Hi, my love

You are here, what a delight.

This publication is devoted to my best friends — the women who taught me that love, when spoken aloud, becomes our legacy.

I write letters to my friends.

The real kind of letters that you seal the envelope with the lick of your tongue and clumsily scribble their name across the front, hoping the ink dries before your thumb smudges it. Each time I do, it feels like I am stuffing a certain kind of magic inside the confines of those four sides, as if a sliver of my heart is neatly packaged away in there, too.

It began as a ritual between five women.
On each of our birthdays, we write one another a love letter,
the kind you read aloud, through laughter and tears,
the kind that reminds you who you are,
and how deeply you are seen and known by another.

Often, when I write, I imagine these imperfect, crinkled, tear-soaked letters stored away in a little vintage box that our children will one day look through and read and be reminded that a friendship like ours existed and just how lucky we were.

Writing letters to my friends has become one of the most sacred traditions in my life.

Let Me Write You A Love Letter is born from those women.

I have been quietly claimed by the honest, contemplative, and self-organising nature of letter writing. The intimate way it rearranges your thoughts, slowly and truthfully.
It begins in the quiet noticing,
the way light moves across a room,
the lingering pause in between words,
the thought that arrives unannounced while folding laundry.

To write a letter is to slow the world down enough to see it.
To name the shape of a feeling before it passes.
To gather what would otherwise go unnoticed, and make it sacred.

In this way, letter writing becomes a practice of devotion,
not just to the person you’re writing to,
but to life itself.

It asks us to pay attention.
To listen inwardly.
To trace the thread between moments, memories, and meaning.

And in that noticing,
you find beauty not because it is grand or loud or curated,
but because it is real.
And because it was seen.

The letters you will find here in this publication take the shape of someone I love —Dear Jase, or Dear Emma, or even Dear Baby Girl (who I didn’t get to meet, again).

They begin with names, but the intention is they reach far beyond them. They are personal in form, but expansive in feeling, stretching beyond the singular and into what is honest and universally human.

This is how I make sense of things.
How I hold what’s tender.
How I offer up a sliver of my world,
and invite you, dear reader, to sit beside it.
To witness something sacred and real,
just as it is.

Let Me Write You A Love Letter is a free publication.

Offered freely as a personal act of devotion and a thank you for being here.

With your free subscription, you’ll receive:

• Full access to all letters, articles and audio pieces.

• Access to Ask Jody — a monthly personalised letter written in response to your question or big heart wonderings.

• An open door to conversation and connection.

May these letters land, with love and thumb-smudged ink.

Love,
Jody