The Letter I Never Sent
And what it taught me about anger, fear and peace
Years ago, an old colleague (and friend) did something that left me hurt and angry.
And for years afterwards, I felt this knot of fear and anxiety about bumping into them in the street.
You know that feeling, right?
When your stomach twists just imagining seeing them? So you even avoid going places where they might be.
After a few years of holding onto these emotions, I eventually wrote an ‘unsent letter’.
One that was filled with rage. Anger. Hatred. Pain. And, honestly—a fuck-tonne of swearing.
The tears splattered over all the pages I wrote.
After six messy, raw, everything-I-couldn’t-say-out-loud pages, my body did this thing.
It let go.
My shoulders dropped. My jaw unclenched. And I could finally breathe again.
That feeling then gave me space to write something else.
Forgiveness. Understanding.
I realised their actions—the thing they did to me—came from a place of fear.
It didn’t excuse them. But I could see their fear. And weirdly, I forgave them.
But I wouldn’t have reached that point of compassion if I hadn’t first poured out all the anger, pain, and hurt.
And then, I did something I never thought I’d do—I thanked them. Not face to face obviously, but in the unsent letter.
I thanked them because, as much as it hurt at the time, what they did set off a chain of events that led to something better in my life.
Now, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that writing an unsent letter is some magic cure-all for life’s shitstorms. It’s not.
But it’s a tool I keep coming back to—because it works.
What are unsent letters?
Unsent letters are exactly what they sound like—a letter you write but never send.
And in fact, it’s the not sending part that makes them so powerful.
You get to say everything you want to say. No filter. No polite version. Just raw, unfiltered truth.
Unsent letters are for you. And you alone.
The idea is simple
Write a letter to the person that’s causing all that anger, shame, or pain in your mind.
And it doesn’t just have to be a person. You can use this to write to something that’s causing you trouble.
A situation. A different version of yourself. A thing.
Personally, I’ve written unsent letters to:
the driver who cut me off
to people who’ve shamed me
to those I’ll never get to speak to again
to my eating disorder
to my imposter syndrome
to the version of me that was burned out
to covid
to my anxiety
to my son when he was a baby—as well as that version of me that was parenting at the time
I’ve had clients in the past write unsent letters to their chronic pain, the healthcare system that failed them, or even their younger, more vulnerable selves.
How to write an unsent letter
Here’s how it works. Start by letting it all out. Everything you’re feeling.
The anger. The sadness. The rage. The shame. The hurt.
No holding back.
Scribble. Swear. Scream (can you scream into a page?!).
Whatever is there. Write it down. Don’t try to analyse. Don’t overthink it.
If it’s there—if that’s what you’re feeling—it’s valid. It’s ok. There is nothing wrong with you for feeling all this.
You are human.
Acknowledge every emotion you’re carrying. Everything that your body is holding onto. And write it down. All of it. No holding back.
Allow your body to start the healing process. To finally release these emotions that are stuck. To let them go.
And that’s it. That’s enough. Because that act alone can be transformative.
But, if you’re ready to go deeper, there’s one more step I swear by.
It’s the part that shifts everything: forgiveness.
I know, I know. I get it.
My initial reaction when I read about this technique—“Forgiveness? Fuck off.”
Because it’s the last thing we want to do when someone or something has hurt us. And yet, doing so shifts things all the more.
So listen. It’s not easy. And it doesn’t always happen straight away.
But when you’re ready, try finishing the letter with forgiveness.
And maybe even thank them (yes, thank them) for the lessons they unintentionally taught you or the unexpected growth that came out of it.
But this isn’t about letting them off the hook. It’s about releasing the hold they (or the situation) have over you.
As Marianne Williamson said, “Peace stems from forgiveness.”
And who the fuck doesn’t want more peace in their life, right?
What do you do with it?
So you’ve written your unsent letter. Now what? What do you do with it?
That’s up to you.
Keep them. Shred them. Bury them. Or, as I did, burn them in a ‘ceremony’. One that helped me create even more closure. Catharsis at its best.
Ultimately, the decision of what to do with unsent letters is up to you.
The important thing is to find whatever brings you peace, closure, and the opportunity to heal.
The act of writing it is the important part. What you do after? That’s just the cherry on top.
Final thoughts
Unsent letters are one of my favourite go-to tools for healing because they just work.
They give those big, heavy emotions a place to live outside your body. The anger. The grief. The anxiety. The shame. The fear. And once they’re on paper, they loosen their grip on you.
Emotions aren’t meant to be held onto. They’re meant to move through us.
Pass us by. Like clouds.
But when we hold onto them—when we don’t let them drift through—they fester. They grow.
They take up way too much fucking space. And create shitstorms.
But they don’t stay out there. They rage. Within us.
But writing them down? It transforms them into something softer. Lighter. More manageable.
And whether you keep your letters, bury them in the garden, or burn them to ash, the goal is the same—Peace. Closure. Healing.
So grab a pen. Grab some paper. And write the letter you’ll never send.
And to quote Elsa—yes, that Elsa—“Let it go.”