A letter to my future self (and why you need to write one too)
You know that thing where you’re working really hard on your life, making changes, trying to grow and it feels like nothing’s actually happening?
Like you’re stuck in the same patterns. Same struggles. Same version of yourself that you were six months ago.
You’re in the middle of your life right now. You can’t see that you’re growing because growth doesn’t announce itself. It’s slow. Quiet. Invisible when you’re standing in it.
But six months from now? A year from now? You’ll have forgotten what this moment felt like. You’ll forget how hard it was. You’ll forget what you were worried about, what you were hoping for, who you were trying to become.
And that’s why you need to write a letter to your future self.
Not because it’s some cute future self journaling exercise. But because it creates proof – a snapshot of where you are right now so that future you can look back and say, “Oh. I forgot how much I was struggling with that. Look at me now.”
Related reads
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- How to start your self development journey: The complete beginner’s guide
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- The ultimate self-discovery quiz: Find out what’s really holding you back
What a letter to your future self actually does
This isn’t about setting goals or making promises to yourself. You’re not writing “dear future me, I hope you’re living your dream life and everything worked out perfectly!” That’s not real. And when future you reads that, they’re either going to feel like they failed or like past you was delusional.
What you’re actually doing
I’m not going to tell you this letter will magically solve everything. It won’t. But here’s what it will do and why it matters more than you realize right now:
You’re capturing where you are right now. The real, messy, uncertain version. The struggles that feel like they’ll never end. The small wins that don’t feel big enough. The things you’re trying to figure out. The version of yourself that’s doing their best even when it doesn’t feel like much.
You’re creating evidence of your growth. Right now, you can’t see how far you’ve come because you’re inside your life. This letter becomes the “before” picture you didn’t know you needed. When future you reads this, they’ll see progress you can’t see yet.
You’re remembering what mattered. Future you will have moved on to new problems, new worries, new goals. This letter reminds them what used to keep you up at night and how much of it either got resolved or stopped mattering.
You’re giving yourself compassion from the future. When future you reads this and sees past you struggling with something they’ve since figured out, there’s this moment of tenderness. Like, “Oh. That version of me was really going through it. And they kept going anyway.”
This isn’t just a letter. It’s proof that you were here. That you tried. That you cared. That even when you didn’t know if things would get better, you showed up anyway.
And when future you reads this, they’ll have something most people never give themselves: evidence of their own resilience.
Why it will feel awkward (and why you should do it anyway)
Let’s just say it – writing to a version of yourself that doesn’t exist yet feels weird. Your brain immediately starts arguing: “What if nothing changes and this is just depressing to read?” “What if I sound stupid?” “What am I even supposed to say?” “This feels like something a motivational Instagram account would tell me to do.”
I get it. It feels performative. Like you’re supposed to write something profound and inspiring that you don’t actually feel. But you’re not writing to impress anyone. Not even future you. You’re just… talking. To yourself. Across time.
You’re saying: “Hey. This is where I am. This is what’s hard. This is what I’m hoping for. This is what I’m learning. Remember this.” That’s it.
No pressure to be wise. No pressure to have it figured out. Just honest.
And yes, it will probably feel awkward. But you know what’s more awkward? Forgetting your own growth. Looking back on your life and having no record of the person you used to be. Losing the thread of how you became who you are.
When to write this letter and when to read it
Write it when:
- You’re in the middle of something hard and you can’t see the way through yet
- You’re making a big decision and you want to remember what you were thinking
- You’re trying to change something about yourself and you want proof that you tried
- You just want to capture this version of you before it shifts into something else
Read it back when:
- You hit the date you set (6 months, 1 year, 5 years – whatever you chose)
- You’re going through something hard and you need evidence that you’ve survived before
- You’re doubting yourself and you need a reminder of who you used to be and how far you’ve come
- You’re feeling like you haven’t changed at all and you need proof that you have
Most people write it and then hide it. Set a reminder in their calendar. Forget about it. And when future you gets that notification, they’re transported back to this moment and they see everything that’s shifted since then.
Letter to future self example
Part 1: Where you are right now (the “before” picture)
This is the part where you get honest about where you actually are. Not where you wish you were. Not where you think you should be. Where you are.
What’s actually happening in your life right now?
Your job, your relationships, where you’re living, what your days look like. The real version, not the highlight reel.
What’s the hardest thing you’re dealing with?
The thing that’s taking up the most mental space. The thing you think about when you wake up or when you’re trying to fall asleep.
What’s one thing that’s going better than you expected?
Even if it’s small. Even if it feels like it doesn’t count. What’s working?
What does your inner voice sound like right now?
Is it kind? Critical? Scared? Tired? What’s the running commentary in your head telling you about yourself?
If someone asked “How are you really doing?” what would you say?
Not the polite answer. The true one. The one you’d only say to someone who actually cares.
Part 2: What you’re hoping for (not goals – feelings)
Okay, here’s where people usually mess this up. They start writing about goals. “I hope I’ve lost 20 pounds” or “I hope I’m making six figures” or “I hope I’ve traveled to Europe.” That’s not what this section is for.
This is about the shifts you’re trying to make. The feelings you’re moving toward. Because in six months or a year, you might not have hit those external goals but if you’ve shifted how you feel about yourself, if something inside you has changed, that’s the real growth.
So forget the achievements for a second. Think about this:
How do you want to feel differently six months from now?
Not what you want to have. How you want to feel. More peaceful? Less stuck? More confident? Less drained? Get specific about the internal shift, not the external result.
What’s one thing you’re trying to change about yourself?
A pattern you’re trying to break. A new way of responding to situations. A version of yourself you’re working on becoming. Not “I want to be more successful” but “I’m trying to stop abandoning myself to make other people comfortable.”
What are you hoping you’ll finally let go of?
The relationship that stopped working. The belief that you’re not good enough. The need for everyone’s approval. The grudge you’re still carrying. What do you hope will finally release its grip on you by the time you read this?
What’s something you’re too scared to try right now but you hope future you will have tried?
The risk. The conversation. The thing you keep putting off because it feels too big or too uncertain. What do you hope future you had the guts to do?
If everything went the way you’re quietly hoping it will, what would be different?
Not the perfect fantasy. Just – what would shift? What would feel lighter? What would you finally stop worrying about?
Part 3: What you’re learning right now
This section is where you capture the messy middle – the stuff you’re figuring out right now that future you might forget. Here’s what real answers to these prompts actually look like (not the polished version – the honest one):
What’s something you’re realizing about yourself lately?
Real answer: “I’m realizing that I say yes to things I don’t want to do because I’m scared people won’t like me if I say no. And then I resent them for asking. Which is completely unfair because they didn’t force me – I just didn’t give them a chance to respect my boundary.”
Or: “I’m noticing that I only feel valuable when I’m doing something productive. Like my worth is tied to my output. And that’s exhausting.”
What’s a mistake you made recently that taught you something?
Real answer: “I overcommitted again and burned myself out trying to keep all the promises I made. I learned that saying ‘I’ll figure it out’ when I don’t actually have capacity isn’t being helpful – it’s being dishonest.”
Or: “I avoided a hard conversation for weeks and it made everything worse. I learned that discomfort now is better than disaster later.”
What’s one thing you’re trying to be better at?
Real answer: “Setting boundaries without feeling guilty about it. Actually saying no and not following it with a five-minute apology and explanation.”
Or: “Not catastrophizing every single thing that goes slightly wrong. My brain treats a typo in an email like it’s a career-ending mistake.”
What advice would you give to someone going through exactly what you’re going through?
Real answer: “I’d tell them that they’re allowed to change their mind. That the thing they committed to six months ago doesn’t have to define them forever. That growth sometimes means letting go of old versions of what you thought you wanted.”
What do you hope you’ll remember about this moment when you read this later?
Real answer: “That I was scared but I kept going. That I didn’t know what I was doing but I tried anyway. That this felt impossible and I did it despite that feeling.”
Part 4: What you want future you to know
This is where you talk directly to the version of yourself who’s going to read this. Not in perfect sentences – just finish these thoughts however feels true:
“I need you to remember that…”
(What’s the thing you don’t want future you to forget? The lesson? The struggle? The reason you kept going?)
“Right now, I’m scared that…”
(Name the fear. The thing you’re worried won’t change. The thing you’re afraid will always be this hard.)
“I hope you…”
(What do you hope for them? That they’re kinder to themselves? That they finally tried the thing? That they let go? That they’re okay?)
“If you’re reading this and things didn’t go the way I hoped…”
(Give them permission. To still be struggling. To still be figuring it out. To be human. To not have it all figured out yet.)
“Thank you for…”
(What do you want to thank future you for? For keeping going? For trying? For surviving? For not giving up on the thing you’re working on now?)
Example of what this sounds like:
“I need you to remember that you felt like you’d never get through this, but you kept showing up anyway. Right now, I’m scared that nothing will actually change – that I’ll still be stuck in the same patterns, still struggling with the same things. I hope you proved me wrong. I hope you’re lighter. And if you’re not, if you’re still figuring it out, that’s okay too. You don’t have to have it all solved. Thank you for not giving up on us.”
See? Not polished. Just real.
Part 5: The one thing you’re committing to this week
This is the bridge between past you and future you. Not a huge life-changing promise. Not “I’m going to completely transform myself.” Just one small, specific action you’re going to take this week that proves to future you that you meant what you wrote.
What’s one thing you’re going to do in the next seven days, no matter how small, that moves you even slightly toward the person you’re trying to become?
Not:
- “I’m going to be more confident”
- “I’m going to take better care of myself”
- “I’m going to work on my boundaries”
Those are too vague. You need something you can actually do.
Instead:
- “I’m going to speak up in the meeting on Thursday, even if my voice shakes”
- “I’m going to go to bed before midnight at least three nights this week”
- “I’m going to tell my friend I can’t make plans on Saturday without apologizing or making up an excuse”
Small. Specific. Doable.
This is how you prove to future you that this letter wasn’t just words – it was the start of something real.
Sign it, seal it, and let it go
Here’s what you do now:
Write your name at the bottom. Add the date. And if you want, add one final line: “Written by the version of me who…”
Finish that sentence however feels true.
“…is trying.”
“…is scared but still here.”
“…hasn’t given up yet.”
“…is doing their best.”
Whatever feels real. Then, and this is important, hide it.
Put it somewhere you won’t see it. Set a calendar reminder for your chosen date (6 months, a year, 5 years from now). Then forget about it.
When future you gets that reminder and reads this letter, they’re going to see something you can’t see right now: proof that they’ve been growing the whole time.
The letter to my future self I wrote
Four years ago, I wrote a letter to my future self. I was in the middle of the hardest season of my life. Everything I thought I knew about myself was falling apart. I was scared I was making all the wrong choices. I didn’t know if I’d make it through.
I wrote to the version of me who would have already survived it. I told her what it felt like to be here. What I was afraid of. What I was learning. What I hoped she’d remember. When I read that letter a year later, I cried. Not because it was profound. Because I’d forgotten.
I’d forgotten how hard it was. I’d forgotten how uncertain I felt. I’d forgotten that the person I’d become – the one sitting there reading the letter – started with that scared, confused version of me who decided to keep going anyway.
That letter gave me something I didn’t know I needed – proof that I’m braver than I think I am. And that I can be brave again.
Your future self needs this letter.
They need to know where they came from. They need evidence that they’ve survived hard things. They need to remember what mattered, what they learned, who they were trying to become.
Don’t wait. Write it today.
Ready to turn this practice into lasting change?
Writing a letter to your future self is powerful but it’s just the beginning. If you want daily practices that actually create the transformation you’re writing about, our workbooks give you 30 days of structured exercises to help you become the person you’re hoping to be when you read this letter back.
Stop waiting for change to happen. Start building it, one day at a time.
What will you tell your future self?
