Why You Should Write Love Letters to Yourself

The term of endearment hyperbole, ‘I Love You to the Moon and Back’, which I often tell my daughter, with the additional elongated: ‘and back again, beyond infinity’, is believed to have originated from Sam McBratney’s 1994 children’s book: ‘Guess How Much I Love You’.

The book’s premise is about the tender bonds of love between a parent and child. The father, Big Nutbrown Hare, attempts to communicate the immeasurable enormity of his love for his son.

He and his son, Little Nutbrown Hare, play a game — back and forth — in which they compare the measurement of love they have for each other, by equating the intensity to the longest distances, or the highest one can hop, or even as long as the furthest one can stretch.

The moral of the story is that the love Big Nutbrown Hare has for his son is too big to be measured, and he declares:

“I love you right up to the moon, and back!”

A parent’s love for their child is deep, boundless, and unconditional. The Ancient Greeks called this type of love: Storge, which is a natural familial love that family members hold for one another; the love that children have for their parents, and the love parents have for their children. Childhood friends who have grown into adulthood together feel this type of tender, genuine love.

My mission in life is to love myself the way I love my daughter. As simple as that sounds, it’s proving to be straight out difficult, although thankfully, at times, I’m able to jump in to defend myself against many of my self-deprecating thoughts.

There are harsh occasions when my thoughts are far from a continuous flow of self-love in action, and more like wading through deep, thick, muddy waters. Although I do surprise myself in small moments, when I latch onto tenderness for myself, only for that latch to so easily break off — and for me to fall back into disconnect.

Lately, I have felt more self-blame than accountability for what I see as ‘not doing enough’ to create an income for my persistent financial dilemma, which, if I were successful, would enable me to access better options and choices. I anxiously think about my age, my non-existent material assets, and — ‘Shouldn’t I be where others are at my time of life?’

Many times, during these inner monologues, I’ll push a mental high jump and pull my thoughts back to contemplate the concepts of alternative realities, and social injustice: Morpheus’s red pill, and the oppressive nature of capitalism, and social inequality.

For a good year or more, after self-publishing my poetry book, I locked myself into focusing on how to create and manage KDP journals, and over that time, I’m happy to see my designs are improving; although I do wonder whether I should upgrade to better functional design options. (I currently make do with the free version of Canva).

This is where I start to question myself, and the minimal risks I stick with: Am I playing small, or am I being logical?

Is this loving myself?

Although you’d have to agree, how much of a risk is it to work as a full-time writer? Feels like a massive one to me, and if I consider what others in my family may think — knowing my struggles, yet to me, no matter the lack of income, it feels right in my gut to pursue my creativity.

Still, I tend to criticise my efforts, dismiss my journals and articles, and never feel qualified enough. I am not even sure if I can warrant this as imposter syndrome, because: Don’t people who have imposter syndrome truly have a talent?

You see. I just can’t help myself!

“The only path that can carry me home is the path of self-compassion.” — Tara Brach

I know that when the pressure isn’t on like it is for me right now in my life, I wouldn’t be this hard on myself. But I just can’t seem to break through my glass ceiling.

Do you relate to this type of internal attack from external pressure? Can you love yourself through to the other side?

Yet every problem presents an opportunity.

And for my current predicament, the opportunity is for me to learn to love myself in all circumstances — the way a parent loves a child. The way Big Nutbrown Hare loves Little Nutbrown Hare.

There was a time when I would journal sentence after sentence of reaffirming words to myself; undoing all the conditional, critical coldness my parents often loved me from.

Even now, I’m happiest grabbing one of my pens — the one with a nib that rolls effortlessly across the paper — and I’ll scribble chunky cursive, beautiful words, over a good number of lush pages. I find it sad in ways that we’ve lost the art of letter writing now that we’re so accustomed to using our phones and computers to communicate with one another.

Still, there is no denying the connective power of writing in longhand — with its capacity to unveil an honesty, encouraging the space to work through our emotions, and tend lovingly to our thoughts. Encompassing our stories with care creates self-acceptance and builds a happier and more content stance.

When I sit up and make an effort to practice self-love, I feel so much more inspired, aiding flexibility to create kinder thoughts about myself, no matter my situation. My anxiety, which flags up a bit too often, starts to soften, and I face it head-on for what it is.

The beauty of writing love letters to ourselves is a form of self-care and an exercise that is known to instill self-awareness. What I find is that once I dig into the depths of my writing, I’ll often move into the flow state, which is a much more meditative state of creativity, and so naturally calms the stress pumping around in my body.

There are other healthy aspects incurred through writing with love to ourselves that create self-reflection, self-appreciation, and a gratitude for who we are and what we have accomplished. Writing letters of love to ourselves shifts stubborn, condemning thoughts and comforts raw emotions. By connecting with ourselves with words of love, we cradle our mental health.

We should make it a priority to check in on ourselves far more than we do, the way we would with the people we love and care about, our children, our family, and our friends. Our lives would have so much more meaning, and rather than castigating all that we aren’t, what about all that we are!

Let’s write love letters to ourselves, telling ourselves how wonderful we are.

Chantal

As you can see from the above image, I was inspired to create an ‘I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK’ compact journal, in both hard and soft covers.

Amazon links below:

SOFTCOVER

HARDCOVER

I created a Morning Pages soft and hard cover journal, too. The term was coined by Julia Cameron, and helps us detect our inner critic and rescue our creativity.

Happy writing

© Chantal Weiss 2025. All Rights Reserved