How to write an unsent letter

Almost everything we say to people is quietly edited for how they will take it. We soften it, we leave out the part that would start a row, we pre-empt their answer. An unsent letter removes the reader, so the editing stops. You get to write the version you actually feel, including the unfair bits and the bits that make you look bad.

Therapists have used versions of this for a long time. It sits close to the Gestalt 'empty chair', where you speak to someone who is not in the room, and to the expressive writing research described further down. You do not need a therapist to do it, though if it opens up more than you expected, talking it through with one is a good idea.

There is no correct format. These steps just stop it turning into a polite letter you were secretly planning to send.

• Decide now that it will not be sent. Say it to yourself. If part of you is drafting a real message, you will start writing for their reaction again.
• Start with their name, the way you would talk to them. 'Dear' is optional. 'You' is the important word.
• Write the thing you have never said first. Not the background, not the context. The sentence that has been sitting there.
• Then write what it cost you. What you lost, what you stopped doing, what you had to carry because of it.
• Let it be unfair. You are not writing a balanced account. You can be fair later, if you want to.
• Write what you wish they had said back, if there is something. People often find this is the line that lands hardest.
• End when it is out, not when it is finished. A letter that trails off is still a letter.

Most unsent letters go to one of a handful of people: an ex, a parent, a friend who disappeared, someone who has died, an old version of yourself, or the person you are now, from the one you were then. The common thread is a conversation that cannot happen, either because they will not hear it, because it would not be safe, or because they are gone.

If the person you are writing to was controlling or abusive, keep the letter somewhere they cannot find it, and do not send it, however tempting that feels on a bad night. Writing it is for you. If you are not safe, or you are struggling right now, you can talk to someone: Samaritans on 116 123, any hour, or the National Domestic Abuse Helpline run by Refuge on 0808 2000 247. Outside the UK, findahelpline.com lists free services by country.

Some people want a small ending: burning it, shredding it, tearing it up, deleting the file. Others put it in an envelope and leave it for a month, then read it once and decide. Neither is better. What matters is that it does not become a draft.

If there is one line in it that you need to say somewhere outside your own head, you can put it on drift. It is anonymous, there is no account, and it disappears after 48 hours. It holds up to 500 characters, so it is not the place for the whole letter. It is the place for the sentence the whole letter was building to.

The closest evidence comes from expressive writing, a method developed by the psychologist James Pennebaker in the 1980s. In the original 1986 study with Sandra Beall, people wrote about their deepest thoughts and feelings on a difficult experience, and the standard version since then is 15 to 20 minutes a day over three or four days. Those who wrote reported better physical health in the months that followed than those who wrote about neutral topics.

Later studies found the benefits are real but modest, and they are not the same for everyone. Some people feel worse for a short while straight after writing, which is normal. Writing is not a replacement for help with something that is overwhelming you, and an unsent letter is not therapy. It is a way of finally saying it.

Common questions

It is a writing exercise where you write a letter to a specific person, saying everything you have not been able to say to them, and you decide from the start that you will never send it. Taking away the reader means you stop editing for their reaction, so the honest version finally gets written.

Address them directly, start with the thing you never got to say rather than the backstory, and let it be as unfair as it needs to be. Write what it cost you and, if there is one, what you wish they had said. Then do not send it. If the relationship was controlling or abusive, keep the letter somewhere they cannot find it.

There are public archive sites that collect unsent letters and keep them for anyone to read. drift works differently: there is no account and no name, what you write disappears after 48 hours, and it holds up to 500 characters. That makes it the place for the one line you need out of your head, rather than the full letter.

For many people, yes. The closest research is on expressive writing, where people who wrote about difficult experiences for short sessions over a few days reported health benefits months later. The effect is modest and varies, and some people feel worse briefly before they feel better.

Usually not. The letter works because nobody reads it, and sending it brings back the thing you were escaping, which is their reaction. If you later want a real conversation, write a separate message from scratch, a few days after the unsent one, when you know which parts are for them and which were only ever for you.

Whatever gives it an ending. People burn it, shred it, delete it, or seal it and reread it once a month later. If one sentence still needs saying out loud, put that line somewhere temporary and anonymous rather than sending the letter.

Write the sentence the letter was building to. It will be gone in 48 hours.