic, and the thrill of seeing these tiny human beings become people saved my humanity.
Where my default position was to treat them like the most difficult and demanding job I’d ever had, to write these love letters allowed me to leave behind the work and simply enjoy indulging in feeling love in its purest form.
As my children have gotten older, I write fewer love letters to them. The spiral notebooks are still under my nightstand, but here and there, when I consider why I don’t have that same urge to write to them anymore, I reason it is because we are able to have mostly cogent conversations (as much as one can with teenagers), as opposed to when they were babies and could not.
When I have written letters for them such as on their birthdays, I’ve delivered them. Yet because they are still very much children and cannot appreciate the depth of love that consumes a parent’s heart, the letters have never been received in the same spirit as which they were written.
(Nothing is a greater metaphor for the ceaseless giving of parenthood than finding a heartfelt tear-stained letter you wrote to your child crumpled under their dresser covered in dust and marker).
Nowadays, I write not to my kids but about them in my own journal. I no longer go into detail about their poop or try to understand how hard it still is to leave the house (but, seriously, why is it still so hard to leave the house??).
It’s more my chance to meditate on life with that same combination of bafflement and adoration as we all tousle with their becoming themselves and me steering, getting in the way, and being a bystander, sometimes within the space of a few seconds.
Eventually, I will give the books of love letters to each child. If they can get past my terrible handwriting (good luck, guys!), I’m sure they will find it weird and funny to see their baby escapades in such detail.
I am sure they won’t be able to appreciate the letters as much as I did while I was writing them. But as we writers know, that personal bolstering that comes from writing anything is the primary reason we write at all; our audience is important, but, it could be argued, secondary to all we derive from it.
What comes from the heart goes to the heart.
If you’d like to start your “write love letters to your child” project, here are a few starting-off points that work for children of any age:
If your child is young enough, you might want to begin with their birth story. (If you ever want grandchildren, maybe leave off some of the more dramatic/gory details.) Write about how you felt as you anticipated holding your child in your arms. Move through their newborn months to infancy to toddler time. What epochs do you remember being moving and exciting? What challenges did your child overcome? How did it feel to see your child’s personality emerge?
This past year, what were some special moments you shared with your child? A family trip, a birthday, or perhaps a perfectly ordinary Saturday morning. Go through the months or by season and recall what happened when and what was special about those days or events.
Describe all that you love, admire, and respect about your child. What makes your child a special, unique person? Let those attributes and behaviours unfold into your thoughts on your relationship and your gratitude for it.
Your love letters can remain in your notebook as-is, or you can put them in a more visually appealing format that will become a treasured keepsake.
⇒ As an accessible/budget-friendly option, compile your letters into a PDF and have it bound by a local copy shop.
⇒ You can also put the letters into a template in the graphic design app Canva and either print it out yourself, or have it formatted and turned into a book.
⇒ Or to make the book more meaningful and visually appealing, add photographs to accompany the letters.
When you write a love letter to your child, you are connecting with your own sense of love, appreciation, and gratitude.
It’s also a wonderful opportunity in an otherwise busy life to pause and record. Time moves too quickly, but a writer understands how special and important it is to capture moments. That in and of itself makes the letters meaningful both during the writing and forever.
Writing about your life for your children and grandchildren leaves behind a legacy and a record of your family. And sharing your work more broadly helps readers far and wide see their own lives more clearly—and feel more connected to themselves as a result.
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One Response
Great content! Super high-quality! Keep it up! 🙂