Writing

 

Taos’ sun spills across the adobe walls of the Mabel Dodge Luhan House. Surrounding Sangre de Cristo Mountains glisten in the August sunlight. A top Mable’s is a solarium bedroom. A retreat participant sits there and writes a letter to her deceased father. A suggestion I gave her to do during our free time.

 

Her pen moves slowly as her words spill out across the page. She pauses.  Without warning, the light shifts. She looks up as raindrops strike the glass. Hailstones, white and hard as pearls, now clatter against the windowpanes. She sets down her pen. The letter is half-finished, her father’s name atop the page.

 

Her turbulent emotions seemed to be mirrored by the sudden storm. She wonders, is nature responding to what I’ve released on the page?

 

As a therapist and retreat leader, I have suggested this practice for decades. Something happens when thoughts take shape through the written words. Our mind slows down, and the body becomes engaged in the process. What was once a swirl of unspoken feeling becomes visible and tangible. We speak from the heart and bypass the self-consciousness that often silences truth.

 

Not everyone has such a dramatic experience as a hailstorm on a summer day. Yet, I have seen letter writing unlock grief, soften anger, and awaken courage. It gives voice to the parts of us that long to be heard and integrated into our sense of self.

 

Neuroscientists now confirm what writers and therapists have long known. Handwriting engages the brain in ways typing cannot. It strengthens memory, deepens emotional intelligence, and awakens creativity. When we write by hand, the whole self — mind, body, and spirit — participates in the act of meaning-making.

 

Letter writing in dialogue is a valuable practice. It is a bridge to what feels separate: past and future, self and other, the seen and unseen. A letter written to an imagined person can have a remarkable outcome. We can hear their tone, their wisdom, their love.

 

This practice matters in this fast-paced digital age. A handwritten letter slows us down and restores our connection to what gives us meaning.

 

In my therapeutic work, I’ve seen this practice bring about profound clarity. A written dialogue with — a parent, a lost friend, a mentor, even a part of us — invites empathy and integration. It transforms the letter from a monologue into a conversation.

 

Equally powerful is a dialogue with your future self. Give it a try. Begin by writing to the person you are becoming — a year, five years, or even a decade from now. When writing to your future self, the same principle applies. Handwriting is best.

Be curious. Ask open-ended questions, like these…

Dear Future Me,

What have you learned?

What do you wish I knew today?

How did you find your way through what I’m facing?

 

Don’t overthink this. Allow the words to come as if they are being dictated from a wiser, more spacious part of you. These answers often transcend logic. This dialogue between selves can become a sacred conversation.

 

When you sit down to write, choose a quiet space and a pen that feels comfortable in your hand. Let the paper invite you. Begin without hurry. As your hand moves, notice how the words seem to come from a deeper place. 

 

Write conversationally, allow pauses, questions, and emotion to flow. Try waiting for their response and move back and forth in dialogue. Another option is to invite them to write a whole letter to you. Do whatever feels like it will deepen your process. Often, what emerges carries wisdom that feels both familiar and beyond you.

 

Handwriting transforms letter writing from a mental exercise into a soulful practice. It roots you in the present moment and opens a channel to a deeper inner intelligence.

 

Each curve of ink becomes a gesture of connection. It joins you with, you and your future self, you and the mystery that listens as you write.

 

As the storm passed, sunlight returned to the mountains. She picked up her pen. In that quiet moment, she wasn’t just writing to her father — she was writing herself back into wholeness. Perhaps that is the true gift of letter writing. Writing by hand brings us closer to the heart of who we are.

 

Take a few minutes today. Choose someone — or some part of yourself — and begin a letter.

 

Let the words find you.